WHY YOU SO STUPID? YOU HUNGRY FOR HOT POCKETS!

If you throw a light on something magical it disappears.
The Tough Alliance: Koka Kola Veins

Some of the music that has made me lose my shit most this year didn't make it onto the official offnotes RIFFMARKET Status Ain't Hood Quarterly Report (brought to you by Tostitos, Breakfast of Champions); it wasn't in album form. FWIW, I'm holding off on a traxx list until the semi-annual report, so it should be ready in, like, November.

Anyway, as with Tom and his "swirly percussive post-noise", I'm not exactly the NME when it comes to coining unnecessary genre names. The vague ILX descriptor "blog house"-- for the all the Kanye-baiting music that followed Justice's Waters of Nazareth EP-- will have to do, even though what interests me more is the melodic pop side of this stuff, the tracks I listen to the way I'd listen to Belle & Sebastian or, like, the Beatles, even if I did get them off Discobelle just like you. Some of the artists I have in mind, like Toronto's Crystal Castles, are far more rock than house, even if they're also great remixers.

Whatever. The point is, in the wake of bands like the Rapture (and now, in the UK, Klaxons) bringing guitars back to the disco, plenty of bands have been springing up, particularly in the past year, that approach electronic music with the same sense of fun, rather than the type of clinicism that birthed descriptors like "Intelligent" Dance Music (no knock on that genre). Hot Chip were probably one of the leading forces on that front, and they're really as great as Sean Fennessey has been saying for ages.

What makes Hot Chip different from another amazing electronic pop outfit like, say, Junior Boys, is the way they don't seem to need to couch their fun in distance or concepts. They sing about monkeys with miniature cymbals, or boys from school, and repeat phrases like "I'm in no fit state" over and over, etc. etc.-- you could gussy it all up with theories about minimalism, maybe bring in some Stockhausen, but with Hot Chip it's probably better not to. As with LCD Soundsystem, there's plenty to think about, but it ultimately achieves pop's simplest goals: moving bodies, touching hearts. Gag me, right? Except that's why I listen to this stuff.

How about Simian Mobile Disco? I'm unspeakably excited about their forthcoming album, and their production work for Klaxons and Arctic Monkeys has done little to dim my enthusiasm. Even more than Hot Chip, or great but inescapably rich-Eurochic-coke-addict stuff like Justice, Simian's "I Believe" (I thought it was "I Bealive"?) straddles this line between post-Daft Punk club fun and melodies worth humming. Other tracks like "It's the Beat" or more in keeping with the Go! Team craziness of some Justice tracks, and are also worthy, but I prefer my Simian with more feeling. Subjective, yeah, but it's still my blog.


In free verse on the road with Kerouac sheltered in his Bivouac.
The Tough Alliance: Holiday

My latest favorite on the poppier side of this microgenre is Swedish electropop duo The Tough Alliance, about whom I hope to say more shortly. Like Sally Shapiro, they manage to bring electronic music fully into the realm of bright, overwhelming pop-- the kind of unbridled cheerfulness that these days usually gets ghettoized alongside far blander guitar-based twee-pop stuff-- and fuse it with some kind of weird situationist aesthetic. This isn't really house music at all, except you can dance to it. And it makes me eager to hear more.

Elsewhere: Jonathan Chait has the impressive, definitive take on the liberal netroots. I don't read Kos anymore, but boy am I glad he's there. At the same time, I feel like once actual journalists cease to believe in the possibility of an objective truth-- an unattainable goal, yes, but surely one worth striving for-- then democracy is impossible. Especially if you're not Hunter Thompson, but especially if you are.

Zach Baron has the impressive, definitive review of the new Dinosaur Jr. comeback. Ah, memory lane.


I've seen what's left of poor technology and worth.
Neil Postman on Cyberspace, 1995.

WHERE IS THE DANGER

Well she laughs when she wants like you do when you're 5 years old.
Säkert!: Allt som är ditt

NBC's Brian Williams, when did you stop beating your wife? I will soooo blog about your Limbaugh-liking ass, Williams. Limbaugh. Licking. Ass.

The Chicago Sun-Times' Jim DeRogatis reminds us of lots of Bangs quotes in honor of the 25th anniversary of the rock critic's death. While I'm not sure they cast Bangs in his best light-- "All blues singers are great liars"? "The ultimate sin of any performer is contempt for the audience"?-- they at least include that Clash/"flashbulb moment" line. None of it touches the Astral Weeks piece, though. (BTW, "Rock Never Forgets"? Was DeRo's headline editor kidding? If rock remembers, it wasn't really there.)

Deerhunter's Bradford Cox recently interviewed author Dennis Cooper. "During the course of our discussion we decided there was a real lack of danger," Cox tells the San Diego Union-Tribune. "There is no Throbbing Gristle or G.G. Allin or Patti Smith, there is nothing that represents what I really think Punk is about. I want things to be dangerous in an authentic, introverted, non-confrontational way."

James Brown: Live in Montreux, 1981 (video)

Julianne Shepherd: @ Pitchfork talking about Lil Wayne (column).

Philip Sherburne on Battles' "Atlas" and the DJ Koze remix. T. Rex!

Here is where I stop linking to my individual Forkcast items.


Sosa's 595th homer leads Rangers by Jays.
Pink: U & UR Hand

ETERNALLY GRATEFUL TO MY PAST INFLUENCES BUT THEY WILL NOT FREE ME

Hey there fuckface-uh. Hey there fuckface-uh.
Deerhunter: Spring Hall Convert/Hazel St. (4/4/07, Empty Bottle, Chicago)

"You guys are crazy, man. You're crazy loons."
- Deerhunter bassist Josh Fauver, after completing a delay- and feedback-drenched set of ambient tension and squalls of psych-rock release with an abnormally elongated frontman wearing an old-lady dress and dripping fake blood from his mouth and wiping fake blood on his crotch and fellating the microphone, after I mention where I write.

Check out Matthew Perpetua's more thorough accounting over at Fluxblog.


I don't want to talk to you anyway, loser.
Cool Kids: I Rock (I liked the title "Mikey Rocks" better-- then you've got your built-in Mikey fanbase-- but whatever)

Plus, my Crayon Fields track review and WTF track review at Pitchfork.

Um, weird bout of paranoia: The negativity in italics above isn't directed at the show or Fauver-- both were great, of course!

I'M JUST A BLUE-COLLAR GUY FROM BUFFALO

Sasha Frere-Jones gets serious like crazy.
Natasha Bedingfield: I Wanna Have Your Babies (mp3 at Obtusity)


Don Imus don't wanna kiss the bride, he just wants your lucky charms.
Tim Russert: Comedy Gold

There's an essay-length rant in me about this week's embarrassing Maureen Dowd columns, the concept of backstory in pop music, and basically how everybody is always obsessed with the wrong damn superficial things. You think I have time for that? Well, maybe, but instead I'm just going to humbly suggest you catch up on last night's Bill Moyers examination of the media coverage leading up to the war. Maybe it'll air again? UPDATE: Of course there's totally a snippet on YouTube.

Key points: Knight-Ridder stuck to its guns and kept reporting stories skeptical of Administration intelligence; the facts were out there, but the New York Times and Washington Post preferred to stick to big-name sources; Tim Russert would've included more skeptical voices on Meet the Press-- if only his phone had rung.

Oh, and pretty much everybody who got paid for telling us false things about the Iraq war is doing even better now. William Kristol and Peter Beinart have been rewarded with space in Time. Key Bush speechwriter Michael Gershon scored a Washington Post column. Thomas Friedman is still Thomas Friedman. Charles Krauthammer is still... well, I could tell you, but then he'd have to make a psychiatric diagnosis about you.


It was easy it was cheap GO AND DO IT.
Jarvis Cocker: Running the World

Elsewhere: My Arctic Monkeys album review, Lucky Soul track review, Aliens album review, Franz Ferdinand track review, and Ghosthustler track review on Pitchfork.

Over at TAPPED, Paul Waldman does superlative work debunking Roger Simon's small-minded mythologizing of Bernard Shaw, and expands on his point with some much-needed historical context here-- including David Broder's dumbfounding admission he's basically a world-class bullshitter (via Bob Somerby).


They come here alone, and they leave in twos.
The Teenagers: Homecoming

BE A MUSIC CRITIC, GET POWER OVER WOMEN?

Yeah, I've made love, yeah, I've been fucked-- so what?
The Smiths: Reel Around the Fountain (1983; live at the Hacienda)

The majority of my mailbag lately has been surprisingly supportive, as I just noted. Not all of it, of course:

From: antony@[redacted]
To: marc@pitchforkmedia.com
Date: Apr 20, 2007 9:29 PM
Subject: from antony

dear marc

i felt compelled to write after reading your disgusting review of Cocorosie's new album. did you even read the credits? for your information, i do not appear anywhere on the album. But besides that, I am writing to urge you to retire from "journalism", you have no gifts as a writer. why not explore an interest that brings joy to yourself and those around you, instead of just stewing in the bile of your own resentments towards others? you are a parasite among artists. please, please retire. Is your goal to make people feel sick? perhaps writing that "review" lent you the illusion that you have power over others, over women, over artists. Perhaps you are lacking in empowerment in your own frustrated life.

I recommend that you start to do something new.

antony



From: marchogan[at g mail dot com]
To: antony@[redacted]
Date: Apr 21, 2007 7:48 PM
Subject: Re: from antony

Dear Antony,

Thank you so much for the thoughtful note. Are you seeking a correction? To be honest, I never received a copy of the credits, but several other reviews from reputable sources also indicate you appear on the track on "Miracle," though you would clearly know best.

Are you saying it's not you, or merely that your appearance was uncredited?

If my facts are indeed wrong and need to be corrected, of course I will ask my editors to make the fix as soon as possible.

Thanks again for reading the review and taking the time to write, and I hope all's well otherwise.

Best,
Marc



From: antony@[redacted]
To: marc@pitchforkmedia.com
Date: Apr 22, 2007 4:10 AM
Subject: fyi

From: antony@[redacted]

Subject: from antony re: cocorosie review

Date: April 20, 2007 10:44:37 PM EDT

To: ryan@pitchforkmedia.com

dear Ryan Schreiber

I am writing in regards to the very unpleasant review of Cocorosie's new album that was printed in yesterday's Pitchfork.

I was bitterly disappointed when I read it. It was filled with inaccuracies. For instance, I do not even appear on the record, and yet Hogan snidely referred to a guest appearance he somehow imagined I had made.

But It is an album I would have been proud to be a part of. Please assign writers who are open and receptive to understanding the work of America's more challenging young artists, instead of printing reviews that try to cover up their lack of comprehension with bad wit and cynical one-upmanship. We desperately need artists who will take risks and put their hearts forward in this cultural climate, now more than ever. Why would you print a review that only seeks to oppress performers who are among those taking some of the biggest and most generous risks?

Please assign writers with some sense of vision to review Cocorosies work in the future. Marc Hogan, a financial analyst (!!), is completely in the dark about Cocorosie; he cannot even fathom their intent or the usefulness, the generosity, and the deep originality of their work. I remember the Pitchfork review of their last album in which the writer even admitted that he was panning the album simply because he didnt understand it. Cocorosie are a brave pair of visionary young Americans who are pushing the dialogue forward. They are treasured by their peers, many of whom are artists that you have written about with respect, and by audiences around the world. We all read Pitchfork, and rely on it as an important outlet of information for independent artists. Please rise to the challenge and represent Cocorosie fairly, instead of publishing checklists of incomprehension that are tinged with misogynist resentment.

I did send an email that was a little hot under the collar to Marc Hogan, which should be laughed at and disregarded. I send this now to you now in all earnestness.

yours sincerely

Antony Hegarty

I've sent an e-mail to the label and am investigating the possible factual error. Does anyone have a straight answer on this?

For the record, I've never worked as a "financial analyst," only as a lumpen financial journalist. On the other hand, what's wrong with people having, like, jobs?

The Mercury Prize is £20,000, which currently converts to $40,086.19 in U.S. dollars.

UPDATE!!!: Touch and Go has identified the guest artist on "Miracle" as French beatboxer Spleen. A Medill F for me; it's certainly true I shouldn't have assumed something without official confirmation. Other publications getting it wrong first is no excuse.

I do take exception with the label calling me "lazy," though. Before I checked other publications to confirm my Antony hunch, I read Touch and Go's official album description. Sample quote: "The Adventures Of Ghosthorse & Stillborn is the 3rd ventricle of the CocoRosie liturgy." Gee, I'd really better get back to sifting through SEC filings...

Does that mean I'm one of those horrible people with "jobs"? Gross! Cooties! No valid opinions on pop music!

MY BLOG IS LIKE THE INTERNET... FOR LUDDITES

Sorry, it must still be the CR talking. Thank you for the unexpected support, unexpectedly non-batshit letter writers!

I had him pegged as more of a "Kokomo" guy, but whatever:

"D" is for "delightful," and try and keep your trousers on.
John McCain: Bomb Iran (Beach Boys cover)

A week earlier, ingeniously disingenuous Wall Street Journal columnist Peggy Noonan praised McCain for "sound[ing] like a serious man addressing a serious issue in a serious way" (via ThinkProgress).

At the same time, worm-tongued New York Times columnist David "Brooksy" Brooks was suggesting McCain might be "the candidate who is the most substantive, most mature and most consistent," Ezra Klein points out.

Best one-line response: "Just wait until his second term!" (Isaac Chotiner, writing in The New Republic's blog, The Plank)

On a more serious note (McCain's defense: I wuz joking-- WE KNOW! Maybe if you spent more time in a POW camp you'd understand the horror of war, or at least the negative foreign policy implications of acting like a total douche), somehow I only now saw the news of Flying Canyon frontman Cayce Lindner's untimely passing back in February. Sad and pointless. Why didn't you people listen to Flying Canyon's great self-titled album last year? Pitchfork's Brandon Stosuy called it "an erudite haze that foregoes caricature and wardrobe changes in favor of melody, inventive instrumentation, strong songwriting, and an honest, riveting charisma." You can still grab an MP3 of my favorite song from the album, "The Bull Who Knew the Ring," over at Raven Sings the Blues.


Slam your body down and wind it all around.
Los Campesinos!: You! Me! Dancing!
signed, sealed, etc.

Elsewhere: K-Punk interviews Simon Reynolds. Fascinating stuff, but me being me, a quibble: I take issue with (only) one of Reynolds' complaints about rockism, namely, that "any approach that fixates on the song" is contemptible. I like songs, and I like tracks, but from an Arctic Monkeys fan it seems uncharacteristically purblind to suggest liking songs is inherently bad. I suspect he might rephrase this if asked again. It's just as ridiculous to suggest that the song is an inherently awful form as it was for rockists to say the same about dance music, rap, et alia back in olden times. Worse, it's pointlessly elitist: We music critics may have time and the free music to appreciate textures, atmospheres, whatever, but many song-weaned ordinary people don't, and I'm not sure that makes them worthy of Reynolds' contempt. DAMN, REST IN PEACE APOLLO CREED.

At the Times, Nate Chinen reviews David Torn's Joe's Pub show.

PEOPLE IN LOVE LIE AROUND AND GET FAT

Art Brut never wanted us to end up like that. The new songs we haven't heard before are good!

Is everybody supposed to know now what the title to "Rusted Guns of Milan" (fan vid) means? I still honestly don't know that or why "18,000 Lira" is about red brigades and guys named Enrique. Probably a think piece in there on how knowing this information probably couldn't make me love the songs more. Imagine you're reading it.

Side note: We've got a little Deerhunter backlash developing, seems (link #1, link #2). It's like the smart, funny person version of the band's MySpace page! Hmm, just because a few people don't like something doesn't mean everybody else who likes (loves) (gets embarrassingly evangelical about) it is pretending, does it? Eek, or vice versa: my CocoRosie review today on Pitchfork (on an unrelated note, my Crayon Fields review ran today, too-- listen to them here).

Pretending to like stuff gives you warts, which your dad can usually help you get off with some Compound-W, but it's a hassle, and your dad isn't here. I understand there are also some topical treatments for "epidermotropic human papillomavirus", AKA genital warts, AKA not what Howie Day takes Valtrex for. HE LIKES 'EM TOTALLY SHAVED!!!

P.S. Matthew Fluxblog has posted UGK's offnotes-dug "International Players' Anthem" (feat. Outkast) in downloadable form. Yes that means you can download it.

P.P.S. An enlightening interview with skronky jazz-fusion guitarist David Torn, whose "tones and textures" you probably heard in The Departed (and whose new album, Prezens, is pretty stupendous).