Wednesday, November 11, 2009

We Have Found the Heir to Dee Dee King's Throne

I am a firm believer that Dee Dee Ramone's (aka Dee Dee King) Standing in the Spotlight is an incredibly fun album. Enamored with the burgeoning hip hop scene around him Dee Dee decided to start sporting Mercedes medallions, the spikey mullet and kickin' out the single most horrendous rap album by a white artist until wrestlers started gettin' in on the gig (fucking listen to "Beach Patrol" by Hulk Hogan if you want a good example). The genius that wrote the first three Ramones albums actually rhymes Heineken with fun. Wow.
When Kid Rock came out a friend of mine said Dee Dee should sue the motherfucker for copping his image and it's hard to argue against that. Check this out:




BOOSH!
Now, we have The Mr. Move, who is, of course, from New York. Could this be Dee Dee's bastard offspring? We'll look into this but it's doubtfull because if he were he would be rapping about titty's full of smack.

Monday, September 21, 2009

As if the World Needed Another Reason to Loathe Muse

The shitty sub-gay bar music wasn't enough. Being the musical soundtrack to the mormon warthog's intollerable novels wasn't enough. Acting like pretentious assholes, their wanna-be Queen styled American Idiot that is their new album (I would rather dip my cock in the acidic vag belonging to Paris Hilton than have to suffer that audio bile again) it all has brought the most overrated, dull band since the Strokes to their pinacle of douchedom.
From Punknews.org:
Usage should have a value. Someone who just checks email uses minimal bandwidth, but someone who downloads 1GB per day uses way more, but at the moment they pay the same. It is clear which user is hitting the creative industries and it is clear which user is not, so for this reason, usage should also be priced accordingly. The end result will be a taxed, monitored ISP based on usage which will ensure both the freedom of the consumer and the rights of the artists.
Yes, Matt Bellamy, wants to charge people more for the internet for downloading shit whether or not it is done legally. He assumes that just because you use more bandwith than your fucking grandma who checks her gmail account hourly waiting to find out if you still aknoweledge her existence that you must be ripping off "artists."
And let's not forget this is coming from some shitbird who is on a major label that funds his little vanity albums and rakes in cash on tours and record sales. Why else would you release two different versions of the same goddamned album only to include bonus features if not to milk your herd of Spin reading sheep for all the cash they got.
Illegal downloading isn't gonna stop and that really does suck for the people who can't get paid for the music, movies, comics, books, bukkake they create but for years it has been known that the CD is dead and no artist (well, at least not spoiled fucking tards with a major label payroll at their disposal) makes their primary dollars off of a physical release.
Think of it like this: Radiohead or Saul Williams or Nine Inch Nails drops another free album. If Matt Bellamy gets his way you'd be taxed for taking something that was given away. Or how about all that extra content on websites for bands and movies that put up shit for you to download to your hard drive? Or say you're a gamer who spends and unhealthy and ungodly ammount of time prepping your Warcraft raid parties? Yup, bitch, you get taxed too cause it's impossible for this cretin to comprehend that someone is using a massive load of bandwith for something legal. In that respect you are being punished for "hitting the creative industries" who are begging for your bandwith just because this limey fuck has hurt pussy because his latest shit sandwich leaked and no one wants to buy it. It's not that they don't want to give you the money, Matt. It's just that they listened to that weak as fuck wanna be political piece of shit called The Uprising and decided it was too lame to even put onto their iPods.
But let's entertain this idiocy for a little longer. Okay, let's codify this into law and starting collecting this tax. How do we distribute it? How do we figure out who has been robbed the most and therefore should recieve the largest pay day? Yeah, you obviously didn't realize that this tax would kickback to the labels who still don't pay you shit and whom you still do not rely on mainly for your income. Or that there is no goddamned way to distribute this equitably to artists who lose 10 album sales because of a leak. And way to punish young, unsigned or independent bands that DEPEND on people downloading their shit from MySpace and their websites so they can come out to shows and buy merch by making their only means of marketing taxable on their fans but never payable to the band themselves.
In short, get fucked and pull your head out of your ass. Hopefully, then you realize you need to get the fuck over yourself and your shitty band.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Get Ready for the Biggest Musical Trainwreck of the Year!

Holy fucking shit. Seriously, sweet titty fucking christ I cannot believe what I just read. From the Daily Swarm:
“I recorded five joints for Michael Jackson,” [R.] Kelly said, as we sat in the intimate recording studio nestled in the basement of his Chicago mansion. “This studio here is where Michael recorded. And we had been talking on the phone about his new album, and I was going to finish what Michael was doing at the time. We’re going to get it out though. Michael liked the way I would try to sing the songs just like him.”
So, not only do we get to experience Captain EO's Chinese Democracy (which I recently proclaimed wouldn't happen. My bad.) but kid toucher/pisser R. Kelly is going to be completing it? I haven't been this stoked on failure since Sarah Palin. Anyone expecting a new MJ album to be even remotely listenable needs to pull their head outta their ass and face reality.
And let's not forget that this isn't "I Believe I Can Fly" R. Kelly at the helm. Oh no. This is batshit fucking nuts post-AIDS opera R. Kelly. He's the fucking Tommy Wiseau of R & B. We all know homeboy was dead fucking serious when he started "Trapped in Closet" and then realized we were all laughing at him and tried to play it off like it was his intention all along. In fact, he's still continuing on in that vein.

Worlds of suck are about to collide and the only one who can be legitamately excited about this impending shit sandwich is Joe Jackson who is already counting his dollars.

Sunday, August 30, 2009

Andre Williams is the Filthiest Goddamned Old Man on the Planet

One of my older co-workers is really into R&B and blues history right now. He's so ass deep in the subject he actually bought Crossroads on DVD. Yes, that is how dedicated the man is to absorbing everything he can about the genre. He knows his shit (cat blows through like three books a week on the subject) and I asked him if he dug Andre Williams aka Mr. Rhythm.
Andre Williams wrote Stevie Wonders first hit ("Thank You for Loving Me"), the amazing "Shake a Tail Feather" (Ike and Tina rocked the shit out of that song) in addition to some tunes for the P-Funk. He was signed to the legendary Chess Records in 68 and has been a huge influence on the genres of soul, funk, blues and rock n roll for about 50 years in total.
Of course, in punk blues and garage circles he is considered canon, recording with the Compulsive Gamblers, the Dirtbombs, Demoliton Doll Rods and the wicked cool Diplomats of Solid Sound. But y'all don't want to read my ramblings about this insanely cool and pioneering dirty old motherfucker. Fine. Here's the video.



Wednesday, August 12, 2009

If Ignorance is Bliss, Then You Must Be the Happiest Person on Earth...

This blurb is in response to my Facebook peeps wanting a little elaboration on my encounter this morning with Stephanie, my corner store gas attendant. As some of you may recall Stephanie is the little ball of sunshine that rings me up for my glutinous drive in pastry and overly caffeinated morning beverage. She has enlightened me with such gems as comparing the "scruffy man god" David Cook to that of a "young, vibrant" Sammy Hagar. Yes. I'll let that soak in for a minute for it only got better from there. She did not realize that Van Halen existed prior to Sammy bastardizing the once great band (not that shows my bias or anything...shit storm incoming.) Let me come to her defense here and preface this with the fact that she's only seventeen. (Too bad she's not a Winger fan...) To this I can give her some leniency. Musical tastes, like opinions, are like assholes. Some are just shittier than others. I'll give her that. Her closeted exposure to the outside world was only being shown to me in these weekly exchanges that tended to tap dance in the realm of pop culture. Until today. ME: So how are you ling that Diver Down I burned for you? STEPHANIE: Eh. I think David Cook is still the bomb. It's ok, but I have been really digging the new Miley Cyrus song. ME: Are you fucking serious? STEPHANIE: Uh. Yeah silly. It's like being played everywhere. Party in the USA! ME: That's her? (People start to come in, so we move to the closed register.) STEPHANIE: Uh yeah. Come on. It's on 104 like all the time. It's the bomb. ME: I think the last time I listened to 104 your mom was in her second trimester. STEPHANIE: Whatever (grabs Seventeen magazine) look. She's hot. Is she not hot? You'd hit that... ME: Dude. I'm thirty one. The only seventeen year old anything I'd hit would be the bottle of scotch I have at the house. And no. She looks like plastic midget. STEPHANIE: You're crazy. ME: If you say so. She looks like she should be wearing a big hat and making cookies in a hollowed out tree. STEPHANIE: What? That's dumb. ME: No seriously. I don't get it. What human trafficking cartel did all you kids come in on that were told this kind of stuff was cool? Were you all brainwashed? And then it happened. I got the look. Not the "screw you guy" look (trust me- I have a Masters in that one,) but the glassy eyed doe stare. She looked like the chip set in her head was trying to process the statement. STEPHANIE: Cartel? you mean drugs right? ME: Well yeah. there are those too. STEPHANIE: What do drug cartels have to do with the mall? ME: Mall? What the hell are you talking about? The mall? STEPHANIE: You know. Like Memorial City... well it's not as bad as, oh man- the Galleria. Oh their traffic is the worst. People just walking all which way and shit I hate that. It's like hello people we walk on the right side here in America. Hello! You know? Sweet baby Jesus on a pogo stick... ME: No. Trafficking... that's not trafficking that's just assholes at the mall. Trafficking is when people not of this country are brought in illegally. Big rigs full of people... sneaking across the border...sold into prostitution..anything? STEPHANIE: Oh that. That sucks. ME: Yeah. Yeah it does. [Silence bordering on awkward] STEPHANIE: Hey. I finished that Catcher in the Rye you told me about. I didn't get it. ME: That's ok. Read it again when you are all old like me. Gotta go. Tell your pops I said hey and give your mom a big hug for me. STEPHANIE: Will do. Be good. As I drove in to work I got to thinking about Stephanie. Not the fact that her blind devotion to her homogenized pop music was what is killing music as we know it, but her innocent facade that was teetering on sheer ignorance to things around her. Is it really ignorance if she is unaware of it in the first place? I'd assume you'd need to know about it in order to ignore it.

Sunday, August 9, 2009

Today, I Wish Cancer Upon Sean Gregory

Fuck you Time Magazine. Working in retail is shitty enough and my fellow worker bees and I already deal with loads of cheap ass fucktards but you had to go ahead and encourage them, didn't you? Sean Gregory recently published this article and I hope his magazine folds and he has to work with me for a week or two and experience the horrible treatment retail workers are receiving because of lines like this: Since retailers can't afford to lose you these days, no demand is too peculiar. Fuck off and die.
Sean, let me give you a little info. The company I work for is on the ropes and sure we can't afford to lose customers but we also can't afford to cave in to the incredible demands cheap assholes who have more than enough money to pay the list price. Here is an example. We recently had a promotion that was good IN STORE ONLY. No special orders, not good on the website just shit that our company stocks IN STORES. I get a phone call inquiring about a book that our stores DO NOT STOCK and the guy keeps haggling with me about how I can circumvent the rules so he can score the discount. I keep telling him there is no way and eventually he gets pissed off that I can't even order the book for him (without pre-paying) then let him pick it up and redeem the offer way after the deal has passed. He hung up on me after 20 minutes of whining and saying, "Maybe your manager could do something for me." No, he couldn't, cause it was me! Oh and during this whole ordeal a group of customers waiting for my assistance walked off in frustration. Yeah, you're gung-ho attitude on haggling distracts staff from people who are more than content to buy shit at the list price and supervisors who have more important things to do than tell the customer, "No," again after the staff have already refused their request. Way to make us lose money, dickpig!
And if you are wondering why it would've been so difficult or bad for me to just order the goddamned book and let El Cheapo redeem his discount...we LOSE money on the deal. Yeah, when we special order something (which I cannot even do anymore) the customer pays for it and we break even. When we allow someone to break the rule we LOSE money on the transaction. And if we let all your little deal shoppers out there in on the gig, then the company would go under and a shitload of people would be unemployed just so you could save motherfucking sales tax on your purchase. Does that make you feel better, Mr. Gregory?
Yeah, I know times are tough and sure if you find expired meat and wanna buy it and risk shitting your colon out for a month just for the discount then that's awesome. But getting people pumped up to go out try to force retailers to price match (that's what Walmart is for, buddy) or redeem an internet offer (here's a clue, you want it at the price listed on the net THEN FUCKING BUY IT ON THE NET) means your just making all of our lives more miserable. The customers are already nasty, crude, uncaring and cheap enough that they don't need the encouragement from some asshole who couldn't find a better story to cover. DIE.

The King is Dead. Get Over It.

I got asked to submit 600 words to the Free Press for a recent issue. This is what I wrote. It didn't make it in the mag (truth be told, I don't know if they ever recieved it. I sent to the e-mail my friend gave me and didn't hear anything back afterwards) so here it is for all of you to enjoy. Oh, and I wrote this before Bill Maher did his little rant so don't accuse me of aping him.
One of the many things that agonizes me over the state of humanity is how we react to any celebrity death like it’s 9/11 and the ensuing pop-culture zeitgeist it becomes. It’s not like we lost the fucking cure to cancer, people. Some cat who just happened to sing/act/play sports/write died just like thousands of other folks do every single day. It’s great if their work managed to impact your life in some way. But, really, is that a reason to ignore everything else that is going on in the world so we can pick apart the still warm corpse like the scandal hungry vultures we’ve become? Michael Jackson’s death has quickly become the zenith of this sort of behavior.
While the world was mourning His Royal Badness’ demise, the entire American media seemed to ignore things like the U.S. launching a major military operation in Afghanistan, unemployment levels rising, Massachusetts suing the government over the Defense of Marriage Act, continued civil unrest in Iran (has CNN ended its love affair with Twitter?), the economy lingering in the shitter and the recurring clusterfuck that attempted national health care has become. Is it too much to ask that we get in depth reports on stories that have more impact on our lives and culture than the sordid affairs of a kid toucher who hadn’t contributed shit to music for well over a decade? Sure, his finest albums (Off the Wall and Thriller) are essential and influential contributions to the canon of pop music but in the years since, Mr. Peter Pan had become nothing more than a pop-culture punching bag and had announced his retirement. There would be no further musical endeavors for him and even if he had decided to hit the studio would the world really benefit from experiencing his Chinese Democracy?
Even more upsetting was when viewers tried to call the media out over sensationalism and tabloid muckraking, some of these assholes had the nerve to get offended and defensive about their “journalism.” Jane Velez-Mitchell (you know, Nancy Grace but with a brunette fem-mullet) was the worst of the lot, piously asserting that the media’s coverage of Captain EO’s overdose was bringing attention to this new phenomena of pharmaceutical abuse in this country. Are you fucking kidding me? I haven’t seen one article or heard one talking head delve into The Gloved One’s epic drug use and discuss how it mirrors a greater social ill. I’d actually be open to that. After all, if we’re going to consider his death a tragedy, why not try to make it relatable to the other people suffering from similar maladies? That way the vicious dumpster diving for new “shocking” revelations could possibly serve a purpose other than a boost to the network ratings. But I doubt it. Or how about interviewing some of our fine elected officials in the legislature and ask them what they are doing now to curb the croaker docs from dispatching unnecessary medication to pill fiends if this was such an epic catastrophe? No? Then please give up the ghost. On that note, Sheila Jackson Lee can fist herself with a rhinestone glove. With everything that’s going on in the country it’s nice to know that the most pressing item on your agenda is to attempt to pass a resolution in Congress to honor the King of Pop.
And even after the gaudy funeral, our news outlets just can’t let the story die. Maybe I was wrong in my initial assessment. Michael Jackson’s death doesn’t just serve as the zenith of our pop culture obsession but also the nadir. But, that’s just me being an optimist.

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Somebody Give John Sharkey a T.V. Show

I fucking adore Clockcleaner. Just go through the archives here and you can see me fellate the band whenever I get the chance. Too bad they ain't around anymore but John Sharkey can still inspire in ways beyond music: having the balls to talk shit on bands most fans/writers bestow graceful prose upon just because some random tastemaker did.
Hey, Clockcleaner was one of those bands (sort of) at one point, but the main crux of the writing about them was focused on their attitude and notoriety and the fact that every band in Philadelphia hated them. Weak, pussy journalism. Anyways, here is Clockleaner on the Practice Space thing (I re-discovered this when I was pulling the LiveFastDie vid) discussing peeing on Bad Wizard's merch table. Come back to America, John. Or at least wreck Austrailia like Nick Cave did in his teens.

The Cage Family: Modern Mediocrities

Okay, we all know who Nicholas Cage is and how he USED to rock shit in movies like Wild at Heart. Well, I'm not sure if he actually rocked house as much as gave over to his rabid Elvis obsession but with Lynch it worked out pretty well. I dig Leaving Las Vegas but hey, what over privelaged asshole can't act like an over privelaged asshole alcoholic convincingly? The point is, Nic Cage is weak as fuck as evidenced over...everything he has fucking done from Con Air on. Jesus titty fucking christ what kind of random, made up Southern accent was that? "Put...tha...bunnayah...dahwn!"
Still, we would wait years for him to hit his lowest. Here it is in a couple of minutes.

He can't even walk convincingly in those scenes let alone read a line without making you wonder if he is intellectually disabled. But it gets worse for poe ole Cameron Poe. He has a spoiled 19 year old (hey, if you go to Beverly Hills High on a scholarship holler at me and then I'll retract that last statement) with a fashion line (wonder who paid for that, pops!), named Weston (or as he prefers his friends to call him, Arcane),with a shitty metal band. Eyes of Nocturn.
Just the name alone...I...can't...BWAHAHAHAHAH!...just check out the video. Or, if you'd prefer skip to my thoughts below.

Look, I would rather spend a random night at a Fitzgerald's battle of the bands than have to listen to this garbage again. Great, Weston or Wicked Wes or Arcane or Shithead Cage. There are a lot of moronic 19 year olds who think Cradle of Filth is something to worship and props to having the funds to deck you and your band out in the hottest goth-metal-tard couture. The fact is, you suck. You know it, the corpse painted drones that can barely piece two chords together know and the three people politely clapping in the audience fucking know it too. THREE PEOPLE! And who the fuck was the guy giving the fist bump to your mongo bassist after the song? His dad? Well, guess it makes up for all the soccer games he missed which lead to his "brooding" and "dark" state.
It's cool that your (more than likely) overpriced shit you call fashion donates the proceeds (I'd like to see a balance sheet to see what the costs were, by the way) to underprivelaged moms but how about you be as charitable to music fans and just fucking stop. With Attack Attack!, Brokencyde, the Millionaires, Coldplay...god there's just too many to list...save us the suffering of another vanity project from some shithead Hollywood asshole who didn't have the balls to curtail his kids "creativity" by being honest and telling him he sucks worse than H.I.'s forehead in National Treasure.
This quote is the most telling, ""I come from a lineage of great artists," he said. "I just want to contribute to my genre and honor my family." Goddamn, I honestly don't know if you're succeeding or failing. Let's go with failing. Oh, and one last thing. Take those gauntlets on your forearms and BASH YOURSELF IN THE BALLS REALLY FUCKING HARD so we can be sure this "lineage of great artists" ends with your diaper stain.

Friday, July 3, 2009

LiveFastDie is Done.

Goddamnit. All we got was one incredibly trashy album (Bandana Thrash, which I finally scored on vinyl after performing my first reading) and a bunch of killer 7"s. Wait, what the fuck am I saying? That's way more than I had any right to expect from the purveyors of such classics as "Bombed over Sixpackistan," "Fat Guy with an iPod," "Passing Out (in Front of the Children)" and the inimitable "Pissing on the Mainframe" (which you can hear shortly).
I drove with my girlfriend at the time up to SXSW a few years ago early as FUCK so we could catch LiveFastDie and get trashed before Turbonegro. It was pretty rockin'. Ian from the Riverboat Gamblers couldn't believe how fast they were live and let me tell you, brother, it wasn't a bad thing. Of course, Angela bitching at me about taking a Jager shot every other song was the only downer of what would've been an otherwise perfect rock 'n' roll experience. Hopefully, Camero Werewolf and co. will bring about some new scumpunk ventures but until then we can only weep that there won't be any more debaucherous and drunken insanity that there music stood to represent. And yes, I know the interviewer is a dork (oh really, sherlock? they're songs are about things? I never knew music worked like that!)

Sunday, June 28, 2009

The Rise of Douche-Core: Part Deux...che! Girls Turn!

first off, the Dead Kennedy checked out the douche-core post today and while his jaw was resting comfortably on his balls he did make this comment about Brokencyde and their brethren, "I think I hate this more than I hate religion." Looks like "Jihad for Rock 'N' Roll Motherfuckers" might get retired!
I have a friend at work with whom I trade horrendous music videos on Facebook and through this some other folks decided to experience the audio raping that is Brokencyde. One of the kids, turned me on to a band that is along the same lines but is female. And...I...oh Bog just experience it for yourself. Sorry, in advance.

. Okay, skanks, I'm sorry the Suicide Girls decided to have standards and told you to take a hike but recording an album as a means of revenge just means that we all have to suffer your poorly thought out, sub-Rock of Love Bus whoredom. Look, I get it. You were scene whores who trolled around with the hipsters who then passed you around like a mirror full of coke in Studio 54 only to be castigated to desperate booty call status because they felt you were meh enough that their peers wouldn't make fun of them for fucking you. Hey, that was wrong, but obviously you were willing participants in the scenario and felt that breaking your pelvis in two to more easily imbibe Decemberists' Fan #1's seed was a sure fire way to become Queens of the Scene! Didn't work out so well, huh?
I'm sorry your parents wouldn't let you cake on pounds of make-up in middle school (it helps hide the herpes sores in your video though, so, props for learning necessity) but is that need to create a superficial image of a vapid whore who wants nothing more than men to fawn over her for some arbitrary standard of beauty only to exploit them in revenge for the way you were exploited so expulsivlry urgent to your soul that it warranted a song, let alone video? It seems counterproductive to me.
And, hey, Millionaires, I'm sorry to get so shallow here but I lower my standard of critique based on what's placed in front of me: are you pulling the whole MySpace picture deal? You know, you we can't see any of you from the neck down so how do we know you're not all hogzilla past the equator? Or that your tits are lopsided? Or that I would be able to see the syphilis leaking out your vag down your leg?
Like I said, it's a bullshit, arbitrary standard of beauty (well, except the STD thing. No one is gonna defend that) but you obviously want to play up the coy, ditzy ready to "take off [your] underwear" party girl aspect musically and asthetically so it's only fair to be honest.
Or how about this. You quit playing music. Quit being empty, shallow, and lame and listen to some Bikini Kill records. And your casual attitude towards exploiting your sexuality (well, I'm not sure you have any but you seem arrogant enough to act like you do so I'll play along) to dupe mongoloid male's into satiating your desire for booze seems destined for an end that is sure to be unpleasant but given your music and lyrics might not be entirely undeserved. I hope you skanks get an offer to be Phil Spector's new girl group.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

The Rise of Douche-core (Temporary Term Until I Come Up with Something Better)

America has an infatuation with people of the lowest common denominator. We revel in the trash tabloid antics of reality TV stars, go nuts over books and blogs dealing with insufferable, extremely ego-maniacal specimens of humanity and just can't wait until these people actually end up recording albums.
The number 1 dream of most kids is to be a pop-star (I was willing to split it about dead even with movie star but since most movie stars desperatley want to shit out a record I think my final assertion is correct) and for many who find fame via a leaked sex tape, an E! tv series or even YouTube stars this is the desired goal of all their self-inflicted humilation and vicious public dissection of personality. While their music always fucking sucked at least you knew they had to suffer somewhat before their dreams were finally crushed and they were thrown back to the confines of the Vh1 meat grinder. Now, we have bands that have bypassed that whole scene and are exploding into mainstream consciousness with some of the most dull, horrid and bafflingly popular music. It's like these people went into an A & R dickhead's office and pitched themselves and the music was tailored to fit their extra vinegary scent of failure.
Welcome to Douche-Core, people. Whereas it would make sense for some dumb cunt with big fake tits like Heidi from the Hills to drop an album (in logical terms it actually doesn't. There is no way in hell anyone should let that bitch within ten feet of even a karaoke machine. But, because these wasted souls are such attention whores looking to exploit the Us Weekly readers and gossip hounds for as much cash as possible they have to offer as much product as possible before they move on to the next pop-culture car crash) the fact that Asher Roth, Brokencyde and ThreeOh3! have shat thier wretchedness onto wax and the internet signals a new low in the human race. Not only because these bands exist but because people are eagerly wallowing in their output. Hey, I wouldn't be talking about these fucking twats unless they had made enough of a ripple to make in my radar via work (oh yeah, the popped collar crowd goes nuts for Asher and Three while the Hot Topic poodle-core kids can't get enough of Brokencyde) or random shit talking on music blogs.
When I tell friends about just how fucking appalling this shit is they immediately accuse me of self-righteous hyperbole. Well, here is Exhibit fucking A: Brokencyde:

Wow. There is so much wrong there I don't know where to begin. The Flock of Seagulls haircuts? The preponderance of hot pink and 80's day-glo attire? The bored looking skanks? The insanely disgusting misogny? Oh wait, these are aesthetic complaints and I'm here to bitch about the music exclusively. Okay. WHO THE FUCK THOUGHT ANYTHING IN THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA? It's like the beat was ripped from one of those clubs you find New Jersey guido's with orange tan and rock hard spiked hair trying to date rape some shore chicks. Let's ignore the auto-tuner because that shit has been beat into the ground and it's understandable for a bunch of white, suburban New Mexico dorks to worship and mimic anything Kanye West does but the screamo shit? YYYYYOOOOOOOOOOOW! Really? I guarantee you the band meeting when they decided to include that garbage (maybe at a later date we can imagine the one where the decided to have the mascot from Piggly Wiggly in the band) went something like this:
Poodle-core Brah #1: Brah, man that beat is so tight and yo like my rhymes about bitches and shit gettin' messay and not wantin' them dykes around cuz they fuck with my penis flow are DA BOMB but we just sound like every otha whitey shorty (high pitched voice) PLAYA PLAYA out in the game and deez streets. We gotsta set ourselves apart and pay respect that yo-core shit that is our ROOTZ, DAWG!
Poodle-core Brah #2: For reelz, homie. We be whack without something for dem hoes at Visible Changes who hooked us up with this fly dye-job and feathered spikes to get wet over. They always be clocking my shit when I'm shopping for fresh lime green and hot pink duds at da Hot Topic. Wait, that's it son! We gon do that screamin' shit like those bands they play in the store! You spits that hot fiyah and I'll go YOOOOOOOOOOW! after the verse and we'll get like all dem suburban shorties panties MOIST, PLAYA!
Poodle-core Brah #1: DAAAAAAMN! That is some smart shit son! Dad, yo pops! You bankrollin' dis here piece so what you think?
Poodle-Core Brah #1's Dad who is financing his fuck up child's retarded musical endeavor: Well son, it is always good to cross promote yourself and to diversify you're musical style so that it can attract as wide a crowd as possible.
(Poodle-core Brah's stare at each other like Stephen Hawking just delivered a speech on physics)
Poodle-core Brah #1: Soooooo? You'll still front us the cake, pops?
Dad: (sighs) Yes, Bradley. (flips the kid his check book then retreats to his bedroom to swallow a shotgun)
Now we get MTV whoring this bile out and don't the kids just love it. All three of these talentless (sorry, I expended all of my hatred on Brokencyde and do not want to suffer through Asher Roth or ThreeOH3! again) assholes are gaining in popularity and duping a generation who was weaned on Limp Bizkit into further musical idiocy. It's bands and fads like this that really make me glad the record industry is almost fucking dead.

Monday, June 15, 2009

Why are You People Freaking Out Over this Fucktard?

Usually, I wouldn't waste my hatred ranting about shit like American Idol but the whole Adam Lambert deal is just confusing the ever lovin' shit outta me. Of course, the fact that people would worship some schmuck just cause they won an arbitrary karaoke contest is beyond my comprehension but folks are treating this guy-liner sporting twat like the second coming. Weep, for the state of modern music, my friends.
So, homeboy is on the cover of the new Rolling Stone and I've had customers at work flip the fuck out over the rag even willing to pay a five dollar shipping fee since they can't make it over to pick up a copy (what are there no Stop N Go's near your house?). It's really funny to me how people seem to think this kid has an edge or is representing anything remotely close to rock 'n' roll. He's just another asshole who has servicable pipes and wants to ride the major label gravy train until the world moves onto the next big parade. When I explain this to people (usually dressed in wretched 80's throwback attire and neon) they get upset and tell me the Rolling Stone interview has a lot of juicy tidbits and sets him apart from past Idol contestants.
Spoiler, idiots, no it doesn't. He is no different than anyone else on the show and let me explain this to you point by point playing devils advocate to set up the arguments.

1. HE'S GAY!
Whoopdie shit. Is that really the most compelling thing about this asshat? The fact that he likes the cock and is open about it? Besides, you knew he was gay before he outed himself in Rolling Stone (for fucks sakes Entertainment Weekly pretty much outed him when they did a cover story on him). Is that such a big deal for you that we have a pop star that is into the same sex? Boy George, Elton John, George Michael...the list goes on forever of successful gay men who have wrecked the pop charts while never hiding their sexuality (and if you ever had a doubt about George Michael seek help). So what's the big deal about him saying, "Yeah, I'm gay," in print? How does that add to your enthusiasm for him? Does he go into detail about how prefers facials, grabs ankles and considers himself a bottom? NO. Besides, Clay Aiken did the same exact thing except he waited a few years to admit to the truth when he desperately needed publicity. Get the fuck over it.

2. He's a rocker!
No, he's not. Just because he picked good tunes (I've never seen the show but know of the songs he butchered) doesn't mean he is some devil may care rebel out to revolutionize the American Idol brand. He is a simple yes man doing whatever the puppet masters at his label impart upon him. American Idol stars' albums follow whatever trend is popular in music at the time and since Green Day is the biggest band on the planet they decided to go with the kid who likes to shriek and will appeal to the rowdy side of the teeny bopper set. Besides, Bo Bice and Chris Daughtry already did it. Oh and let's not ignore the fact the he slaughtered EVERY SINGLE FUCKING SONG he sang. He robbed "Mad World" of all it's impact and beauty with a blase cover. His Johnny Cash go? Fucking dreadfull and I'm sure the Man in Black is spinning in his grave right now. And how the fuck dare do you cover Queen. There is no way in hell you could move people the way Freddy Mercury did. That man could lift you to the top of the mountain or drag you to hell with his voice. And double fuck you since because you're gay you should know not to disgrace a pioneer like Freddy fucking Mercury.

3. OMG! An American Idol that Does Drugs? HOT!
Wow, it's almost like they want these kids to act like actual rock stars! Soccer moms be damned! Oh wait, there was some fat chick who was on Celebrity Rehab for being a coke-head and a drunk. Yeah, strike three, Adam. Fuck off and tell your cult of fans to drink the purple Kool-Aid.

And in case you were wondering, yes, I fucking hate myself for knowing this much about American Idol.

Monday, May 25, 2009

The Most Fucking Epic Request I've Gotten from a Mexico City Tourist

It's no lie that I hate the fresas (thanks, Bianca!). You know the wealthy as fuck tourists from Mexico City who come down to Texas and instantly begin to act like Euro-Trash, tossing cash around like they're PacMan Jones, treating the staff wherever they go like shit and just existing as all around examples of failed humanity.
I used to think it was the book store that got the brunt of the bullshit from these fuckers but after hanging out with fellow slaves to the Galleria (even some who used to work there a decade ago) I've found I'm not alone. We all fucking hate these people and their endless amounts of cash and excessive demands (no, cockstain, season five of Lost is not out yet) and happiness at watching their children wreck shit while screaming out for one another at the top of their lungs. But, I met one guy who made me realize maybe all the mini-fresas aren't just emo-manga-Twihard-dorks (most insane requests are made at the behest of the litte brats at home). Some of them actually know good shit. This is what I got asked for while the only other punk rocker employed at my store stood by as our jaws simultaneously dropped and turned into big Charlie Brown grins.

Monday, May 18, 2009

Two Oz Skanks Teach You How to Fuck Mediocre Bands

I don't actually know if these chicks are Austrailian or not but seeing as how they're proud of fucking Silverchair...it's a pretty safe bet. So, here we have two pretty meh hookers giving you advice on fucking way past their prime alternative, metal or hardcore bands. Hey ladies, if you CAN'T get a guy in a hardcore band to fuck you then you just need to give up on men. Those dudes are some of the most mongoloid motherfuckers who will stick their dick in just about anything. There is no artform. Just show them your vag and if they aren't edge they will jump right on that shit.
Oh and you think it was skill with your poon that got you nailed by Scott Vogel? The dude who says shit like this on stage, "This song is a new one so if you know the words come and help me singalong it's called "Keep Your Mouth Shut!"?" You're lucky he didn't shit himself mid-coitus. And tour managers? Honey, that takes you way down on the groupie chain when you brag about fucking a tour manager. It burns my soul to think that the Madden brothers are getting laid or Jamey Jasta is wasting gash just for being in the most base hardcore band on the planet but a tour manager should never get groupie sniz. That just means you really don't believe in the primal power of your wretched cunt.
10 bucks says VH1 is gonna greenlight a bootcamp style reality show on these two syphelitic skanks.

Saturday, May 9, 2009

The Most Awesome Band Fight Ever

Sorry for the lack of updates around here but I'm just too miserable lately to try and pound out some new vapid, hostile and juvenile criticism of shitty bands and other pop culture maladies. Hopefully, after having a 3 day vacation from the utter hell that is my job (I want to carpet bomb Mexico City just so I don't have to hear a request for a motherfucking TV show that is currently airing or a movie that hasn't even been released yet) I can get my head right and keep the hate alive. With that said, here is a tiny morsel of joy.
If you've never seen Dig!, Netflix that shit pronto, children. It's not going to change your life or anything but it certainly will provide loads of entertainment wathcing two groups of competing douchebags try to cash in on the mid-90's indie scene. The singer of the Dandy Warhols pretty much made this film as revenge on Brian Jonestown Massacre's Anton Newcombe but he comes off smelling just as vinegary.
The highlight of the film comes when BJM are playing for some major label execs and then Anton gets all hurt pussy over somebody fumbling a power chord and goes fucking beserk. See that little twat with the Spock hair and pretending to be an important member of the band? That's Anton's only fucking friend and defender throughout the whole flick and even he gets a tongue lashing for failing at the maraccas. Not even Axl Rose could top an end to a band fight with a line like, "Fucking broke my si-TAR, motherfucker!"

Sunday, April 19, 2009

We Interrupt Your Usual Music Nazism for this Important Message: Yao to Portland

New York Post Solicits Headlines from 12 Year Olds


"Stinkees?" Really? Is that the best they could fucking come up with? What, was Suckees" too offensive to print? Was journalist Daddy so bombed off the 9 dollar PBR that he let junior punch that shit out on his laptop? How about the "Shitees?" That actually rolls off the toungue with great ease.
I can't believe a staff of people get paid a salary to come up with a headline that goddamned ridiculous. I should give them credit for runnning that awesome picture with it (not as awesome as this though) but for a city heralded as having the most brutal and unforgvingly nasty tabloids that is some weak shit.

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Thank the FUCK Christ...Blender is No More

Whew. It's like the Jihad for Rock 'N' Roll has won a small victory in that Blender Magazine will no longer be defiling music journalism. Yeah, those fuckers have folded and it really is for the best. Just look at all that garbage written on the cover (not to mention WHO is on the cover) and tell me Blender didn't need to go the way of the DoDo.
While it is good to have as many music mags out there covering different genres and styles and trying to spread what the writers feel is good music to the massess...Blender just wasn't one of them.
They focused more on hopping on trendy artists and spent way too much being celebutard starfuckers to ever write anything substantial about music. Nothing but endless bullshit lists, flavor of the month pop-culture stars (usually chicks with big tits...seriously, if you ever put Tila Tequila on your magazine cover you immediately lose all credibility in covering music and well, anything), and reviews so trite and pointless it often made you wonder whether the critics had ever actually listened to the disc in the first place.
Oh, yeah and they declared Perez Hilton the new Pitchfork once upon a time. That's not saying I like Pitchfork at all (I really fucking hate that site) but at least their writers are somewhat informed on music and aren't just sucking the corporate cock on new pop divas.
Blender was the bastard son of Maxim but for people who desperately wanted to be a part of the Abercrombie hipster music snob set and the world is a better place for its demise.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

You Would Assume I Would Write Something Totally Harsh and Fucking Cruel About A-Rod Before This...But...Here We Are

A. He has stuck his dick in post-Warren Beatty Madonna (and that ain't saying much).
B. He is on the most despised team in all of sports (American, that is).
C. His fans even can't stand his no-clutch performances in the post-season.
D. Heir Selig annointed him as the Golden Boy to save the game from the curse of Barry Bonds, the Roidcket and Big Mac and he comes up as guilty as the rest of them.
E. And then pictures like these.

Followed by his desperate success in quashing the revelation of what his favorite Madonna song is so he doesn't get hurt pussy in visiting stadiums.
What else could I say about this complete, total and utter twat-muffin? Alex Rodriguez bonds himself to narcissistically compulsive acts of wanton douchedom like AIDS bonds itself to T-Cells.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Disembowel Yourselves with Wooden Hooking Spoons, Otaku Enthusiasts

I cannot fucking stand Otaku. These, for those thankfully unaware, are manga (Japanese comic book) fanatics who are pretty much the bane of my existence at work.
Look, I'm an unapologetic nerd and have respect for other peoples genre fandom (except for the Twihards. Fucking die.) but these douchetards are some of the lamest motherfuckers ever to grace the planet. Should you be an avid reader of Naruto, Fruit's Basket, or anything resembling that retardedness here is why I hate the fact that your are in my bookstore.
Just like comics, records, baseball cards and your dad's subscription to Playboy, there are people who have collections of manga because they are so jazzed on the genre. Don't ask me why. Given that, please don't get upset when I tell you that you can't take the entire 57 book run of Tentacle Rape Happy Time Explosion off to TRY and finish before we close up shop. Yeah, folks. We have a couple of kids who spend just about 10 hours every fucking day in the store just reading manga. Of course, they don't work which is why they treat us like Manga Library Central but my hatred and obvious contempt for these losers is actually starting to drive them away.
Anyways, the reason I will allow to have two books off the shelf at a time is that there are people who come into the store and want to buy a series in bulks of 5 or 6. If Stunted Emotional Growth in My Chemical Romance Fan's 10-15 are in your pile while you're still reading #2, well, we don't get that money and the customer is upset. Oh, what is that? You're a customer? NO YOU ARE NOT. Customers come in with the potential to purchase items. You come in knowing damn well you'll never spend a fucking dime in the bookstore and only read our books because:
A. Comic shops kick your little emo assess out if they even catch you glancing at a page for more than a second (this is why with ALL series runs they only carry the first and last three). And
B. The public library (I'm told) has a shitty selection of manga.
So, from here on out you can pretty much guess I treat these kids like the cheap little creeps they are. It isn't just because they don't buy anything (shit, we get regulars in all the time who do the same that I don't mind), it's the fact that they horde shit people want to buy. Oh, and the fact that most of the kids are thieves.
When we received our loss results for the year we were all shocked to learn that books were higher than multimedia. I am confident most of that came from manga kids. Why? Because I find our (lame) security devices and shrink wrap and coding stickers for manga allover the goddamn store, tucked away in the darkest corners of a bookshelf. We have caught and banned more people for trying to rip manga or other Otaku product (toys, snacks, posters) than we have for stealing CD's. That's fucking impressive. Oh, and it's not just the Otaku shit they steal. These wretched souls have a strong preclivity for stealing sex books too. That, I can live with. At least they are getting some form of erotic stimulation other than a bare twat school girl getting her vag pounded by some ancient demons billion tentacle looking phallus.
And let's not forget that these kids damage fucking collectibles. No one is gonna buy a manga that has the front cover bent, the spine broken and grease and Bog knows what else smearing the pages. Recently, I've noticed a few of our regular beings with human similarities abusing these books and I'm now allowed to tell 'em that they have to buy the book or get out of the store...for good.
Unfortunately, I haven't had the chance to do that yet since these manga kids are so into their addiction they can't risk giving up a free score. But, they'll slip up and my world for 8 hours a day will be brighter. My advice to them is to grow the fuck up, start buying the shit they like or just move onto some new free form of avarice. There's always Internet porn.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Sunday, February 22, 2009

Yo! 51 Minds, Let's Make This Shit Real...PRONTO!

The other day Black Nathan called me up to give me some good news. It seemed that Rock of Love (sweet fucking christ if you're not watching this skanktastic train wreck of plastic surgeon enhanced daddy issues what the fuck is wrong with you?) would continue past this third season but with Glenn Danzig. They would re-title the show Rock of Love:Brides of Satan and goddamn if I wasn't giddy if not entirely skeptical. Of course, a 2 second research session later I found out it was just some bullshit a random kid posted on the VH1 messageboards. No big deal, but still a loss for all of us. When you think about it, of course it had to be fake. I mean, how many chicks under three feet that are into metal could they round up to act like they wanna fuck Danzig? You can't really have the ladies slut it up when they are barred from sporting the clear heels.
If, for some divine reason, the producers of Rock of Love decide to take this little idea with any sort of seriousness (really, what the fuck is Danzig doing aside from trying to find funding for his sure to be shit horror movie?) let me add some suggestions for the potential challenges on the show:
Who Can Produce the Best Fake Southern Accent Despite Being Born in New Jersey

Chicken Sacrificing Judged on Speed, Ease AND the Amount of Blood That Can Be Slathered Over Pert Titties

Defend Your Man After He is Knocked Out for Talking Shit to the Openers and Being a Total Dickwad

Who Can Change My Colostomy Bag in the Most EEEEVIL Manner

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

R.I.P. Lux Interior

The Cramps have long been one of my favorite bands. From the first moment I heard them (it might have been Return of the Living Dead or Near Dark or one of the myriad punk compilations I ravenously consumed in my pre-teen years...shit I think the first exposure of any sort I had to 'em was a poster on Christian Slater's wall in Gleaming the Cube), I was blown away. My parents were a unified front in never allowing me to purchase any of their tapes or discs when they took me to the record store but I made damn sure to head back out on my own, purchase and then hide those treasures well.
My column in the Daily Cougar, Stay Sick, was named after the first Cramps album I purchased and from them I learned to appreciate a lot of early rockabilly and country classics I might not have discovered otherwise. Those Songs We Taught the Cramps compilations you can find contain a wealth of awesome music to dig on. And even though they would be credited with the genre "psychobilly" Lux and Co. never felt that label truly described their music. However, they sure as shit set a standard all the slap-bass AFI wanna-be's will never near.
Live...they were always ferocious with Lux leading the way. The last time I saw the band perform he seemed to have never lost a step. Like a chicken-fried, high-heeled maniac he strut across the stage, fellating and draining multiple bottles of wine (note: this almost exact description which ran in my review is now you cannot use the term "fellate" at the Daily Cougar) while making you feel lethargic even though you were ragin' like no tomorrow.
To Poison Ivy, Lux's friends, family and fans, Please Kill Yourself offers their collective condolences.

Monday, February 2, 2009

The Boss Will Rape You in the Face

Jesus titty fucking christ who put the benny's in Bruce's water before the Haltime Show? I kept expecting him to dislocate a hip or eat it face first after jumping on the piano. But, man, that crotch slide into the camera? What in the fuck was he thinking. I'm sure the guy on the recieving end of the Boss' goods is gonna be suing for getting tea bagged on national television even though you couldn't see the actual event taking place.

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Heads Will Explode: Pink Eyes (Fucked Up) on Fox News

The guy interviewing Damian is an annoying little douche. That said, he is proclaiming The Chemistry of Common Life the best album of '08 and the "most fully realized punk CD in years" (whatever the fuck that means) and the fact that he is doing that on Fox News means he will escape my ire...for now. He gets props for also not calling them "Effed Up." Aren't we all old enough to know they're just saying FUCK anyways?
Please somebody tip Bill O'Reily off to this interview so he can get all "culture warrior" on the band.

Saturday, January 17, 2009

Dear Synth Players: Quit Being Boring (at Least on Stage)

I don't know why the laziest members of bands (at least currently) have the least amount to do. I'm talking about this new pretentious dance trend going on and how the synth/keyboard players are the ones with the least to do and seemingly showing the least interest while on stage. What the fuck? Friday I met up with Dead and his boyfriend at some indie-dance show and was pretty shocked at the sheer dullness going on at stage left. Picture this: some chick with a ridiculous hipster hair-do that when tossed just so can either look like a fashion mullet or emo obsessed style. Either way, she is trying way too hard to be cool. Add to that the heroin chic body along with some overpriced faux-vintage re-sale dress and a constant look of utter disdain for what she was doing and you have your typical synth/keyboard player sucking the life out of whatever energy the front of her band is striving to relay to the not drunk enough audience. Pretty lame, right? Well at least I fucking think so. This whole sect of the non-mainstream, as my brother would describe it, the "indie-dance hipster scene" and their bands are built upon the person with the mic with commanding stage presence and nothing else. None of the bands that are heralded (Crystal Castles, Muscles, shit even Le Tigre) succeed live without a compelling presence at center stage. And it is that minor requirement that has allowed this scene to flourish so vibrantly. While a few of the bands that have spawned off countless, boring drones (Le Tigre, The Gossip before the went disco) have actual merit to their work most simply are there just to tour and derive an inflated ego from a false belief that they have imparted some art or insight on the audience. Last night was no different. Sorry, they were just there to dance. Von Iva were a fun live band simply because of their singer. She was sexy, had a terrific voice and worked the crowd into a frenzy but when you stripped the music of how it plays in a live setting, you're left with a CD you'd be pissed you spent your last fiver on over a beer at midnight. And the fact that they mined the primal, so base your stroke victim granny could've beat that shit into the ground drum beat for EVERY SONG made the initial lustre cast upon the group fade faster than the sheen on dogshit roasting on the sidewalk. The point is, most of these bands aren't even part of a passing fad. They are endemic of a party culture that is as throw away as the 80's Brit-pop spike. Good for MAYBE a single but on the whole just fun for a night. Sorry to get distracted with some music Nazism but the main crux of this rant was to be about the synth/keyboard players. First off, they're not really musicians. They just cue up whatever fucking track was pre-programmed in the pre-tour practice sessions and then strain to slightly press on one of their Hammond programmed keys. If they actually helped to compose the beats (which are mainly stolen), and work around that to deliver something unique it could be forgiven. But, that ain't the case. So, what you get is random ass hipster #1 who evokes the height of this years fashion trend and can capably not get too piss drunk before a performance to pretend like she/he ( is doing something that matters. Now, I am no insisting you get these plebeians to actually contribute to the band because their lack of skill and talent will surely wreck your 15 minute career. I just ask they act like they are fucking rocking while monitoring the tempo changes. Exhibit FUCKING A: This is Dragonforce. At no time should a metal band employ a keyboardist. I can delve into that statement another time but for now you're just gonna have to trust me. These D & D lovin' lads didn't but let's take a look at the result:
Dragonforce - Through The Fire And Flames

Did you see that shit? He is easily the most useless member of that band and he obviously knows it. How can I tell? Because the son of a bitch is head banging harder than any of the dudes shredding scales. And that is exactly what he should be doing. This bull with tits knows that he is within an inch of his life with the band and if he just goes all Viv Savage he won't get his Rock Band residuals anymore. Maybe this is an extreme example because he is a superfluous member of the band who actually has something to lose but I think you get the point. If this cat can go the fuck off all of the pilled out hipster cunts whose instrumentation is nothing more than pressing a button can certainly liven things up on stage. And if that is too difficult, just give up. At life.
For fucks sakes I've seen record player player's (aka DJ's) with more enthusiasm.

Saturday, January 10, 2009

R.I.P. Ron Asheton

Sorry this is a few days late but I've actually been social this week. Ron Asheton was a fucking phenomenal guitarist. And for you writing purists out there who are saying, "Hey, man! You can't make a fucking statement like that without qualifying it and going on for paragraphs specifically describing how he was, "phenomenal!" FUNHOUSE. There. One word, one album title. THAT should shut you the fuck up. And if it doesn't? Well, shit! I'm glad I wasn't born with your puny ears or that Evander Holyfield brain you are sportin' right now, cockstain!
I know there are a lot of chunkheads out their that like to blow guys who can shred scales with one hand (and yet the Ventures never cross their mind and Dick Dale is only forced upon their guitarist worship vernacular because of Pulp Fiction) who will bitch about that statement. So, go and fuck yourself with a Freddy Krueger glove. Maybe innovating an instrument and its sound is more important than wanking off up and down the neck like it's your two inch cock? Yeah, I think so. Steve Vai can eat a bag of dicks. The Asheton brilliance comes from the utterly primal, ID-induced, caveman-like nature of his guitar riffs. And I can think of no better example of his scuzzed out sonic assault on the senses than this tune. R.I.P., brother.

Monday, January 5, 2009

I'm on Vacation

Maybe, there will be some new shit posted. I'm working on a couple of things right now (and plotting a PRINT return of Please Kill Yourself) but this is probably how I will be spending my week of vacation. Sorry, I go off.