1. N.E.R.D. - N.3.R.D.
After the genre mindfuck rock-pop-hip-hop-skate punk of their debut In Search Of... and the Steely Dan/Zappa influenced 70s soul funk of Fly Or Die, I'm wlling to follow Pharrell, Chad and Shae (what the FUCK does he do in this group? Seriously) into the river Styx.
Luckily, that won't be necessary, as the boys are coming back strong with a new album within the next two or three months. The lead single "Everbody Nose" is an excellent jam ostensibly about coke-snorting party girls and it's really only gotten easier on the ears since it dropped last month.
Pharrell has said in interviews that the album will be less consistent stylistically than their first two releases, being more incoherent and all over the place, a trait usually seen as negative on an album, but could be a welcome progression from the somewhat sameness of their other work.
Here's two live performances of new tracks on the album. The first is called "Spaz" and the second excerpt "Kill Joy."
Fire.
2. Love Is All - A Hundred Things That Keep Me Up At Night
I loved Love Is All's explosive debut LP Nine Times That Same Song to the point that this new album could be a collection of bossa nova covers of Three Doors Down songs and I'd still buy the fucker. Judging from this new live track,
and the skeletons of new tracks available at their Myspace, the new album might be more cohesive and melodic that the gorgeous mess of clashing instruments their first one was. The howling vocals, punky guitar and skronky sax are still in effect though. Regardless, cop that (Swedish) shit.
3. Girl Talk - Wild Peace IV: Feed The Animals, Raise The Dead
Anyone who's heard Night Ripper knows there's pretty much no real reason to decipher Girl Talk's musical style. It's a batshit crazy collage of pop music samples, juxtaposed and repositioned into exciting party bangers that barely resemble the pieces they're made of. A fun game is to get fucked up on your inhibition blocker of choice and try to catch every sample and musical reference on a given track (That's the drum fill from "Sugar We're Goin' Down" and SWV! Is that...Neutral Milk Hotel and Juelz Santana?)
Greg Gillis' new release is most likely going to be a logical extension of such craft, probably opting for more widespread source material. A fake version of the new album leaked on PirateBay last month, and one of the songs on it actually isn't half bad at aping Gillis' style. Prepare to have your mind fucked.
(Fake) Girl Talk - Freak Out
(real) Girl Talk - Smash Your Head
4. Wolf Parade - TITLE TBD
I wasn't always the biggest Wolf Parade fan. I'm not one of those guys who gets excited about Sunset Rubdown or whatever else Spencer Krug is filling his time with, but their debut LP Apologies To The Queen Mary really grew on me. I liked the dichotomy between Krug and Dan Boeckner's musical styles.
Merry Swankster has a track by track preview of the new album, with a few playable songs. I'm intrigued so far. I like that the band can straddle genuine rock outs with more nuanced emotions and proggy flourishes. Also really hoping they go with "Kissing The Beehive" as the title. Can't wait.
5. Andre 3000 - TITLE TBD
I'm pretty annoyed about the new solo album from 3stacks here, mostly because I saw him on MTV Jams doing some bullshit interview for Semi-Pro and he totally said the name of the new album, but no one on the interwebz seems to fucking no what it is, which leads me to believe either:
A) No one in the world other than me (and perhaps DJ Clue) watches MTV Jams.
or
B) It's late, I'm tired, and I'm just not looking hard enough.
Either way, any time Andre releases new music is a time to rejoice. I was expecting another weird Prince-y set of songs, melding genres, moods, and tones, but apparently all of his rampant mixtape work as made Andre hungry for the mic again, as the new shit is supposed to be mostly straightforward hip-hop.
Right now Andre's top 5 dead or alive in the game, so I can't imagine this being anything resembling a disappointment.
Devin The Dude f. Andre 3000 & Snoop - What A Job
Rich Boy f. Andre 3000, Jim Jones, The Game, etc - Throw Some D's (remix)
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Well Played, Usher...Well Played.
So, I already laid into Usher pretty hard last week. I think I lost a shoe up his metaphorical ass for the rampant mediocrity of his new single "Love In This Club." Alot of that was leftover rage from friends and family singing it nearly as often as VH1 Soul and MTV were playing that video. He's not out of my critical doghouse just yet, but his brownie points are accumulating nicely.
Case in point:
"Love In This Club....PART II"!!!!
Is that...BEYONCE? Does this song sound like a retread of over half of Confessions? What kind of bullsh--...wait, is that Weezy?
Oh, I'm sorry sweetheart. I thought you was another single.
I ALMOST fuck with this. Definitely a step in the right direction, regardless of how much further along the road Ush needs to travel.
Case in point:
"Love In This Club....PART II"!!!!
Is that...BEYONCE? Does this song sound like a retread of over half of Confessions? What kind of bullsh--...wait, is that Weezy?
Oh, I'm sorry sweetheart. I thought you was another single.
I ALMOST fuck with this. Definitely a step in the right direction, regardless of how much further along the road Ush needs to travel.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
I Think I Have A Man-Crush On Alex Turner
No homo.
This is different than the Daniel Craig dude-crush.
I don't secretly harbor a desire to BE Alex Turner, or to wear speedos and drive Aston Martins and chase terrorists. I just cannot for the life of me think of another musician in today's divisive, complex, musical landscape who I feel writes songs for my generation.
I fell for the Arctic Monkeys from the moment I first heard their instant classic debut single, "I Bet You You Look Good On The Dancefloor" about a month or two after it became the talk of every British tabloid and music blogger on the face of the Earth.
I mean, here was this kid and his mates from a little town in England who were all within a year of my own age singing songs about what is essentially suburban ennui. I didn't quite agree with NME magazine for calling Whatever Everybody Says I Am, That's What I'm Not the best British rock album ever, but I did fuck with it so hard my jeans were stained with pre-cum.
I'm kind of an anglophile to begin with, so the thick English accents and hometown Sheffield flourishes were of interest to me, but what stuck with me the most was Turner's lyrics. Oh, the hard charging rhythm section and the guitars and all that helped, but the little tales Turner weaved in three and a half minutes hit me in a way I hadn't been hit since Kanye fell onto the scene.
The song "Dancing Shoes" was pretty much a word-for-word retelling of every night I've ever had out with my friends, drunkenly egging one another on to mingle, only to stand around being cynical and apathetic like it was some sexy sort of defense mechanism. "A Certain Romance" felt like the trailer song to our generation's "Reality Bites," that is, if we had one (and NO, Garden State doesn't count.) Who wasn't at least a little bit touched by the hooker in "When The Sun Goes Down?"
The group got huge, but alot of the focus was on one man. With his rakish frame, his artfully unkempt hair and his jittery on stage presence, Alex Turner was pretty much destined to be a breakout frontman. His public persona became as reserved and enigmatic as his on-record style was verbose and snarky. He'd gained a sort of status as a rock poet laureate reminiscent of Morrissey.
That's why I was a little surprised when Favourite Worst Nightmare hit the shelves, and Turner, probably in some way perturbed by being pigeonholed as the witty, slice-of-life lyrics guy, had toned down the caustic observations that made the first album so easy to relate to.
Alex's style changed as well. Gone were the thrown together combinations of ratty polo shirts and jeans. In came the cool peacoats and the slightly suave attitude.
I liked the follow-up fine. Musically, it was a step in a better direction, and songs like "Brianstorm" and "Flourescent Adolescent" still kept the razor sharp storytelling skills we all loved, but there was one song in particular that won me over.
"505," the album closer, was a different beast than most Arctic Monkeys songs. It had a melancholy, ethereal quality to it that the rest of the album's musical progression had only hinted at. A dreamy, windswept ode to an absent love, it was pretty much the zenith of the kind of maturation Alex Turner and his bandmates were going through. Then, he went and did what every up-and-coming musician does at some point when hubris comes a-knockin.
He made a side-project.
Teaming up with Rascals frontman Miles Kane, Klaxons producer James Ford (on drums), and Final Fantasy's Owen Pallet arranging strings, Turner has released my early pick for favorite album of the year. I know it's early, but I'm not one known for giving a fuck. The Last Shadow Puppets' (as they're called) debut release, The Age Of Understatement is a throwback to the dramatic, grandiosity of 60s pop music. Drawn from inspirations as diverse as David Bowie, Ennio Morricone and pretty much every Bond song ever (see? The Daniel Craig reference wasn't a throwaway), this album is a huge step forward for Alex Turner.
Where he used to focus his gift for word craft and powers of observation on pretentious bar patrons and girls in clubs, he know paints on a broader canvass, writing songs that sound like they should be in French New Wave cinema. The title track sounds like a spaghetti western, and more than one friend I've foisted this album onto has made the Bond connection when they heard the opening of "In My Room."
My personal favorite song on the album, "Calm Like You," feels like a post-WWII love story, full of dreamy regret and an intensity of emotion most don't even bother with anymore. Where every Arctic Monkeys song sounded like it could make a perfect music video, no three minute clip could contain the drama and conflict present in this new set of tunes. Each feels like its own little cinematic powder keg.
What this means for the Arctic Monkeys I'm not sure. They're preparing a third release for this year, but we're not quite sure what to expect. A further evolution of sound, perhaps drifting even further from their initial Strokes-y garage rock and further into a more (over)produced arena style. In all fairness, I couldn't care less. I'm just glad I don't have to wait any longer for my next fix.
Arctic Monkeys - When The Sun Goes Down
Arctic Monkeys - 505
The Last Shadow Puppets - In The Heat Of The Morning (Bowie cover)
Sunday, April 20, 2008
People Who Annoy The Living Fuck Out Of Me
1) People Who Can't Handle Their Liquor
Maybe I'm just more practiced in the art of getting fucked up, but what is it with people who feel that imbibing booze gives them some sort of "Be An Asshole For Free" card? I'm not one of those straight-edge kids who thinks all forms of drinking are in some way morally bereft.
I drink all the time and the worst I've ever done as far as lack of inhibitions is concerned is ridicule people at IHOP or sing the occasional Stone Temple Pilots song. Why then, do other people see getting plastered as an opportunity to live out their favorite moments from Real World/Road Rules Challenge?
Here's what I know. If I can drink a fifth of vodka in ten minutes and remain relatively civilized, then you have no excuse to have a psychopathic emotional breakdown after a couple of shots of Bacardi.
I'm not saying liquor doesn't affect different people in different ways, and I totally understand the need to blow off steam and get shit off your chest, I'm just saying don't harsh my buzz because you want to go all Margot Kidder and shit.
(see also: DRUNK GIRLS WHO FALL ASLEEP AT BARS)
2) Christian Rockers
I really don't know a way to expound on this without being considered insensitive, so I won't bother candy-coating it. Christian rock makes my ears bleed. If at the gates of heaven, they're playing a boom-box of this shit, I'll take my chances on the ass-end of the river Styx, or, rather, listen to Styx, the band.
I need to be clear. It isn't the "Christian" part that bothers me so much. It's the "rock" part, or, really, the lack of it.
If all Christian rock music sounded like regular rock music, only substituting Jesus for the Lord of Darkness, and some sort of hand-jivey, halo symbol for the time-tested devil horns, then I suppose I could get behind it. I'm all for rocking, regardless of the deity we're invoking (although I personally always invoke Bacchus). The problem is that Christian rock, by and large, is the most milquetoast, vapid, flaccid form of guitar-driven music in the world. Polka has more balls than Christian rock.
Honestly, how many different ways are there to remind us how "awesome" your God is. Shouldn't that be self-explanatory by virtue of his having created the entirety of existence out of thin fucking air? Do I need some insipid asswipe with an emo-mop, an acoustic guitar and a underdeveloped sense of humor to remind me how wonderfully fantastically superbly whatever his religion of choice is? Isn't it implied?
I'm certain there are Christian rock bands that are awesome (Pedro The Lion is kind of cool). They just seem to be hiding. I know people love to say that they listen to all types of music "except country" but I think we should collectively replace that oft-maligned genre of honky-tonk with the one genre of music I think all forms of life would be altogether happy without: Christian rock.
(see also: TRANCE)
3) Dane Cook
I know it's become kind of vogue amongst the hipster set to unfairly criticize Dane Cook, if for no other reason than his immense popularity. I like Dane Cook, generally. I laughed hysterically at pretty much all of his pre-Tourgasm material. My problem isn't that he's so big now and all over the place. My problem is that he hasn't done anything new or interesting in years and that is somehow not reflected in how people perceive him.
I suppose its common for someone who's popular under the radar to oversimplify their style and persona to gain crossover success. It works for some people (The Shins, Sam Raimi, Barack Obama) but for others it just reminds us of how shallow their reportoire really is. I don't think I've fallen out of love with a pop cultural entity this fast since Ben Stiller, and at least his fall from grace didn't make his earlier work less funny.
Sadly I can't say the same for Dane Cook. Movies like Employee of The Month and Good Luck, Chuck actually make his old material less funny. It's sad.
(see also: THE STROKES {sorry, Julian})
4) The Guy Who Invented Oreo Cakesters
Those things are so addictive. Like, seriously, do you have one? I'll give you a half-and-half right now. I'm kidding, but seriously, I'm totally not. I love them.
(see also: THE GUY WHO INVENTED CRACK COCAINE {free-base!!!})
5) Madonna
Madge's been annoying the fuck out of me on a regular basis since I first discovered my snark gland, but she's pushing it now. I could forgive the bullshit, fake-English accent thing. I could forgive her keeping husband/director Guy Ritchie in a velvet lined dungeon baby-sitting all day. I could even overlook the fact that she's starting to show all of her forty-nine years and STILL insisting on dressing/dancing like a gen-y, tweener whorebag. I cannot, however, forgive her latest transgression.
She's managed to release the catchiest pop record of the year. Yeah, she didn't do a whole helluva lot of work (that would be Justin, Timbo, Danja, and Pharrell, among others) but still: I can't stop singing any of her songs. I'm so hooked I even went back to old shit. I fucking hated "Hung Up" when it came out now I can't stop listening to it. I'm talking way back. Like, "Borderline."
I've probably seen the video to "4 Minutes To Save The World" 3,000 times. I don't care that the song sounds like the theme song to Nickelodeon's GUTS (thanks am.fm.pm.) or that the video makes you think the song's real title is "4 Minutes To Prance Around Like College Kids On Bathtub Speed At A Grocery Store."
She has to be stopped. Can you imagine me at a convenience store at 11:30 at night buying cheap beer with laundry change while singing "Candy Store" to myself? I look like the bouncer at a gay bar on lunch break. Like a prayer. Like a virgin. Like a goddamn pain in my ass.
(see also: BRITNEY SPEARS {pre-batshit insanity})
Maybe I'm just more practiced in the art of getting fucked up, but what is it with people who feel that imbibing booze gives them some sort of "Be An Asshole For Free" card? I'm not one of those straight-edge kids who thinks all forms of drinking are in some way morally bereft.
I drink all the time and the worst I've ever done as far as lack of inhibitions is concerned is ridicule people at IHOP or sing the occasional Stone Temple Pilots song. Why then, do other people see getting plastered as an opportunity to live out their favorite moments from Real World/Road Rules Challenge?
Here's what I know. If I can drink a fifth of vodka in ten minutes and remain relatively civilized, then you have no excuse to have a psychopathic emotional breakdown after a couple of shots of Bacardi.
I'm not saying liquor doesn't affect different people in different ways, and I totally understand the need to blow off steam and get shit off your chest, I'm just saying don't harsh my buzz because you want to go all Margot Kidder and shit.
(see also: DRUNK GIRLS WHO FALL ASLEEP AT BARS)
2) Christian Rockers
I really don't know a way to expound on this without being considered insensitive, so I won't bother candy-coating it. Christian rock makes my ears bleed. If at the gates of heaven, they're playing a boom-box of this shit, I'll take my chances on the ass-end of the river Styx, or, rather, listen to Styx, the band.
I need to be clear. It isn't the "Christian" part that bothers me so much. It's the "rock" part, or, really, the lack of it.
If all Christian rock music sounded like regular rock music, only substituting Jesus for the Lord of Darkness, and some sort of hand-jivey, halo symbol for the time-tested devil horns, then I suppose I could get behind it. I'm all for rocking, regardless of the deity we're invoking (although I personally always invoke Bacchus). The problem is that Christian rock, by and large, is the most milquetoast, vapid, flaccid form of guitar-driven music in the world. Polka has more balls than Christian rock.
Honestly, how many different ways are there to remind us how "awesome" your God is. Shouldn't that be self-explanatory by virtue of his having created the entirety of existence out of thin fucking air? Do I need some insipid asswipe with an emo-mop, an acoustic guitar and a underdeveloped sense of humor to remind me how wonderfully fantastically superbly whatever his religion of choice is? Isn't it implied?
I'm certain there are Christian rock bands that are awesome (Pedro The Lion is kind of cool). They just seem to be hiding. I know people love to say that they listen to all types of music "except country" but I think we should collectively replace that oft-maligned genre of honky-tonk with the one genre of music I think all forms of life would be altogether happy without: Christian rock.
(see also: TRANCE)
3) Dane Cook
I know it's become kind of vogue amongst the hipster set to unfairly criticize Dane Cook, if for no other reason than his immense popularity. I like Dane Cook, generally. I laughed hysterically at pretty much all of his pre-Tourgasm material. My problem isn't that he's so big now and all over the place. My problem is that he hasn't done anything new or interesting in years and that is somehow not reflected in how people perceive him.
I suppose its common for someone who's popular under the radar to oversimplify their style and persona to gain crossover success. It works for some people (The Shins, Sam Raimi, Barack Obama) but for others it just reminds us of how shallow their reportoire really is. I don't think I've fallen out of love with a pop cultural entity this fast since Ben Stiller, and at least his fall from grace didn't make his earlier work less funny.
Sadly I can't say the same for Dane Cook. Movies like Employee of The Month and Good Luck, Chuck actually make his old material less funny. It's sad.
(see also: THE STROKES {sorry, Julian})
4) The Guy Who Invented Oreo Cakesters
Those things are so addictive. Like, seriously, do you have one? I'll give you a half-and-half right now. I'm kidding, but seriously, I'm totally not. I love them.
(see also: THE GUY WHO INVENTED CRACK COCAINE {free-base!!!})
5) Madonna
Madge's been annoying the fuck out of me on a regular basis since I first discovered my snark gland, but she's pushing it now. I could forgive the bullshit, fake-English accent thing. I could forgive her keeping husband/director Guy Ritchie in a velvet lined dungeon baby-sitting all day. I could even overlook the fact that she's starting to show all of her forty-nine years and STILL insisting on dressing/dancing like a gen-y, tweener whorebag. I cannot, however, forgive her latest transgression.
She's managed to release the catchiest pop record of the year. Yeah, she didn't do a whole helluva lot of work (that would be Justin, Timbo, Danja, and Pharrell, among others) but still: I can't stop singing any of her songs. I'm so hooked I even went back to old shit. I fucking hated "Hung Up" when it came out now I can't stop listening to it. I'm talking way back. Like, "Borderline."
I've probably seen the video to "4 Minutes To Save The World" 3,000 times. I don't care that the song sounds like the theme song to Nickelodeon's GUTS (thanks am.fm.pm.) or that the video makes you think the song's real title is "4 Minutes To Prance Around Like College Kids On Bathtub Speed At A Grocery Store."
She has to be stopped. Can you imagine me at a convenience store at 11:30 at night buying cheap beer with laundry change while singing "Candy Store" to myself? I look like the bouncer at a gay bar on lunch break. Like a prayer. Like a virgin. Like a goddamn pain in my ass.
(see also: BRITNEY SPEARS {pre-batshit insanity})
The Spirit - Teaser
The last time I spoke about legendary graphic novelist Frank Miller, the man who gave us shirtless Spartans spouting bloodshed one-liners at one another like cool-prick catchphrase was their native tongue, I made some disparaging remarks: he's a douche, he sucks, I'm gonna "knife" him, etc...
I wasn't in the least bit excited about his upcoming film adaptation of Will Eisner's The Spirit. Then I saw this poster. It's pretty dead-on. I like the incorporation of the text into the cityscapes, an Eisner staple. It's striking.
Then I saw this:
Does it still look too much like Sin City? Well, yeah. It feels too dark and over-the-top to really represent the brilliance Eisner imbued this legendary character with, but I'll say this for it:
It looks fucking cool.
When it all comes down to it, that's pretty much the only thing that's going to get asses in seats for a character created when most of this generation's grandparents were kids who's had little to no mainstream media exposure.
Maybe Frank Miller is on to something...the fucker.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Porn Star Vs. Indie Songstress: Volume 4
Today, a pairing of my two favorite things: dreamy, catchy songs written by cute girls...and breasts.
REPPIN' PORNO-GRAF-IA
BRANDY TALORE
STATS:
HT: 5'2"
WT: 127lbs
DOB: 2-2-82
MEASUREMENTS: 36DDD-28-34
Brandy is the queen of big bust baby dolls. She's cute, soft-spoken, buxom like a motherfucker, and yet she still manages to imbue her scenes with a voracity uncommon in the typical ice-queen, barely legal cheerleader-type porn gal.
The first five minutes of a Brandy Talore scene are always played very coy, like she has no idea she's the cover-girl for a gonzo flick. Just when you're about to go "fuck it, there's bigger titties out there" she gets down to business and glues your cock to your hand for the rest of the scene.
She's like a porno version of Audrey Hepburn. Can she be stopped?
HER OPPONENT
SOKO
STATS:
Does it really matter? Look at her.
Soko was born Stephanie Sokolinski. She was born in Bordeaux but she's Polish. She's also an actress. I've never seen any of her films, nor do I plan to in the immediate future, but I heard this song of hers:
I spent the next three hours on hold with a junior exec in charge of programming at VH1. The only reason she's not the next "You Oughta Know" artist is because said junior exec decided he no longer accepted blowjobs as a form of payola grease.
Just look at that girl: surly, removed, sure of herself, but vulnerable. That's the kind of girl you woo for months to no avail until you get sloshed on Jim Beam and Red Bull and fuck her best friend, only to discover she's written a hit song about the kind of prick you are. Or, more to the point, the kind of girl I melt for.
If only she had an understated violent streak!
Really? Thanks France. I'll officially stop making fun of you for needing our help back in dubya-dubya-two.
WINNER: Soko...she is none other.
REPPIN' PORNO-GRAF-IA
BRANDY TALORE
STATS:
HT: 5'2"
WT: 127lbs
DOB: 2-2-82
MEASUREMENTS: 36DDD-28-34
Brandy is the queen of big bust baby dolls. She's cute, soft-spoken, buxom like a motherfucker, and yet she still manages to imbue her scenes with a voracity uncommon in the typical ice-queen, barely legal cheerleader-type porn gal.
The first five minutes of a Brandy Talore scene are always played very coy, like she has no idea she's the cover-girl for a gonzo flick. Just when you're about to go "fuck it, there's bigger titties out there" she gets down to business and glues your cock to your hand for the rest of the scene.
She's like a porno version of Audrey Hepburn. Can she be stopped?
HER OPPONENT
SOKO
STATS:
Does it really matter? Look at her.
Soko was born Stephanie Sokolinski. She was born in Bordeaux but she's Polish. She's also an actress. I've never seen any of her films, nor do I plan to in the immediate future, but I heard this song of hers:
I spent the next three hours on hold with a junior exec in charge of programming at VH1. The only reason she's not the next "You Oughta Know" artist is because said junior exec decided he no longer accepted blowjobs as a form of payola grease.
Just look at that girl: surly, removed, sure of herself, but vulnerable. That's the kind of girl you woo for months to no avail until you get sloshed on Jim Beam and Red Bull and fuck her best friend, only to discover she's written a hit song about the kind of prick you are. Or, more to the point, the kind of girl I melt for.
If only she had an understated violent streak!
Really? Thanks France. I'll officially stop making fun of you for needing our help back in dubya-dubya-two.
WINNER: Soko...she is none other.
Your Boy Made A Muxtape
No, it's not a misspelling. It's my new passtime. Muxtape is a new way to not be productive in this crazy, technocentric world of ours. You just upload mp3s and make your own little, sparely designed playlist.
Here's mine.
music to blog to
It's mostly a mix of hot, hip-hop tracks and kinda mellow tunes. Typical me.
Overheard At Wendy's
Two friends sit across from one another, a tray of food between them.
DOM: Dude, you know what's weirdly cute?
JIMMA: Nah.
DOM: Girls that say "hambugger." You know, like they're fucking eleven or some shit. Like, "can I have a 'hambugger'?"
JIMMA: Okay...
DOM: It's so fucking cute. I mean, it's annoying as all get out, but it's cute. It's like, there's a fucking R in there, you know? It's a fairly important R. It's the most important R since Kelly.
Beat.
JIMMA: Wow.
DOM: C'mon, I like that one.
JIMMA: So, do you want to use a lifeline? Maybe poll the audience...see how much of a dumbass you are?
DOM: I'll use the 50/50.
JIMMA: Yeah, take two of those answers away. Yep, still an asshole.
A cute couple stumbles by.
DOM: (low tones) Excuse me, sir? I'd like to fuck your girlfriend.
JIMMA: Huh, my--
He turns around.
JIMMA: Oh, I see what you're doing there.
I'm Gonna Fucking Knife Frank Miller
Hyperbole? More like a fucking start.
This man must be stopped. I'm NOT fucking around here, people. He is the subject of the worst fall from grace since Lucifer The Goddamn Morningstar fell from the heavens. For those that don't speak fluent fanboy and only know Frank Miller as the guy who gave Hollywood Sin City and 300, a lesson is in order.
Frank Miller, at one point, was my hero. I wanted to BE Frank Miller. I didn't want to be a nerdy, rakish, 40something cartoonist, per se, but I did want to be so awesome my tear ducts leaked blood (which, I suppose, is debatable. I don't know if thats Frank or Le Chiffre, but whatevs.)
In the mid-1980s, the only man who could rival Frank Miller in the comic book industry was Alan Moore, and the only man who could rival Alan Moore was NOBODY BECAUSE HE'S A LIVING GOD AMONGST US, furthering my comparison to Lucifer.
Frank was a writer-artist of the highest order. His work on Batman, Daredevil, and later, his own aforementioned creator-owned series, are the stuff of legends. Picture Martin Scorsese in the late seventies. Samuel Peckinpah right when he made The Wild Bunch. Kandi Kream in Big Black Wet Asses 4. Frank was unto GODS.
Between Daredevil: Born Again, Batman: Year One, The Dark Knight Returns and Sin City, Frank was unstoppable. Even a lame adaptation of his aborted Robocop 2 screenplay was well-received.
Then, something happened.
No one knows for certain, but Frank changed. DC Comics paid him a reported cool $1 million to write and illustrate The Dark Knight Strikes Again, a wholly unnecessary sequel to his legendary opus. After a lame, needlessly complex story and an excruciating release schedule, I figured I could write Frank Miller's weirdness off.
I mean, the man is untouchable, and he's allowed some missteps, right? The suprisingly awesome film adaptations came next, and who needs to hear more about them, right? Despite Frank's propensity for trite, unspeakable dialogue, his overly macho and eerily romantic stylings made for pretty fun movie times. Who hasn't seen Sin City or 300 oodles of times?
Then this happened:
DC Comics gave Frank free reign on the character that helped make him famous alongside superstar artist Jim Lee and he turned in a farce on par with Adam West's laughable interpretation of the character and Joel Schumacher, who managed to turn a legendary myth into a big-budget gay porno. This is the man that Frank Miller has become.
You see, I'm okay with that, though. All-Star Batman & Robin is nothing if not entertaining. I don't even rate Frank as a comics entity anymore. What worries me is Hollywood.
Those backwater rejects are always a few steps behind the zeitgeist, and, the fools, they don't quite realize that Frank is a whacko years past his prime. They don't realize that Sin City is over ten years old. They don't get that giving Frank Miller a budget and a camera is a dangerous thing.
For god's sake someone's already signed him up to write and direct a movie about Raymond Chandler's Philip Marlowe. Clive Owen's going to be in it. Do you see? This isn't just about comic book nerds. This is CLIVE OWEN. Frank can't kill Clive's career.
It's just not fucking right.
But that's not what my beef is either. Clive's a big boy. He can take care of himself. I'm worried about The Spirit.
When Will Eisner created The Spirit in 1940, he could have just been another masked crime fighter amidst of tsunami of disguised detectives and pulp characters. Eisner, a cartoonist so legendary they named the comics equivalent of an Oscar after him, turned what could have been a typical Dick Tracy retread into one of the best creative and innovative comic strips in history. Anything amazing you've liked about comics Will Eisner did it first in The Spirit. Seven pages in the newspaper every week and Eisner turned it into comic books' Citizen Kane.
So, sure, Hollywood thinks its a great idea to let Frank Miller make it a movie. He was actually friends with Eisner. He's an avid fan. Nerds trust him. Easy decision, right?
WRONG.
Frank Miller is turning The Spirit into some sort of a creepy Sin City back-up story.
Ignore the green screen (or try to.) Ignore the fact that star Gabriel Macht looks like he walked off the set of the "Ayo Technology" video. Ignore the fact that he looks like Dwight in a domino mask.
No, wait, don't ignore that. What the fuck, Frank? Stop raping the 1950s childhood I wish I had! Every fucking character doesn't have to be so superficially dark and gritty. Did you learn nothing from the early 1990s?
You think that's bad? Look at his "interpretation" of The Spirit's arch-nemesis, The Octopus, a character, mind you, WE NEVER SEE FULLY. A man who creates menace just by his silhouette, or the sight of his purple gloved hand.
Here's Sam Jackson as the same character.
I'm sorry. He's got to go. It's gonna hurt me alot more than it'll hurt him. That's just the way potassium chloride rocks. I don't want to unfairly judge what could be an interesting adaptation of a comic strip loved by millions over a few leaked on-set photos, but I just can't see how the Frank Miller of 2008 can make this work.
1986 Frank Miller? Him I'd give a chance, but this guy? I don't think so.
This man must be stopped. I'm NOT fucking around here, people. He is the subject of the worst fall from grace since Lucifer The Goddamn Morningstar fell from the heavens. For those that don't speak fluent fanboy and only know Frank Miller as the guy who gave Hollywood Sin City and 300, a lesson is in order.
Frank Miller, at one point, was my hero. I wanted to BE Frank Miller. I didn't want to be a nerdy, rakish, 40something cartoonist, per se, but I did want to be so awesome my tear ducts leaked blood (which, I suppose, is debatable. I don't know if thats Frank or Le Chiffre, but whatevs.)
In the mid-1980s, the only man who could rival Frank Miller in the comic book industry was Alan Moore, and the only man who could rival Alan Moore was NOBODY BECAUSE HE'S A LIVING GOD AMONGST US, furthering my comparison to Lucifer.
Frank was a writer-artist of the highest order. His work on Batman, Daredevil, and later, his own aforementioned creator-owned series, are the stuff of legends. Picture Martin Scorsese in the late seventies. Samuel Peckinpah right when he made The Wild Bunch. Kandi Kream in Big Black Wet Asses 4. Frank was unto GODS.
Between Daredevil: Born Again, Batman: Year One, The Dark Knight Returns and Sin City, Frank was unstoppable. Even a lame adaptation of his aborted Robocop 2 screenplay was well-received.
Then, something happened.
No one knows for certain, but Frank changed. DC Comics paid him a reported cool $1 million to write and illustrate The Dark Knight Strikes Again, a wholly unnecessary sequel to his legendary opus. After a lame, needlessly complex story and an excruciating release schedule, I figured I could write Frank Miller's weirdness off.
I mean, the man is untouchable, and he's allowed some missteps, right? The suprisingly awesome film adaptations came next, and who needs to hear more about them, right? Despite Frank's propensity for trite, unspeakable dialogue, his overly macho and eerily romantic stylings made for pretty fun movie times. Who hasn't seen Sin City or 300 oodles of times?
Then this happened:
DC Comics gave Frank free reign on the character that helped make him famous alongside superstar artist Jim Lee and he turned in a farce on par with Adam West's laughable interpretation of the character and Joel Schumacher, who managed to turn a legendary myth into a big-budget gay porno. This is the man that Frank Miller has become.
You see, I'm okay with that, though. All-Star Batman & Robin is nothing if not entertaining. I don't even rate Frank as a comics entity anymore. What worries me is Hollywood.
Those backwater rejects are always a few steps behind the zeitgeist, and, the fools, they don't quite realize that Frank is a whacko years past his prime. They don't realize that Sin City is over ten years old. They don't get that giving Frank Miller a budget and a camera is a dangerous thing.
For god's sake someone's already signed him up to write and direct a movie about Raymond Chandler's Philip Marlowe. Clive Owen's going to be in it. Do you see? This isn't just about comic book nerds. This is CLIVE OWEN. Frank can't kill Clive's career.
It's just not fucking right.
But that's not what my beef is either. Clive's a big boy. He can take care of himself. I'm worried about The Spirit.
When Will Eisner created The Spirit in 1940, he could have just been another masked crime fighter amidst of tsunami of disguised detectives and pulp characters. Eisner, a cartoonist so legendary they named the comics equivalent of an Oscar after him, turned what could have been a typical Dick Tracy retread into one of the best creative and innovative comic strips in history. Anything amazing you've liked about comics Will Eisner did it first in The Spirit. Seven pages in the newspaper every week and Eisner turned it into comic books' Citizen Kane.
So, sure, Hollywood thinks its a great idea to let Frank Miller make it a movie. He was actually friends with Eisner. He's an avid fan. Nerds trust him. Easy decision, right?
WRONG.
Frank Miller is turning The Spirit into some sort of a creepy Sin City back-up story.
Ignore the green screen (or try to.) Ignore the fact that star Gabriel Macht looks like he walked off the set of the "Ayo Technology" video. Ignore the fact that he looks like Dwight in a domino mask.
No, wait, don't ignore that. What the fuck, Frank? Stop raping the 1950s childhood I wish I had! Every fucking character doesn't have to be so superficially dark and gritty. Did you learn nothing from the early 1990s?
You think that's bad? Look at his "interpretation" of The Spirit's arch-nemesis, The Octopus, a character, mind you, WE NEVER SEE FULLY. A man who creates menace just by his silhouette, or the sight of his purple gloved hand.
Here's Sam Jackson as the same character.
I'm sorry. He's got to go. It's gonna hurt me alot more than it'll hurt him. That's just the way potassium chloride rocks. I don't want to unfairly judge what could be an interesting adaptation of a comic strip loved by millions over a few leaked on-set photos, but I just can't see how the Frank Miller of 2008 can make this work.
1986 Frank Miller? Him I'd give a chance, but this guy? I don't think so.
Do Androids Dream of Chris Brown At The VMA's?
In an interview with XXL Magazine, Kanye West claimed that the only real competition he had in the pop music game was Justin Timberlake. To be more specific, he compared himself to Prince and JT to Michael Jackson. Now, grandstanding aside, the comparison is apt.
Kanye is generally the main author of his own music, even if he uses drum machines and copious soul samples where Prince would use his seemingly endless repertoire of instrumental expertise. Justin is a dancing r&b juggernaut who relies heavily on all-star producers, Timbaland being Quincy Jones in the MJ metaphor here.
Its the type of throwaway pull-out quote Kanye is (in)famous for. Bloated ego kept unchecked. His arguement, does, however, raise an important question. If Kanye is Prince, and Justin is Michael (and I'm not saying this is absolutely true, but IF) then where the fuck does that leave Usher Raymond?
Kanye and 50 Cent may have played Sherlock and Moriarty for the cameras to bolster record sales, but there are no two other pop cultural icons I suspect wish each other untold levels of torment than Usher and Justin. They're like Supes and Lex. Bats and The Joker. The Doctor and The Master. Those niggas HATE each other.
When Justin took time off from recording to make mediocre movies (sorry Edison Force) and fuck mediocre women (sorry Cameron), Usher released Confessions, far and away the best recording effort of his weirdly long career. Both men steal relentlessly from Michael Jackson. In their particular niche its impossible not to, but with the drop of that album and the inescapable ubiquity of "Yeah!" and "Burn" Usher seemed to cement the crown.
Being the next Michael Jackson in pop R&B music is like being the next Shawn Michaels in wrestling. There's always an assload of candidates, but only a few real front runners. (How many times were Edge and Jeff Hardy crowned the next HBK, and really only because Christian and Matt Hardy were the de-facto Marty Jannetty?)
Each candidate has equal things going for him. Usher is a falsetto-rocking dancing fool who's been making music since childhood and Justin is a falsetto-rocking dancing fool who used to be in the biggest boy band in the world. They were my super-secret favorite music feud for a few years running.
Then Justin dropped Futuresex/Lovesounds.
I imagine that on that day Usher did him some crying. Like, real crying. Not that "Confessions pt.II"-I-wanna-sell-some-records crying.
Justin managed to, with immense help from Timbo, Danja and will.i.am, reinvent himself as some sort of David Bowie-MJ hybrid whose music could only be stopped if your iPod ran out of battery or your stereo was hit by rolling blackouts.
"My Love" owns your fucking life and you damn well know it.
Usher included, because I bet that vindictive, Chili-cheating anachronism has listened to the track far more than any of us have. Like I said: Hatfields and McCoys. Kree and Skrulls. Woody Allen and Philip Roth. Nemeses.
So, now Usher's gone through some life changes (a baby will do that to ya) and he's dropped a new single.
The video is pretty predictable:
- weird lighting flourishes that hip hop directors cribbed from Patrick Daughters videos with The Secret Machines and Yeah Yeah Yeahs.
- A club production-designed to look like Lord of Darkness' banquet hall from Legend.
- More cameos than a DJ Khaled video.
What's strange is the morbid, broken-fantasy imagery. A club that "isn't" there. Women that whisper in your ear and disappear. The remnants of youth. If this video wasn't made by a new husband and father, I don't know what is. There's just one problem:
I hate this goddamn song.
It's so mediocre. This is some 8701 shit. This is the equivalent of what would happen if Justin released "Bye Bye Bye" as a single on his next album. Usher knows better than this, and if for some reason having a kid made him forget, producer Polow Da Don knows better than this.
"I never slip/I never fall" indeed, Polow.
What's more is he reportedly leaked this single. Now, either this nigga's a SKRULL or he's in cahoots with JT.
How else do you explain Usher releasing a certifably "ok" club song as his lead single. Its entirely possible this song will catch on and I'll feel differently about it. As it stands, I'm just disappointed. I wanted a rivalry, not a lynching. At this rate, Usher won't have to worry about Justin. He'll have to worry about Chris "Wall-to-wall" Brown.
The next in line to be Michael Jackson, sort of a Prince Harry here, if you will, and the boy's gaining heat like he's got fire coming out of his ass (an indelible image I wouldn't be surprised to discover on the cover of Brown's next release.) Anyone doubting the validity of his claim to the throne need only watch this past VMA presentation. Even I was awed, and I'd been cracking jokes about this kid for a year.
Usher needs to step his shit up. Where's the Weezy collab? Where's the crossover production of a DJ Toomp, giving the kind of street-club cred Lil' Jon supplied on Confessions? Shit, I never thought I'd say it, but "Where's Diddy?"
I got love for you, Ush, but if you want to stop crying yourself to sleep with images of Justin Timberlake getting hatcheted to death by a vengeful, blood drunk and listless Cameron Diaz, then you need to prepare yourself for war.
Kanye is generally the main author of his own music, even if he uses drum machines and copious soul samples where Prince would use his seemingly endless repertoire of instrumental expertise. Justin is a dancing r&b juggernaut who relies heavily on all-star producers, Timbaland being Quincy Jones in the MJ metaphor here.
Its the type of throwaway pull-out quote Kanye is (in)famous for. Bloated ego kept unchecked. His arguement, does, however, raise an important question. If Kanye is Prince, and Justin is Michael (and I'm not saying this is absolutely true, but IF) then where the fuck does that leave Usher Raymond?
Kanye and 50 Cent may have played Sherlock and Moriarty for the cameras to bolster record sales, but there are no two other pop cultural icons I suspect wish each other untold levels of torment than Usher and Justin. They're like Supes and Lex. Bats and The Joker. The Doctor and The Master. Those niggas HATE each other.
When Justin took time off from recording to make mediocre movies (sorry Edison Force) and fuck mediocre women (sorry Cameron), Usher released Confessions, far and away the best recording effort of his weirdly long career. Both men steal relentlessly from Michael Jackson. In their particular niche its impossible not to, but with the drop of that album and the inescapable ubiquity of "Yeah!" and "Burn" Usher seemed to cement the crown.
Being the next Michael Jackson in pop R&B music is like being the next Shawn Michaels in wrestling. There's always an assload of candidates, but only a few real front runners. (How many times were Edge and Jeff Hardy crowned the next HBK, and really only because Christian and Matt Hardy were the de-facto Marty Jannetty?)
Each candidate has equal things going for him. Usher is a falsetto-rocking dancing fool who's been making music since childhood and Justin is a falsetto-rocking dancing fool who used to be in the biggest boy band in the world. They were my super-secret favorite music feud for a few years running.
Then Justin dropped Futuresex/Lovesounds.
I imagine that on that day Usher did him some crying. Like, real crying. Not that "Confessions pt.II"-I-wanna-sell-some-records crying.
Justin managed to, with immense help from Timbo, Danja and will.i.am, reinvent himself as some sort of David Bowie-MJ hybrid whose music could only be stopped if your iPod ran out of battery or your stereo was hit by rolling blackouts.
"My Love" owns your fucking life and you damn well know it.
Usher included, because I bet that vindictive, Chili-cheating anachronism has listened to the track far more than any of us have. Like I said: Hatfields and McCoys. Kree and Skrulls. Woody Allen and Philip Roth. Nemeses.
So, now Usher's gone through some life changes (a baby will do that to ya) and he's dropped a new single.
The video is pretty predictable:
- weird lighting flourishes that hip hop directors cribbed from Patrick Daughters videos with The Secret Machines and Yeah Yeah Yeahs.
- A club production-designed to look like Lord of Darkness' banquet hall from Legend.
- More cameos than a DJ Khaled video.
What's strange is the morbid, broken-fantasy imagery. A club that "isn't" there. Women that whisper in your ear and disappear. The remnants of youth. If this video wasn't made by a new husband and father, I don't know what is. There's just one problem:
I hate this goddamn song.
It's so mediocre. This is some 8701 shit. This is the equivalent of what would happen if Justin released "Bye Bye Bye" as a single on his next album. Usher knows better than this, and if for some reason having a kid made him forget, producer Polow Da Don knows better than this.
"I never slip/I never fall" indeed, Polow.
What's more is he reportedly leaked this single. Now, either this nigga's a SKRULL or he's in cahoots with JT.
How else do you explain Usher releasing a certifably "ok" club song as his lead single. Its entirely possible this song will catch on and I'll feel differently about it. As it stands, I'm just disappointed. I wanted a rivalry, not a lynching. At this rate, Usher won't have to worry about Justin. He'll have to worry about Chris "Wall-to-wall" Brown.
The next in line to be Michael Jackson, sort of a Prince Harry here, if you will, and the boy's gaining heat like he's got fire coming out of his ass (an indelible image I wouldn't be surprised to discover on the cover of Brown's next release.) Anyone doubting the validity of his claim to the throne need only watch this past VMA presentation. Even I was awed, and I'd been cracking jokes about this kid for a year.
Usher needs to step his shit up. Where's the Weezy collab? Where's the crossover production of a DJ Toomp, giving the kind of street-club cred Lil' Jon supplied on Confessions? Shit, I never thought I'd say it, but "Where's Diddy?"
I got love for you, Ush, but if you want to stop crying yourself to sleep with images of Justin Timberlake getting hatcheted to death by a vengeful, blood drunk and listless Cameron Diaz, then you need to prepare yourself for war.
I Will Stalk (the living shit out of) Your Heart
It's a well documented fact that Death Cab For Cutie frontman Ben Gibbard kind of creeps me out. I dig the band's music on occasion, but seriously, look at his weirdly cubical dome and tell me you aren't the least bit perturbed.
The band has released a video for their new single "I Will Possess Your Heart" off of their upcoming album Narrow Stairs.
I'm legitimately excited about the album, and not just because the cover reminds me of those weird water color-y transitions from Punch-Drunk Love. Mostly, though, I'm just struck by how similar this video is to another classic, semi-stalker-ish love song.
STEVE PERRY LIVES.
But seriously, all love songs are written by sad, obsessive beta males, and the fact that some women are actually turned on by tracks like this is a fucked up double standard that needs to stop. Every time a girl is awed by Ben Gibbard plaintively strumming a guitar and singing "I Will Follow You Into The Dark" she is innocuously condoning getting stalked by that "kinda-funny-and-probably-funny-looking" guy who works the mid-shift at FedEx-Kinko's with her.
Say what you will about Tawny Kitaen and other car-humping 80s metal babes, but at least they perpetuated exactly the kind of stereotypical male that most young women end up getting with. I'm not saying stop breaking hearts, ladies. Without your cruel help, there'd be no pop music.
I'm just saying stop encouraging fey, glasses-wearing, navel-gazing Elvis Costello wannabes by letting them hear you say how touching "Transatlanticism" was.
The band has released a video for their new single "I Will Possess Your Heart" off of their upcoming album Narrow Stairs.
I'm legitimately excited about the album, and not just because the cover reminds me of those weird water color-y transitions from Punch-Drunk Love. Mostly, though, I'm just struck by how similar this video is to another classic, semi-stalker-ish love song.
STEVE PERRY LIVES.
But seriously, all love songs are written by sad, obsessive beta males, and the fact that some women are actually turned on by tracks like this is a fucked up double standard that needs to stop. Every time a girl is awed by Ben Gibbard plaintively strumming a guitar and singing "I Will Follow You Into The Dark" she is innocuously condoning getting stalked by that "kinda-funny-and-probably-funny-looking" guy who works the mid-shift at FedEx-Kinko's with her.
Say what you will about Tawny Kitaen and other car-humping 80s metal babes, but at least they perpetuated exactly the kind of stereotypical male that most young women end up getting with. I'm not saying stop breaking hearts, ladies. Without your cruel help, there'd be no pop music.
I'm just saying stop encouraging fey, glasses-wearing, navel-gazing Elvis Costello wannabes by letting them hear you say how touching "Transatlanticism" was.
Long Time No Post
I don't really have a legit excuse for being so derelict in my blog upkeep. I'd like to quote Love Is All lead singer Josephine Olausson and say that I've been "busy doing nothing" but even that would be an overstatement.
Regardless, I've got some shit cooking today, so, if you're the type of person who enjoys this sort of shit, prepare to...enjoy it, I suppose.
For everyone else, here's a picture of Nick Manning.
THINGS NICK MANNING DROPS LOADS ON (according to a survey of drunken college students)
- Bitches.
- Hoes.
- Some sort of sexy bitch-ho hybrid. (or, failing that, Sativa "bee-stung" Rose)
- Eva Angelina.
- Bill Belichick.
- Anyone that fouls on Boris Motherfucking Diaw.
- Penny Marshall's 1992 directorial effort A League of Their Own
- The brand-new Spicy Baconator from Wendy's.
- Sodam & Gamorrah.
- Your mom.
Regardless, I've got some shit cooking today, so, if you're the type of person who enjoys this sort of shit, prepare to...enjoy it, I suppose.
For everyone else, here's a picture of Nick Manning.
THINGS NICK MANNING DROPS LOADS ON (according to a survey of drunken college students)
- Bitches.
- Hoes.
- Some sort of sexy bitch-ho hybrid. (or, failing that, Sativa "bee-stung" Rose)
- Eva Angelina.
- Bill Belichick.
- Anyone that fouls on Boris Motherfucking Diaw.
- Penny Marshall's 1992 directorial effort A League of Their Own
- The brand-new Spicy Baconator from Wendy's.
- Sodam & Gamorrah.
- Your mom.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
April Fool's Ruins Boy's Dreams
In the interest of full disclosure, I am the titular boy who will spend the rest of the day disappointed. PopDose had posted a story this morning about how Guns N' Roses had finally released Chinese Democracy via online download, very In Rainbows-esque.
My ignorant ass forgot it was April 1st. Now I'll never get my free Dr. Pepper
In other April Fool's news, be on the lookout for a new The Dark Knight trailer or more viral marketing related letdowns over at clowntravelagency.com
Fucking April Fool's.
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