Finally. Patrick Wolf has done it. He has managed to fuse New Romantic new wave fluff, delusional nerd Renaissance aural imagery and self-important yet unoriginal computer bleep-blop slop into one gentrified sound. And that sound is the sound of Prop 8 always passing due to ridiculous minstrel shows like Wolf holding the progression back.
The Bachelor, originally claimed to be about war and politics of our time, took an admitted change in direction when Wolf "got depressed" and then "fell in love." Pretty much summing up the self possessed attitude of the youth/indie culture of our time, The Bachelor casts out all relevance to focus in on some paltry reflection of the tribulations of a dude who spends so much time reading NYLON magazine that the Satan spawn who print the fashion rag deemed the album glossy and empty enough to put out on their new record imprint. We suppose it is better for mankind that Wolf focused on his trivial feathery, glitter-filled unreality rather than looking out a world's window for inspiration. Could you imagine poetry by one of the judges from Project Runway on the neo-political climate in the Middle East and the Western World? Oh wait, yeah we can, that's pretty much what Kanye West is, no?
The record opens with the THX trademarked building wave of sound, which we can only hope attracts a major lawsuit. The tracks that follow (many of which featuring Oscar winning weird ass looking chick Tilda Swinton as "The Voice of Hope"....yeahhh, we suppose Cate Blanchett was unavailable, or one of the Hobbits who no longer have careers passed because they had "too much integrity for the part") are entitled "Battle," "The Messenger," "Damaris," "Theseus," etcetera. So obviously NYLON and Wolf will soon be fishing for a crossover deal with World of Warcraft which will totally confuse and disturb the neo-con dorks who think they are Libertarians who play the game all day inbetween talking like Cartman and searching for unseen .avi's from the Columbine security cameras.
We guess if you think The Killers are "too macho" with all the peacock feathers and all, or if you like the snore-ish Renaissance revival of Fleet Foxes but only wish they had a keen fashion sense and some Garageband techno software, then Patrick Wolf will totally wet your hot pink culottes. It's the perfect music to listen to and cry to while watching reality TV. The ultimate soundtrack of our current downward spiraling culture. Maybe Wolf's original concept was right: this just may be a political album afterall..
We would have never attempted to review an electronic album by someone whose album cover and music is a dead ringer for the female version of the delusional and vapid Empire of the Sun. Ever. But when the name kept popping up on various indie blogs across the internet, we had to check it out and report back to you, our dozens of readers, exactly how not-indie this is.
Think Kylie Minogue. That's all. Not mixed with anything. It's just her. Or any shitty electro-pop singer you can think of and that we have no interest in researching to make a comparison. Pop music you will be hearing in your town's mall in a weeks time from an artist, with the real name of Victoria Hesketh, who was eliminated in round three of UK's Pop Idol is being featured on indie rock blogs on the daily. Say what now?
Oh yeah, this is what Hesketh has to say about her album art: “I deconstructed my album artwork: what does this mean, what messages are people going to get? And they’re like, look, we just want something colorful where you look nice,” she says. “I’m like, but what is this saying? I think that’s why I embrace pop music, you can see all these levels in it.” Ughhhh....dude. It's a picture of you making a "fuck me now" face in front of a gay symbol or a Pink Floyd logo (one in the same). You also got some Photoshop fonts up in that piece. What that culturally means to us or anyone is beyond our comprehension, aside from that you are colorful and look nice.... You know like what the "they" in your quote wanted and you claimed to not. I guess that's about as much say as a reality show reject who hooked up with Hot Chip for indie cred gets over at Atlantic Records. Yeah, we don't really think they care that you can play the Japanese electronic Tenori-on, Boots. They care that every song on your record sounds like arena dance pop from ten years ago that has enough "vintage" indie production to be played in American Apparel but with cross-over potential so you could play some KTU Hit Music festival at a state fairground somewhere in Indiana while kids eat fried Coca-Cola and race pigs or whatever goes on at those things.
What was the point of all this? There is none. We wish we never listened to this shit, and in a just world we wouldn't have. We were tricked by some evil press marketing scheme that has Little Boots being covered and clamored over by supposed indie rock journalists. Though she's not only not indie, she's a television fabrication, like a tit-tastic Monkees to Kylie's Beatles. The only excuse would have to be that her label rented her out to indie kids who run shitty blogs for sexual favors in exchange for hype. That is entirely possible on Boots' end, as we wouldn't put that sorta thing past her, but we're not too sure those kids who write on Stereogum or whatever actually know what to do with a woman aside from accessorizing her.
Sorry gang, for the long delay between posts and all, but during our road trip across the U.S. of A back to the Rose City we decided to put a pirated copy of the new Dirty Projectors, "Bitte Orca" on our car stereo and we were lulled to sleep and ended up having to be fished out of the Great Salt Lake. So yeah, that took a bit of time to sort out and all, and for some reason our laptops still somehow work (odd right??) and we've finally heaved all the salt from our lungs and ears and are able to fully marvel in the supreme shittiness that still is the Dirty Projectors.
We mean...what the fuck? This shit is like two steps and a waxed eyebrow away from American Idol. Is that like cool, ironically or otherwise, now? I mean even if it's "cool," is that style of pop standard, vocal self-masturbation immersion of silky jazz now considered indie? Or even indie rock? Or even indie pop? Cuz Dirty Projectors new record (or any of their records) don't really have hooks or anything of pleasure within their postured cleverness and indie retro absurdity. It's just chopped up, jazzy, pseudo versions of like Dean Martin vocal croons by some dude with messy hair and a nasal whine. So yeah, that saps all the melody and smoothness out of those old pop standard songs, the only thing those soulless tracks had going for em, and what's left is just some whiny, gawky douchebag and a bunch of prude lookin' chicks going "oooohhhh-ahhh-ohhhh" and "yea-AH-aahhh" over and over in a bunch of different octaves and rhythms. AKA it is fucking ridiculously absurd and unpleasant to anyone except possibly cats, canine and other small woodland animals who sleep in feces and communicate with shrill irritating sounds.
This band has taken a bad idea like Richard Cheese and his stupid, not funny, pop standard, lounge covers and managed to make it more offensively stomach-turning by expanding that idea to ultra pretentious original "art." Has anyone who sounds like or is inspired by Richard Cheese ever had a good idea? I'm not too sure, not at all, especially if Dirty Projectors is the mental fruition of one such idea. Literally any song and any lyrics could be performed in these jazz vocal arrangements (see their Black Flag cover album we reviewed last month.) Just stretch and hold notes as you sing as often as possible with no notion of the concept of melody while somebody finger picks in alternate tunings...for like five minutes....for like over ten tracks. Imagine the not-quite-all-there people who get tossed off American Idol in those reject shows that the show puts on from time to time to remind everyone how scummy we've all become. The kind of people who don't know when they are crossing the line of any redeeming value at all. Or that kid, who doesn't have the sense that controls embarrassment and a meter for tact, who you went to high school with who made a Facebook music page of themselves singing flat and out of key to the chagrin and delight of every music snob who troll the Internet whilst high looking for absurd shit to die laughing at. That's what "Bitte Orca" is. Only like, they are trying to be that way. They aren't just nuts and unintentionally awesome in a crazy far-out manner. These guys are intentionally awful in a premeditated way. And if you support evil crap like that you really need to get your ass kicked. Seriously, you should just kick your own ass. That would be the only way to repent and make amends to yourself for being such a little snot-nosed bitch. Please only come back to this site with reports of how the cleansing beatdown went. Thanks, or no, maybe you should thank us. We'll wait, as long as it takes. Cuz the I.R.S. cares. Truly, madly...and yes, deeply.
We find it infinitely ironic that the homosexual leader of Grizzly Bear, Ed Droste, is a relative and namesake of the man who founded Hooters. What a waste of nepotistic, mammary perks...unless, Eddie is the one guy who actually goes to Hooters...for the wings.
Hooray, Grizzly Bear are back with another album of precious "rock" named after somewhere the guys randomly looked up on Wikipedia and used because they thought it would make them look "intellectual" and "aristocratic." They should of looked up "imposition" while they were at it. The bouncy keyboard and percussion arrangement on the single "Two Weeks" sound like outtake tracks from Pet Sounds, but with a vocal treatment akin to that of the dead and decomposed Bobby Darin crooning zombie lounge melodies. And that's not a good thing, despite the possible awesomeness that image could conjure. It means it is both bland and lifeless. All of the warm pop sensibilities of the Beach Boys were completely drained like a corpse, leaving the song as a water-logged imitation of the Brian Wilson sound. Like if he fell off his surf board and tried to harmonize while treading water. Too bad Rossen, Droste and the rest of Grizzly Bear didn't drown in their sea of imitation.
And before you apologists start with the branding of us as "crazy" for calling Grizzly Bear a soulless Brian Wilson tribute band of banality, let's take our heads out of our anal asses and take a look at the co-songwriter/sometimes lead vocalist:Nahhhh...this inferential incubator case never even heard of the Beach Boys right? He just enjoys wearing late 60s styled jackets and hanging around farm animals... Just like the guys on one of the most famous album covers ever, for one of the most influential 60's albums of all-time, released by the band his band is compared to... Nope, no way, we bite, Grizzly Bear aren't aping Wilson and his bros at all. Ha. Keep on believing that kids until your daddy takes your T-Bird away..
But this band is experimental too, or so we're told by their self-imposed "experimental rock" genre label in their bio material. On "I Live With You" one of the Bear boys strum all five strings of an acoustic guitar over and over (you know, like everyone who ever picks up a guitar without knowing how to play), but for close to five minutes with tape rolling. A couple of the others moan-harmonize in the background and then for the last 30 seconds someone goes buck-wild with a synth and a flute. .....(the I.R.S. stare at you blankly) .....yyeeaahhh, "mind blowing." Most of the other tracks kinda sound like Danny Elfman's score to Edward Scissorhands, played by gay hippies, except "Southern Point" and "About Face" which have a bit of life compared to the rest of the droning, pop standard ennui which makes up this record. But even that's relative, because they are performed in the mode of recent Radiohead wannabes, so if Coldplay and Keane excite you....well most of this album won't, as Grizzly Bear make those posh puss-bags seem as edgy as Iggy Pop with a heroin needle in his dickhole.
This shit sucks HARD kids. For every track we listened to we felt our balls shrink in circumference 3%. Luckily we have big ones...and also, luckily this band probably will give us another three years before pushing anymore sterilized sounds into our lives. So our balls should be ok for now, thanks for your concern.
Well, it seems between last year's EP and this new record, Manners, Passion Pit's balls still haven't dropped. Combine the embarrassing falsettos with actual children, minus descended testes, singing the choruses of multiple songs and one is led to believe this band is a little more than a fan of MJ. No not Mike Jordan, the most awesome dude ever, but Mike Jackson, the most awesome kid fucker in the world.
Seriously, the dude fucked mucho kids and got away with it every time, and after the last when he almost got caught he decided to move to a Middle East Palace where, just coincidentally, it's like totally cool to keep child sex slaves. That's pretty awesome. Mad disgusting, but for him it's pretty awesome. Especially when you think about the future generations of kid touchers who are following in his disco pop, hairless ball licking footsteps. He's like the Pied Piper of castrated indie disco jams. Ones sorta like Passion Pit's "Little Secrets," which is what I imagine pedophiles pump while dancing towards their gagged and bound toddler, in lil pink panties using a bottle of KY Jelly as an imaginary mic. I mean the lyrics, in between a child-sampled chorus screaming "Higher & Higher, Higher & Higher," goes something like "let this be our little secret, i feel it in me, up and up i keep on coming." Ughhhh...where's that "To Catch a Predator" show when you need it? Mr. Hanson, this pretty much the content of the trademarked transcripts your show obtains from pedophiles and you creepily read back to them with a shit-eating, self-righteous grin on your face. Only this time it's sung on a public record album released by Columbia Records. Get on this man, we need to know what happened to those children sampled goddamit...did we mention this shit sounds like Michael Jackson?! Uh-hum..
"Sleepyhead" utilizes the "chipmunk soul" production made (in)famous by Kayne West (even though ill cats like GZA and Ayatollah have been utilizing that shit since the 90s without cred) which proves these guys not only idolize kid fuckers but also fish-dick fuckers. If you're going to be a creepy fruity pervert, you might as well explore all the horizons since you've already crossed over to the point of no return.
The rest of the tracks sorta sound like the backing music in early 90s kiddie movies starring either Chevy Chase, Jonathan Taylor Thomas and/or Tim Allen. You know, like music played during that era at roller skating rinks, on the Disney Channel, or at Chuck E. Cheese. If that's your idea of a good indie band...you obviously have some Freudian issues with children and I pray you get the help needed. It you don't want to, here's an example of what Passion Pit might as well be doing for you to touch yourselves to:
Ok so we have usually been doing "The Week in Suck" wrap-ups on Fridays, and yes, you're not still tripping balls from the wicked Memorial Day party you hit up the other night - it actually is Sunday. Which means we are late. But we have a good excuse, see, one of the two editors/founders of the I.R.S. was rushed to the hospital Friday afternoon because they were...pissing blood. It was probably due to karma for us being so mean (eg. honest) with lame bullshit indie artists... so we are taking this as sign from the Gods and retiring Indie Rock Sycophants. Sorry.
Wait a second, there is no such thing as God....oh yeah, nevermind the I.R.S. is back, Jack!To finish the above story, the dual I.R.S. writers who are in a committed relationship were pretty scurrred since before the tests came back it was possible that they had contracted a nasty lil STD. Yes, we are in a committed relationship...but....we do kinda enjoy threesomes and the last one we had was with a chick who disowned us shortly after AND who borrowed Nick Cave, Sonic Youth and Flaming Lips CDs from us without returning them (yes we push good music on fuck buddies who listen to insipid reggaeton and shit, we're assholes.) In the interest of full disclosure they also stole our copy of that crappy movie Thirteen (don't ask), or as we like to call it "softcore pedo-porn." Yeah, so that is the kind of person who would prolly fuck you while ridin' dirty and not say nutin', ya know? Not the case thou, as we are clean, thank you imaginary God, it was just a painful and stigmata-esque urinary tract infection, so all you haterz who pray our demise all we have to say is...almost, almost. So yeah, thou none of you care that lil story is "week in suck" worthy in our eyes...cuz, it like totally sucked.
So what else has happened in our brief absence....hmmmm? News broke that the "indie queen,"who has been in like only one mediocre indie flick (which was financed by a Hollywood mogul family responsible for The Godfather), Scarlett Johansson is recording a Serge Gainsbourg cover record now to follow up that tone-deaf take on Tom Waits from last year. This time she is working with Pete Yorn, the guy whose songs were last heard in 2000's ridiculously bad Jim Carrey movie Me Myself and Irene and/or in GAP commercials. We say, good. As long as she stays the fuck off the upcoming Jesus & Mary Chain record and those old lecherous Reid Brothers come to their senses get Hope Sandoval to sing those parts we are happy as pie. Cherry pie to be exact, in honor of Serge and his poon-escapades. Plus it will be hilarious to hear the deadpan stiff Yorn and the tone-deaf, soulless Scarlett trying to sing in French.
Apparently, and unfortunately, Vampire Weekend, Ra Ra Riot, and some ass from Dirty Projectors are coming out with a collective supergroup called....who cares I'm bored already just thinking about it. I predict a lot of Easter egg colored sweaters, triple the strenuously gelled-to-look-like-I-just-woke-up hair, and some sorta leap frog or hand-clapping conceptual video. Rock n' Roll kids!
We have always refrained from ever looking at the "guys" in Grizzly Bear (their voices and playing were quite enough for us), but since they have a new album coming out soon their mugs have been all over the net so it's been unavoidable to place a frightening face with the frightening music. We aren't ones to judge based on looks, but jeepers creepers, we've never seen a gang of people who I'd spontaneously and involuntary want to puke on if I ever saw them in the street. No wonder these guys make such geeky, moaning toddler-ready music - we have the urge to give them a wedgie and shove em in a locker so no one could hear or see them performing from behind the metal doors. Or we could drop their barber shop quartet asses off on The Corner in any urban hood and watch them get rolled up on on. That could be pleasant...for us. We think they believe that the below video for the song "Tony Bennett and the Beach Boys are the only music our NPR listening parents exposed us to in our youth" is creepy and subversive. It might have been if this wasn't how these spoiled turds always dress and act based on picture and video evidence. Dudes, when it's normal for you to act and look like a stereotype, it's the opposite of subversive to exploit that regular image. Didn't you assholes go to some Ivy League school or something? Did they teach you anything there except for how to homogenize music to your cracker elite tastes? Guess not:
This band is apparently about to blow up, so let's try to make that not happen. This chick, Ali Cat (the unoriginal screen name of choice for every girl named Alison is middle school), apparently sounds exactly like Karen O screeching over abrasive dance floor vomit. We say apparently because before listening, we read their delusional bio where they coincidentally remind the reader of the claim more often than ever saying anything interesting about their own lives. We then listened to a few songs off their debut release, "This is a Bust," trying to resist thinking the obvious since their sounds is very bust-esque and realized their press and clips are more unintentionally hilarious than their derivative idol-worshipping fad-rock. Check out their genius promotional babbles in death red:
"Explosive" doesn’t tell the half of it. Dancefloor electronica blazes; sabre-toothed guitars roar; Ali Cat slinks and skips and slopes and screams and sizzles and plain freaks the fuck out, a Karen O for the catwalk, the sexiest frontperson alive. Live, Ghostcat deliver an unearthly mauling. This is the type of girl we want to gag and bound and show the meaning of maul. You really need to die.
“It’s a big pop record,” says Dan. “We wanted to make something big, that would work not just in small clubs. I’m into stadiums. I saw Madonna at Wembley at the Live Earth thing and she was eight hundred times better than Foo Fighters or Metallica. The whole thing was woah! Metallica come on and they’re just four guys with guitars, it doesn’t have the same impact.”
“Is that a bad thing?” Ali asks slyly, “to aspire big?”
Big? It’s not gonna tell the half of it. First off, I guess you're music is not the only thing that's redundant. And that sentence doesn't even tell the half of it! I suppose you'd want to make shitty dance music too if the only rock music it appears you have ever heard is Foo Fighters and Metallica at Live Earth...last year? Why are these mental midgets allowed to start "bands"?
The jolt rock of ‘Just A Little Bit’, which finds Ali demanding “meet me in the bathroom!” in what sounds like an urgent appeal for drugs or sex (Ali smirks: “It’s not about drugs”), grew tendrils of electro-punk fuzz. Tracks like ‘Everybody On The Dancefloor’ and ‘This Is A Bust’ began to combine the synthetic filth of Crystal Castles or Late Of The Pier with The Ting Tings’ pop crunch. ‘This Is A Bust’ – their first single – particularly encapsulated their oeuvre, a deviant disco skipping tune about boys. Why would you believe a band that compares themselves to the Ting Tings and Crystal Castles, and reviews their own shitty plagerized music? Why is this band reviewing themselves? I guess to make sycophantic indie reviewers' jobs easier and more worthlessthan they already are. They all need to die.
Their first [live show] was at the Halloween birthday party of a member of White Rose Movement where, as Dan explains, “Ali was dressed up as a psycho nurse, Chris was Jesus, Etienne was dressed up as a mummy and I was Kurt Cobain in a stripy shirt and blonde wig." Anyone in a dance band that dresses up as Kurt Cobain for Halloween should probably blow their brains out, too. Also, I wonder if this cock smoker even knows the dude in his hated Foo Fighters was in Cobain's little band, too? Obv, die.
“Half the time they’re joke lyrics that end up sticking because I’m lazy,” Cat admits. “I come up with nursery rhymes. I was never interested in making really difficult music, I wanted to make music that people could like and dance to, good-time music.”
"Good time music" doesn’t tell the half of it. We're glad to know that while this band cannot sing, write intelligible lyrics, or play their instruments well, they are proficient with the phrases "Good time music" and "doesn't tell the half of it." At least they have that going for them. Unless you're annoyed by cliched hyperboles as well as cliched music. Then you'll want this band to...(insert cliched hyperbole on human expiration here).
Earth to Deerhunter and all the other new age shoegaze wannabes: when you just released a 30 track double album last year of mid-tempo mod-rock, it isn't smart to milk your fans into buying another EP of songs that sound exactly the same. Is your next album gonna come with four collectible covers in hopes that people will buy it four times? Let's hope the tasteless bores who listen to you catch on by that point. Dudes, this was recorded in the same year, and probably in the same sessions, as Microcastles/Weird Era Contd., which had a gazillion tracks. Would your musical discharge gobbling fans really have noticed five more? Probably not since their taste would have to be less discerning than a band they follow who create such insipid, indulgent records.I guess that's why Deerhunter know they can repackage outtakes from a turd and call it a different name and their more banal brethren will still shell out dad's moola for it. If you buy this record, you're letting the terrorists win, and reviewing this record, this five song waste of paper and plastic, is both futile and contributing to global warming. Go read our review on Microcastles/Weird Era Contd. and ignore this band's new lazy capitalistic ploy, or don't and pick this up if you enjoy bands who perpetually crap out the same CD over and over again.
I'm not sure if I've ever heard a band more uninterested in what they were doing than Maximo Park. Maybe any and all "passion" was lost through severe overproduction, because it seems like the last thing this band wants to be doing is making music. For some strange reason, I have an inkling these guys never had much drive to make good music at all, just the desire to be the next Brit Pop cutiez added to a long shitty lineage of bands just like them.
And, on a side note, these guys were given an 8/10 on NME...along with every other shitty British band that ever existed.This is quite possibly the worst magazine in existence. I hope everyone who writes for this period rag chokes on bangers and mash because, let's be honest, anyone responsible for headlines about The Libertines (still?), Arctic Monkeys and features that say "Keane vs. Pete Doherty" (jesus christ, whose dick is this aborted fetus sucking?), does not deserve to live. You know, at one point there were good bands from GB that warranted this kind of infatuation, but it's NEVER healthy to walk into every album review with a "this band can do no wrong" attitude. I don't care if you're reviewing The Smiths or, unfortunately for your ears, Bloc Party. Just because a band is from the UK, NME, does not mean they all deserve 8/10 ratings. This is kind of Music Journalism 101. We're from America, home of the hamburger as Moz would say, and we fuckin' hate 99.7777777% of the garbage here and are pretty vocal about it. So stop with the musical nationalism, UK, and start with making music that isn't as rancid as your dental care. Just some advice, so that not EVERY thing coming from your throats and mouths is foul.
But I digress. Back to giving Maximo Park more wordage than ever merited or required. Song after song finds them half-assing anthemic gobbledy gook that falls short of something substantial that anyone with ears and a brain would be caught dead blasting and fist pumping to (not that ANYONE who isn't from the Jersey Shore would do the latter action, but whatever it's rather funny to think of British people acting like slick NJ goombas). Their first single, "The Kids Are Sick Again," sounds like a stale anthem rejected even by the tasteless Killers, passed on to The Bravery who also had enough sense to know it sucked. If plastic Americans who are copying fake Brit-pop are more critically aware than you, I dunno just insert any derogatory analogy here cuz ya rank. We've been talking about Jarvis Cocker a lot here as of late, so it's appropriate that this band hijacks the dudes voice and Pulp's entire sound rather unsuccessfully, when they're not busy trying their hand at a lethargic version of that Wire sound they heard it'd be cool to copy.
It also must be noted that some songs, such as "Roller Disco Dreams" and "Tanned," have the most hilariously out of place synth I've heard in a while. The I.R.S. has always held the belief that there might be nothing better in life than well utilized synth. There is no such thing as well utilized synth on this album. All uses of it are completely unnecessary and awkward.
Oh, and the overproduction is curious, because the same producer, Nick Launay, did Bad Seeds, Talking Heads and Lou Reed...as well as this band, Arcade Fire and Silverchair. Take from that what you will, but methinks Mr. Launay has awesome taste (minus INXS) and works with people who rule school for cheap and then rapes shitty bands with astronomical "I'm a classic producer" fees because he can. Sorta like Steve Albini. Then the moderate pop "alt" band doesn't sell any records and they are in debt to their record company for the rest of their life, at age 28, and working at Long John Silver to pay it off. Then the producer with taste laughs maniacally at the completion of his master plan. At least he does this in our heads. And it's awesome.
Magik Markers, "Balf Quarry" These fine young ladies and gents put the "rock" in noise rock. Think Sonic Youth if they still listened to hardcore. This album has some post-rock influence, with ambient soundscapes (as on the spacey "Shells) mixed in with the noise punk blasts, giving the album a more diverse and dynamic feel than their last album Boss(which was also great.)The highlight of the record is "The Lighter Side of...Hippies" which swings back and forth between free-form, spoken-word art rock and break-neck speed, Bad Brains styled hardcore punk. Gnarly.
Fischerspooner, "Entertainment" One of the forefathers of the current electroclash/disco indie trend, Fischerspooner, is able to make electronic based pop music that is eerie, immediate, and intelligent. That's probably because they say in interviews that they don't view themselves as a party band trying to make tracks to dance to. They are simply trying to write good music using electro techniques. What a concept, an art band that values substance over style and their music benefs as a byproduct. But apparently this album is getting some knocks for being "boring" compared to all the new electro bands spreading their filth around NYC faster than Swine Flu. I guess if you're used to bands who pound on every fuckin' effect on their keyboards while making hooting yelps over a double timed, generic beat loop, something that took time and a brain to compose would sound boring. Well could you blame the bastards of a sound and their blog champions to agree with Fischer's critiques of them like, "What's real, what's fake, it's hard to relate/It's girls and beer, it's all that I hear." Amen, we hear you loud n' clear.
For Those Who Can't Wait, "For Those Who Can't Wait" A Long Island, New York DIY, post-hardcore/indie rock hybrid with direct and honest lyrics. There is a perfect balance of progressive time signatures and pace changes on most songs mixed with ol' reliable poppy choruses and hooky riffs. It makes for both an interesting and pleasurable listening experience, which many self-indulgent bands forget to work into their boring sound these days. You could download the entire record for free and get more info about this band here: http://www.ifyoumakeit.com/album/for-those-who-cant-wait/self-titled
Jarvis Cocker, "Further Complications" Jarvis is getting old. And he still wants to fuck young ingenues. Awesome rock n' roll-proto-punk, sleaze funk ensues on "Fuckingsong," "Angela," and the bluntly titled "I Never Said I Was Deep." And if you don't like this, just get some shit by Cocker's essential band, Pulp. And if you don't like that either...well I dunno...then maybe you need a good kick between the legs to remind you that there is still something down there..
The I.R.S. - "Taxin' that lame indie ass." | Sycophant (n.) - "a servile person who, acting in his or her own self interest, attempts to win favor by flattering one or more influential persons." | rapechain@gmail.com
Finally. Patrick Wolf has done it. He has managed to fuse New Romantic new wave fluff, delusional nerd Renaissance aural imagery and self-important yet unoriginal computer bleep-blop slop into one gentrified sound. And that sound is the sound of Prop 8 always passing due to ridiculous minstrel shows like Wolf holding the progression back. 
