Another weekend, another tinder message, another reason to listen to Ariel Pink at a moderate volume

Another weekend is another paradox like soft rock or sweet and sour sauce. ˈper-ə-ˌdäks: “a tenet contrary to received opinion”. Weekends are conversation fodder for people you didn’t hang with. Weekends are also ways to get back at the system that likes to lock you up in an overly air conditioned office building.

Pink’s rock palate recalls a time of coke and alcohol fueled ballads and  what I like most about this aesthetic is his sensitivity towards his online audience. It’s like, he understands B2B and P2P entrepreneurship better than I do. I never pirate Pink’s shit. Pink is the singer who made me rethink my pirating habits. And for that I owe him a sock in the gut (probably because I want to see him spit in front of me while hunched over holding his stomach). He’s a pop guru. So when I go to my mom and ask her what she thinks I should do with my life, she replies “anything”. And when I listen to Ariel Pink and think, what kind of girl should I try and sleep with, he strums an F major 7 and sings “any girl in the world, bud”. To which I’m humbled and later frustrated by when she treats me like a piece of meat on a stick.

Oh Ariel, gone are the days of coke and alcohol fueled studio sessions with label execs throwing hundreds in the furnace. For that I offer my sincerest condolences. But when all is said and done, Ariel is the sort of guy who would’ve walked out of the studio too high to even grab his paycheck. So, when Ariel is sitting up in his lonely, wine stained apartment logging in and out of instagram, facebook or whatever app strikes his fancy, what he’s really saying is “I’m sorry I never got to fake a drug habit with my dad while the eagles played on a ghetto blaster- and I’m sorry that all my friends think I’m Sofia Loren in a man’s body.



Joe Corre and the Punk Burning Episode

Does anyone remember late last year when Joe Corre, the son of the Sex Pistols manager burned 5 million British pounds worth of punk memorabilia on the river Thames? Well, in case you missed it, Joe Corre, the son of the Sex Pistols Manager Malcolm Mclaren burned 5 million pounds worth of punk memorabilia. Why did he do it? Sources vary. I would speculate that Joe grew tired of the mythologizing of punk rock music. When was the last good punk band you heard? Probably something from the 70s that you streamed on youtube, in punk fashion. Punk means very little today. The DIY movement was bastardized with diyers who owned pinterests and who bought ad space on blogs. DIY became exactly what punk rejected. But this is no time for irony. The only irony here is that he hadn’t done it sooner. But what I am dying to know is how did punk get mythologized in the first place? I mean, I know green day and I’ve always been a green day fan from the beginning. And in spite of the fact that they’re songs started to bland over time, they messages of the songs only seemed to get more and more punk the further they went. Green day didn’t sell out, punk was too attractive of a genre to let spoil in the piss smelling corner of a dingy nightclub. The idea behind punk was that a bunch of kids who hated their parents and school and simply loved music more than either of those things, could hang out and share similar interests. It was like group dating on tinder but for kids who had sexual fantasies with guitar riffs, skinny jeans and anti-establishment logos. It was a way for the youth to sidestep traditional avenues of art to something that relied solely on the inhibition of young teenagers. Bands like the replacements and the buzzcocks and not to mention, the sex pistols fostered these inhibitions so carefully and delicately that their only method of appeal was through carelessness and recklessness. A punker could only sabotage his mediocre life as an office assistant by doing everything in his power to revile the affections of the ‘office types’ the executives, corporate junkies, investors and businessmen. To wear a suit, was suicide.

Wear the patch, sing the songs and be part of a movement that looks like socialism, but functions like fascism, smells like anti-socialism, but fosters group love and self-empowerment, tastes like piss, but gets you high like heroin, feels like rock, but makes you think like a college boy. Punk needed no understatement, no banners, or logos for the average adult to understand it’s importance. The meaning was unequivocal and self-implied. So when Joe Corre, took a torch to his expensive shirt, what he was really saying was “punk is not a label”. Punk is a belief system. It’s the feeling that you get when the world wraps it’s cold wrinkled fingers around your throat. It’s the feeling that opens your eyes to something that you felt when you were still young and didn’t need an excuse to want to care about people. It’s the feeling when you saw life as it made sense to you, and not as someone else wanted it to appear. Over the years, many have listed punk musicians in their influences list on wikipedia pages and band interviews, but few have actually embodied the term. The true believers, the ones who played with their heart because their brain didn’t know any better, wrote songs for people like me, who just needed someone to tell them that it was okay to not give a shit. Punk said what people needed to hear, whether they liked it or not. Punk gave people hope that the rich white faceless men who ran the country might have a pair of ears, and at the end of those nerve endings, a brain that could add 2 + 2 and get 4. It wasn’t enough for punk to reach teens, but it gave kids the story that they needed to hear. There is no glory in speaking the truth because the truth hurts, and is unpleasant to hear. So now it’s time to four chord out of this bitch because life is short and so is my sex pistols tee.

Angel Olsen = GOAT

Angel Olsen, a fan favorite among folk straddlers. A new voice for women of the folk persuasion. She tantalizes the audience and instagram followers with her chicanery and vintage charm. Her short rockabilly bangs and flair for couture fashion. I first heard Angel as I was randomly visiting the jagjaguwar website which I’d discovered upon hearing Jaguar Ma for the first time and was delightfully surprised by the post-modern usage of the term jaguar – a quintessential animal in Mexican folklore and culture. Who can forget the apocalypto scene in which the lead bro escapes his death through cunning and device. It was something out of a James Bond film.



In any event, Angel’s boyish face leapt out at me as if I’d arranged the meeting myself. She sang ‘come on, kiss me, hold me tight’ without a grueling monicker and such that it trickled down the nape of my neck like a drop down a leaf. As she stood on the top of the car with her out-of-date music equipment, I gripped the edge of my realspace PRO office chair and rubbed my fingers through my hair only to repeat the gesture on the bulge of my chin. What finer specimen of women rocker, I thought, “this one is a star”. I call ’em like I see em. How shameful that only now do I have the pretense to give her her due. It must have been the endless repeats of “lights out” her soulful ballad off of her debut album- perhaps the real reason why I’ve come to write this blog post. The song is a simple Johnny Cash Tribute, but sung to a young man whose desires may be unfounded or ill advised. She serenades with the patience and soft spokenness of someone who may have had more than a few run ins with guys like this. I know this girl, I thought.

My first real crush was on a girl just like this, and she never let me forget it. This is a girl who never lets her emotions get the best of her; plays it cool at every stop; She preys on men who are just the opposite. The men who casually stroll in and stroll out. The men who are there one minute, gone the next; the men who pay more attention to their eye-frames than to the scent of the company he keeps. I think it’s fair to say that Angel has taken a backseat in this romantic horror show. But enough about me.

Now, if only I had the spare change to buy myself a nice copy.



I don’t use spotify because it is a bane on the existence of artists everywhere.

Walk on by – a song

Thundercat’s Walk on By is a soft and psychedelic song from his new album, Drunk. Thundercat’s vocals are very soothing as he sings about wanting to get drunk in company as opposed to being alone and combing through his personal cul-de-sacs. The dissonance of the guitar compliments the mood of the lyrics. He is singing from desperation in a world without resolve until he finally realizes that he’s putting his baby on quicksand, and she don’t want to be a part of it. Rotating his eye inwards to catch a glimpse of how he really feels; he’s drunk away half his brain so he relies mostly on his female company to do the thinking for him; and it’s bringing him down, and it’s bringing her down to him because she’s now figured out the truth.

Kendrick’s rhyme is like a lever to turn the personal details into a broader problem that goes around the world and lands back in everyone’s lap. It sounds fragmented and not in line with most of Kendrick’s other flows that have a very clear consistency. One line that evades me is “When the line becomes thin: be a killer or fireman”; There is a lot of angst in this rhyme; I don’t say that to allude to some meta gangster post angst stuff, but to identify a new kind of angst: the angst of a successful rapper who has grown bored of imagery and “hook material” to bend their bones in favor of choppy syntax and non-sequiturs. It’s new, poignant, and certainly catchy and I can’t help but blush severely at the abruptness of the final line !





Dirty Projectors Release New Single “Little Bubble”

Dirty projectors have released a new single entitled “little bubble” which captures the R&B spirit of previous releases. It’s delicate melody conjures images of Dave Longsreth waking up from a lucid dream-state in a cold apartment and spiraling into an existential malaise. It is the first single in a while for the songwriter and is out now via Domino.