Thursday, July 19, 2007

PETA: Pumposes for the Exploitation and Theivery of Animals



I just got me a puppy, a little while ago. A sweet little totally rad and magnificent collection of awesomeness and dynamic beagle of sorts. Of sorts only cause he's from the SPCA, and therefore missing his Pedigree papers. He's about 6 months old, sharp as a Mach 3(my apologies to thems who devote their existences to cutting men to bits for not providing a link to their site. But hey, my pup is the best this man can get), and faster than Deon Sanders(my apologies to my Wednesday nights trivia teams Sherlocks disaster. Who fucking knows off the top of their dome what player is the only in NFL history to win 3 consecutive championships?! As good a guess as any, Deon was). He was great at the beginning, when he wasn't peeing on my doormat thinking that "outside" was the only necessary requisite for self relievance. Now he's grown to be much much more. I'm training him for the NFL combines.

Michael fuckin Vick. What a total douche bag. How fucked up is the world we live in that pays hundreds of millions of dollars to scum bags like Vick who take pleasure in destroying these innocent, loyal and honest beings? I don't know if there's going to be an after life, but if there is, I hope to Science Vick get neutered for an eternity over and over again in his version of hell. Science damn him! This scum bag bought a house purely for the use of dog on dog fight to the death purposes. If there's any kind of judicial justice, I think it should be a sentence to face humping via horny, ready to breed Great Dane's for 25 plus years. The sad reality is that he's only going to have a few less endorsement dollars flowing into his cursed savings account. I wish I was Buddhist, that way I could take solace in the fact that he'd be back as a chew toy for every teething Doberman in Germany. There are a few topics that fire me up: Religion, animal cruelty, and heritage are examples.

Tobi, my dog, has decided to trust and look up to me with %100 of his being. I am everything to him, way more than the guy who pours his water and feeds him biscuits. I'm the reason he's happy or sad, the reason why he wants to go out and run circles around teams of dogs trying to tag him(seriously, he makes every dog in my neighborhood look clumsy even when they gang up to try to catch him, as he weaves em in and out of each other. It's my favorite thing to watch; him cutting to a side a full second before dogs fully grown even know to react), the reason he can sleep with peace, the reason his day has any structure. None of this has anything to do with my level of radness mind you, although I'm sure it plays a part, but everything to do with his nature. He knows nothing else. I could be the most out casted person in society, a ghost to anyone who sees me, but he'd never allow that to change his enthusiasm at just being by my side. I've had family who sold me out for less than a years income for an average American. Animals are pure. Dog's are unfiltered.

To destroy that kind of purity surely is the act of the most un-holy of beings. To so brutally stab something that embodies all that nature, and life in general, is existent for is un-repentantly disgusting. What a repugnant byproduct of human evolution.



Spoon- The Underdog

Modest Mouse- Wild Pack Of Family Dogs

TV On The Radio- Wolf Like Me

Monday, July 2, 2007

Keeping Track of Tracks


"Fool me once, didn't see that coming. Fool me twice, I can't believe I didn't see it coming! Fool me thrice, woah! I was so not expecting to see that... coming.'

Anticipation can be a bitch. Not one you can pet either, or take to the movies. It's not so much the agony of waiting, but the fear of not having the expectations met. It's just not in us to be patient and spend 3 years in wait for something without constructing exactly what we KNOW to be revealed, thus either over estimating the end result, or under estimating it. The latter is pretty sweet actually, cause you can pretend like you knew all along how great the sequel was going to be while having with you a sequel that is great. It's bad for one particular reason within the context of this post, and maybe elsewhere, that I feel I need to confess as well. Betrayal...

When I started to listen to Interpol's monumental debut album "Turn On The Bright Lights" in early 2004(two years late to the explosion I know, but at least I'm still part of that 'Elite' group of Interpolites who started the obsession with the band prior to the follow up, so there!), I thought it was pretty unique and sounded interesting. A couple of months had past before I regained conscientiousness, and learned that the album was on constant replay on my primitive black and white screened Ipod, and had dug itself ferociously into my psyche. It really did happen that way, an extremely bizarre experience. Once that happened, every morning started the same way, and every day ended with the same routine. Wake up, yell to the crack-ho's outside my apartment to run for cover if they didn't want to turn into stone at the first hint of dawn, get dressed, pop the little whities into my dome, and thumb the middle button on "Untitled", the majestic opener, as I ushered in the new morning chill with my first foot down on the pavement. The album had at least 5 full rotations a day during a few month span, and it sang me to sleep with the words of "Leif Erikson", the nautical album closer, every night before I had to plug my obese pod back on it's charger pod and get swept away to passoutville with the sounds of the crack-heads poking their heads out of the cracks and crevices of 13th street.

I hate fans. I used to wonder how dull someones life must be, if they feel the need to fill the void with emotions aimed at people who didn't even know they existed. It was even more ludicrous when musicians had fans, mainly cause they were so lame, and vultured off the fan base to feed their Merc's high octane. It seemed like an elaborate theft. But I slowly started to get curious about this band. I started to wonder who was behind that cellar voice, and those midnight storm bass lines. Short story long, I became one. And I took it to extremes(I have a friend who's willing to vouch for that claim by telling you about how his jaw dropped at the sight of my top played songs on itunes). Desktop wallpaper, aviator shades, online community participational dialogue, pentiant for black button-downs, on and on. Turn On The Bright Lights became, and still is today, my all time favorite album. It bonded with my soul. It sung to me during a time in my life which would turn out to be a turning point. Music was always more than just something to put on for me, but with this album everything changed. It became a catalyst to where I am with my discovery of like ethic broadcastings.

Having gotten on the Bright Lights bandwagon when I did, made it possible for me to gear shift into Antics, Interpol's illumination of the bright lights follow-up, with such soothe that it almost felt cosmic. I went from knowing that Bright Lights was insurmountable(which it was and is), to being slapped into a frenzy by the realization that the band was undoubtedly the best rock band on the face of the earth. True to the first album, it took many many rotations for it to become clear what Antics was all about. And initially I wrote them off as a one album wonder. Gradually I got it. Then after about 25 rotations I felt the rush of their drug pulsate through my veins, and pump up my bounded enslaved soul to rip away the ropes of bondage and free itself. Twice I under estimated what I was in for. Both times I couldn't have been happier to be wrong.

Thrice is when the game starts. Interpol's major label debut album, and third full length attempt Our Love To Admire drops July 10th. And upon first, even nine listens it conjured up even more painful emotions of let down within me. Having waited 3 years for this moment, I felt that when I pressed play on the first rotation, the fabric of space time should rip open and suck me into a crazy vortex while tearing off every wallpaper on every wall in our solar system(including the gas walls on Jupiter). But true to form, it's a grower not a shower.

This LP highlights all the things that Interpol are, and even moves beyond. Progression, evolution, intelligent design whatever you want to call it. Mammoth(to borrow a phrase from a good friend "makes me wanna run around and punch somebody in the face") is a locomotive on Adderall. A fist pumping relentless arrogant alarm fueling itself with an 11 note riff spread throughout like coal to the engine. No I In Threesome proves that the glorious Take You On A Cruise(Antics) wasn't a fluke of genius. A ballad that soothes, whispering it's truth, not mine. Bank swoons his always elusive lady with " Babe, it's time we give something new a try. So just let us be free". Pioneer To The Falls might be the best album opener I've heard since Wolf Parade's You Are A Runner, I Am My Father's Son. At the 2:00 minute mark a hypnoses is induced as Paul pulls the black from the grey with the plead "Show me the dirt pile and I will pray that the soul can take, Three stowaways. And you vanish with no guile and I will not pay, but the soul can wait. I felt you so much today" Pace Is The Trick is the albums ethos magnificented. "You can't hold it too tight, these matters of security... I've seen love, and I followed the speeding of starlights. I've seen love, and I followed the speeding of starswept nights. Yeah pace is the trick". Yes Paul, yes it is. Banks is markedly different this time around. On Bright Lights he was out of reach, his voice barely making it over the instrumentationings. With Antics he was more sure of his voice, less inhibited. But here he's bold, dark even creepy sometimes. So comfortable that nothing is sugar coated, unless it's of a different type of white. Nowhere is this more evident than on Rest My Chemistry, as Banks seems to chronicle his time away from the stage "I haven't slept for two days. I've bathed in nothing but sweat, and I've made hallways scenes for things to regret. My friends they come, and the lines they go by... I live my life in cocaine, just a rage and three kinds of yes". Wrecking Ball and Lighthouse end this 11 song concoction with the clearest hint of things to come. One of the rare moments in this album that Paul's new found sense of cockiness feels sincere is admitted on Wrecking Ball "Nobody warned you, nobody told you to make up your mind. Nobody told you, that I could just waltz through and shake up your style... I'm inside, like the wrecking ball through your eyes, and I change it all from inside". This closer one-two punch set the image of still shots one only sees through faded scenic pictures, the latter remaining true to the 'nautical' visuals that a lot of Interpol's songs manifest.

My betrayal:
These last 3 years I've taken the world Interpol revealed to me, as far as possible artists making earth shattering music, and lessened the pain from my Pol withdrawal by letting in tunes from a lot of different angles. How did I thank them? By considering the possibility that their place as the best thing to happen to me musically was up for grabs. I know deep down I knew better, but just because the wait was excruciating shouldn't have justified my straying. I have a list of stellar artists and musicians who are second to nobody, but Our Love To Admire has finally brought me full circle.

Mammoth Live


The Heinrich Maneuver


No Mp3's This Time Faithful Patrons, Buy It Here (You Can Also Stream The Gorgeous 'Pioneer To The Falls There As Well) And Set Some Souls Ablaze