So, Show Me a Good Time

I already have my tickets to see Regina Spektor at the House of Blues in Atlantic City and M.I.A. at the 33rd Street Armory in Philly.

If I were rich I'd be at a baseball game and a concert every day during the summer.

If I were rich I'd also turn half of my body into a computer and the other half into an XBox 360, that way I'd never have to get up off my couch.

I could watch shows about the loves of Flavor Flav, pwn noob ass in COD4 and check my fantasy baseball squad ad compulsively.

But I'm not rich, so I can only tell you about these Philly area concerts in the hope that you can go and be an ambassador of good music, in my place.

Check out The Black Keys, Rilo Kiley and Wolf Parade at the Electric Factory!

Pop in to see the Rx Bandits, Bloc Party and The Kooks at the Fillmore at the TLA!

I heard that British Sea Power, Clinic and Dr. Dog are gonna be at Johnny Brenda's!

Death Cab for Cutie will be pumping their forthcoming LP at The Mann Center!

Weird Al Yankovic is going to be at the HOB, but you didn't hear that from me...

I think we should all go together. Summer shows are the coooolest.

Three is a Lot More Than Two

Here are three songs I'm playing and liking a lot lately:

“You’ll Find A Way” by Santogold – It’s probably the kiss of death to compare Santi (Santogold) White to Sri Lankan globetrotting, genre bending M.I.A., but consider Santi’s self-titled debut smooched. Mixing elements of New Age pop, ska and reggae roots, hip-hop beats and cold, empty vocals, Santogold isn’t quite on par with Kala, M.I.A.’s 2007 masterpiece. But that doesn’t stop the Philly native from putting together songs with more range and focused energy than anything appearing on Kala or Arular. If the comparisons are inevitable, it’s a good thing; these girls make fun, flippant music best suited to bang, rattle and thump.

"Go Places” by The New Pornographers – Buried in the brilliance of Challengers, “Go Places” is indie bliss built on strings, piano crescendos and the sweet lilt of Neko Case, a seriously funky, badass lady-person. Case breathes life into church-picnic lyrics about running away in the name of love while the Pornographers flex their musical muscle and continue to showcase the creative depth that’s sustained the band since 1997. Come for the band name, stay for the sprawling indie rock.

"Barnacle Goose" by the Born Ruffians - The Ruffians sound like a college math band! A bunch of their songs feature the banjo! I shouldn't have to write anything else.

Waiter, There's a Coffee in My CD

Guessssss what?

Starbucks is handing over the day-to-day management of its newly formed music label, Hear Music.

I, for one, am disappointed.

I mean, as a fan of faceless corporate monopolies, what am I supposed to think?

That independently owned and mid-market organizations have a chance to push product? That the sterilized, genetically enhanced business model doesn't have a place in the world?

Geez, next they'll try to tell you the Tooth Fairy is gay.

This is terrible though. Without Starbucks, who is going to give Paul McCartney, James Taylor and Joni Mitchell huge payola payoffs?

It's a lot tougher than it sounds! I heard that one of the key components to the McCartney deal was that Starbucks would allow Sir Paul to create his own drink.

"Beatle Juice."



I'm a terrible person. I will probably be sued.

We Both Have Red Hair... We Both Like Music...

I was in Philly last weekend at the Trocadero to see the magical Kate Nash.

The Troc is a weird place.

Old people would sort of look around and talk about the majesty of the building, the gothic architecture, the dreamy, atmospheric vibe translated through the dimmed lighting, fake candles, balconies and drapes.

I thought it was kind of creepy. And shit kept falling from the ceiling, looked like flakes of asbestos. The area in front of the stage is round (strange), with support beams for an overhanging balcony towards the back.

And the swanky, suggestive lighting... I felt like such a piece of meat.

Anyway, The Trachtenburg Family Slideshow Players opened up for Ms. Nash.

I consider myself a fairly open-minded guy. But I have no idea what the hell is wrong with the Trachtenburg Family.

The band is made up of three non-related members playing the parts of a family. The drummer is a 14-year-old girl named Rachel. The "mother" operates a slideshow while "daddy" plays guitar and keyboard.

The band takes photo albums from the 1960s, '70s, and writes songs based on these pictures of random strangers. Then, while playing live, the slideshow matches up with the lyrics in the song.

And the lyrics are quite literal. If we see a picture of a fish, we're hearing a fish lyric.

I have no idea what the hell is wrong with the Trachtenburg Family.

I guess this is art, right? Like, if I ever wanted to look smart in front of someone, a future employer, a scientist, a foreign dignitary, I absolutely plan on casually mentioning I listen to the Trachtenburg Family.

And then I casually plan on accepting their kudos.

Here's "Look at Me" by The Trachtenburg Family Slideshow Players and "Pigeons" by the girl-wonder drummer, Rachel T.

Now, on to the main course.

Ms. Nash was divatastic.

With her name backlit in shiny, pink plastic bulbs, Ms. Nash made the crowd wait upward of 45 minutes while one single, solitary, lone, individual tech tuned the instruments.

All of the instruments.

I have been to a ton of shows and I've never seen anything like this. This dude tested everything. He tuned four guitars, a bass, the drums, all of the respective mics. He sound checked the piano, used a giant pole with a hook on the end to mess with the lights.

He didn't hustle. Or ask for help.

And I totally imagined Ms. Nash in the wings watching him with a bottle of champagne and a fur coat made out of dalmatians like "Work is so hard."

But enough of that! "Stop in the Name of Love" by Diana Ross and the Supremes finally coaxed Ms. Nash from hiding.

She's cute. And pretty. I was in love.

Ms. Nash toured most of her cross-the-pond hit, Made of Bricks. Fan favorites "Foundations" and "Mouthwash" sounded inspired, bubbly and fully realized, with Ms. Nash banging away at her piano and bouncing to the beat.

The jazzy, spoken-word smacktalk of "Dickhead" was dedicated to the random ex-boyfriend of a drunk girl near the front of the stage.

"Mariella" swelled from march to madness as the crowd, composed mostly of couples (date movie meet date music) surged to the name-based chorus.

I especially enjoyed some of the evening's more poignant moments. "Nicest Thing" and "Birds" sounded gorgeous, with Ms. Nash front and center on acoustic guitar, vulnerable to ghosts and should have/could have love.

Made of Bricks is very much a showing of range. "Pumpkin Soup" and "Merry Happy" had the Troc bumping right along.

"We Get On" is a whole different get on. Ms. Nash asked us a couple of times during the night to quiet ourselves while she strummed the opening chords of a soft song.

It didn't feel like a diva thing to do. It was just really nice.

Minus the Bear For All!

Last week I saw Minus the Bear and Portugal. The Man at the Fillmore at the TLA in Philly.

Moose kicked things off.

No, that’s not right, I’m sorry. It was Caribou.

Or Reindeer?

I knew I should have taken notes at the show. It was Camel. My fault.

Check that. Elk (stupid band without a website).

See, to me, that’s funny. If I wasn’t bound by a journalistic code of ethics, I’d probably post a zoo’s worth of animal links and call it a blog.

But alas, to the business at hand: Portugal.The Man commandeered the TLA for a 45 minute brain-punch.

I can’t write much about Portugal without inducing nuclear fission on my keyboard.

I can’t write much about Portugal without feeling an overwhelming compulsion to make up words like “explositivity”, “rockamungus”, and “resickulous".

See? My fingers are already starting to melt a little bit. I need to stop while the stopping’s still good. Download "Waiter: You Vultures!" and Church Mouth and leave my sense of touch alone.

As for MTB, the boys by way of Seattle opened with "Knights" and kept the good vibes rolling. Focused and tight live, MTB busted out slow burners like "Dr. L'Ling" and "This Ain't A Surfin' Movie", backed by party musts "Pachuca Sunrise" and "The Fix".

MTB ran deep early and often, pulling gems from 2004's They Make Beer Commercials Like This and 2002's Highly Refined Pirates.

The real star of the night, however, was Planet of Ice, the band's monster 2007 release that has pushed them in the direction of indie stardom.

"Double Vision Quest", "Burying Luck", "White Monster", and "Throwin' Shapes" all made appearances and all sounded masterful.

Now, I took some videos at the show…

And I admit it! They’re shit!

But quality isn’t everything, right?

Heck, remember Ted Koppel bouncing around on a tank during the invasion of Iraq in 2003? ABC had to staple the wig to his head, wrinkles were flapping in the desert winds and the camera was upside down.

Not exactly aesthetically pleasing, but Koppel was in Iraq, goddamn it, getting the scoop.

It’s journalism, man!

Actually, it’s a couple of kids with big fat heads rocking back and forth in front of my camera.

And I’m not kidding. One of these dudes had an Al Borland-size head. For reals.

Anyway, here's "Devil Song" by Portugal and "White Mystery" by MTB.

Now try not to seizure all over my blog, please.

Let's Mix It On Up

I don’t dance.

I shuffle.

“Blood Beats” by Moving Units – I’m very cultured.

“Leave You Alone” by Cam’ron – I’m not very cultured.

“Dancing Shoes” by Arctic Monkeys – This song makes me want to lean against the wall of the gym and whisper about the girls on the other side of the gym leaning against the wall over there. I was a lonely child.

“Crystal Baller” by Third Eye Blind – I can’t believe I’ve had a blog about music this long and I haven’t talked about TEB. Fact: I got my picture taken with Stephan Jenkins and I immediately declared it would be my Facebook picture for a year. Another fact: I’m a man of my goddamn word.

“Climbing” by Persephone’s Bees – I love French things.

“Anna Molly” by Incubus – Every year for Christmas my mom buys stocking stuffers. Socks, body spray, I got a Dragon Ball Z nightlight one year. And once I got Light Grenades.

“Breakdown” by Jack Johnson – I just finished my resume recently. I’m sending copies to papers in Hawaii.

“One Great City!” by The Weakerthans – This is exactly how I feel about the town I grew up in.

“Those Who Don’t Blink” by Enon – This song feels like an aneurism.

“Test Pattern” by The Thermals – A slow jam from a peanutbutterjelly band.

Well, I sure approve.

Oh! Conversations!

It’s time I got a little down and dirty.

I grilled the owner of a record store in Philadelphia. He was pretty candid, sort of didn’t want me to mention his name, although I doubt anyone is actually going to read this.

But I’ll be a good little Woodward nonetheless and protect my source!

I can say that he owns a record shop in the greater South Street area, the yuppie, faux porn-center of the city.

Now onward.

First off, how’s business?

Business is bad. People aren’t buying music anymore, at least not the way they used to be. I’m pretty much a laptop and a heap of ambition away from starting my own iTunes.

Wow. Is music going in a bad direction?

I don’t know if it’s the music. I mean, I hear people all the time bitching about there not being any more good bands around. That’s bullshit. I love a lot of the new music that’s being made, I just don’t like dropping 15 bucks for a CD anymore. I think we’re all just spoiled. It’s become so easy to cough up 99 cents, or whatever they’re charging now, that the concept of buying an album, priced at more than ten dollars seems insane.

Is the digital single killing the music industry?

Ha, I don’t know about killing. How about beating violently? Think of it this way: the album is more than just a nifty collection of songs slapped together by an artist. Those songs are ordered a certain way, they’re picked for certain reasons. You download one song, two songs by an artist, you’re not getting the full vision. It’s just lazy listening, really.

I know that it’s been hard on the major retailers, the Best Buys and Targets, but what’s the climate like for the independents?

I have my customers, you know what I’m saying? I have the people that are coming in to look for some obscure shit they can’t find at the local Wal-mart, which is why I can survive in this business. Let’s face it, I’m a niche. But that’s cool, stores like mine have always been on the outside looking in, and that’s the way I like it. I’d love to sell a million fucking copies of John Mayer or whatever, but that doesn’t always work out.

What are the big bands going right now?

Honestly, just check out the college radio charts and you can get a good feel for what my customers are buying. Radiohead has been a smash, even though they moved so many copies (of In Rainbows) online. Vampire Weekend is hard to keep on the shelves. Stuff like that.

Is your store around in 10 years?

God, I hope so... Otherwise, I'd be in a bit of a jam. Really though, yeah, I can't imagine the music industry without stores like this. We're very much a part of the equation.

I mentioned that I was in Philly to catch Minus the Bear and Portugal. The Man.

Well I was!

My concert review is pending. I'm having trouble working with some of the videos I took at the show. As I am mildly stupid.

In the meantime, MTB:

I think I found out about these guys by randomly browsing through my favorite CD store, Repo Records, in Philly.

When I get a little disposable income I go to CD stores and sort of walk up and down each aisle, sort of waiting for something to catch my eye. I've gotten pretty decent at it.

Anyway, MTB are one of my top, mainstay bands at the moment.

This is the kind of music that makes the most sense when I'm going home for the weekend and I'm driving around just sort of thinking. It's profoundly emotive stuff, storytelling music at its most potent.

Songs like "Double Vision Quest", "Knights", "The Fix", "Pachuca Sunrise", the entire Highly Refined Pirates full-length, are all poignant, captivating strolls through fading love, regret, drunk happiness, all held together by memories and lingering ideas.

Roll on it, for goodness sakes.

Our Babies Will Look Hot

I’m going to see Kate Nash at the Trocadero next Saturday night!

I’m super excited. Ms. Nash is from England. She plays the piano and she is quite fiery.

Her claim to fame is “Foundations” off her solo debut, Made of Bricks. Ms. Nash makes disarmingly sweet music that touches on broken love and dickhead boyfriends.

I’ll try to get some video from the show. Hopefully it will be better than the stuff I’ll be posting about my most recent venture into Philly to see Minus the Bear and Portugal. The Man.

But more on that later...

Three is a Lot More Than Two

Here are three songs I'm playing and liking a lot lately:

“Shoulders & Arms” by Tokyo Police Club – TPC aren’t from Tokyo, don’t carry handcuffs and won’t be accepting any membership applications. I was disappointed, too. But songs like “Shoulders & Arms” off the band’s 2006 EP, A Lesson In Crime, are always sure to cheer me up; TPC makes smart, choppy, assault rifle rock music riddled with jagged yelps, jangly guitar and battered high-hat. Clocking in at just a little over two and a half minutes long, the tracks on A Lesson In Crime are the perfect marriage of punk rock sensibility and East Village know-how.

“Radio” by Saves The Day – The boys of STD have been dumped by a ton of girls. “Radio” has Wladimir Klitschko hooks and sounds like it’s been sung entirely though the nose of Chris Conley, but there’s a total guilty pleasure thing going on here. Bouncy, whiny, backed by buzzing guitars, when I listen to STD I’m checking over my shoulder to make sure I’m alone. And I’m loving it.

“Hussel” by M.I.A. Featuring Afrikan Boy – I’ve been listening to enough rap and hip-hop to know that M.I.A. is pretty much the realness. This is less is more, minimalist beat shit flavored with African dance drums, tribal coos and the third world bars of Afrikan Boy, a street-hardened rapper by way of Nigeria. “You think it’s tough now? Come to Africa” Boy admonishes while M.I.A. takes phone calls from her good friend Habeebi and preaches on the West’s obsession with material possessions. Biting, indeed.

Album Spotlight: Rx Bandits

When I type “Rx Bandits” into my search engine of choice and I read the 1.5 sentence description of the band tagged to the Bandits’ site, I’m a little surprised.

“Orange County ska band with tour dates, photos, bio, press, and more…”

I’d rewrite that.

“Orange County Prophetic Zen Travelers charged with global salvation.”

Something like that.

Yes, it’s true, the Rx Bandits are from Orange County. But let’s stop there, because not much else can be said about this fivesome that fits in a two-sentence nutgraph.

The Bandits are a band the way bands were meant to be made. Aggressive and heady on their 1999 debut Halfway Between Here and There, soulful and stoned for 2001’s Progress.

2003’s Resignation was a fifty-minute tumble-dry roll rife with sexual wails, political backbone and societal condemnation.

All setting the stage for the Bandit’s masterpiece, …And the Battle Begun, an album that needs to be appreciated as a transition and a general movement in the direction of greatness.

Dropped in 2006 on the label started by guitarist/vocalist Matthew Embree, Mash Down Babylon (MDB Records), …And the Battle Begun is what I imagine John Coltrane and Bill Dixon would have sounded like if they knew how to rock.

Battle was patched together by live in-studio sessions and it shows; the Bandits are thrilling live, a viral emulsion of oh-oh callbacks and frantic, punched-out moshpits, cut with clean musicianship and overwhelming urgency.

I’ve seen them live five times in the past ten years and I leave every show thinking, yes, that’s what a concert should feel like.

And this is what an album should feel like. A sequential happening, each track considered and weighed, melding together to write a story of addiction, blind hope, false bravado and the collective middle finger.

The album opens with “Untitled”, an a cappella lyrical chant, Embree whispering “It’s over/I must have seen her face before,” as much a declaration of love lost as a warning that the shit is about to hit the fan.

“…And the Battle Begun” sets the tone for the rest of what’s to come: frenetic progressive rock with dramatic highs and lows, tempo shifts and mystical, lyrical exploration.

Embree pens many a tune for the downtrodden and the looked-over, and they’re all here on tracks like “One Million Miles An Hour, Fast Asleep” and “Epoxi-Lips,” songs teeming with verve, bubbling over into anarchic collapse.

"To Our Unborn Daughters” is a trembling, fleshy expose of gender inequality. Embree intones “Don’t you ever be afraid of all of your beauty/You can move without his words” in a cry to feminine arms.

For the lovers, there’s “Apparition,” a smoky, jazz-laden dip into reggae-flavored chill.

For the haters, there’s plenty.

The Bandits lean heavily on the foundations of insurgence and societal upheaval sown of Resignation.

“The past will die before the future’s born” moans Embree on “Crushing Destroyer.”

Please, more future.

VH1 Is the New mtvU

What's up with MTV making movies?

Stop-Loss, the newest film to come out of the studio known less and less for actual music content, hits theaters this weekend. Ryan Phillippe will probably get naked. Money will be raked.

Varsity Blues, Aeon Flux, Joe's Apartment, Beavis and Butthead Do America: all MTV, all pieces of abject junk.

I heard that Tila Tequila is getting a full-feature package deal, slated to drop summer of '09.

Yeah, she's going to get drunk and try to have sex with the camera. Then the camera crew will get drunk and try to have sex with her while she's trying to have sex with the camera.

Boundaries will be broken.

Clothes will be piled on the floor.

MTV will probably never play music again.





*Disclaimer* I am more than likely going to see this movie, but not because Ryan Phillippe gets naked. I have no gumption and I'm a sissy coward. Plus, Ryan Phillipe gets naked, so that's cool.

Stalking

I promise that I'm not obsessed with The Adventures of Pete and Pete.

I just thought that this was highly cool. It's a music blog that managed to scrape together a playlist made up of music from the hit Nickelodeon show.

I spent five years trying to find "Falling Out of Love (With You)" by the 6ths, an oddity largely ignored by the Pete and Pete fanbase.

Very cool stuff.

Let's Mix It On Up

I’ve decided that I’m going to let ten songs shuffle and see what comes up. I’m ready for complete humiliation and will fall on my sword, if necessary.

Here goes:

“When It’s Good” by Ben Harper – I like how this is starting. Ben Harper has the voice of an angel. A male angel.

“Her Middle Name Was Boom” by Glassjaw – Gj makes me want to eat steak and punch old ladies.

“Elephants” by Portugal. The Man – This is some weird, freaky shit. Watch out now!

“Mardy Bum” by Arctic Monkeys – A jolly little romp that’ll bounce ‘bout your ‘ed.

“Yellow Submarine” by The Beatles – I have “Revolver” on my iPod, I swear…

“One Head Light” by The Wallflowers – Remember when you liked this song? You were littler.

“Fill My Pill” by Be Your Own Pet – One more plug and I get to play rhythm guitar in BYOP.

“Use of Time” by 311 – If you don’t know about “Transistor”, you don’t know a damn thing. This is some meditative trip shit.

“Eat Your Heart Up” by The Blow – This is probably the painting in the museum you don’t really understand but you stand there in front of it for a long time anyway. You posture and look smart.

“Big Drag” by Limbeck – Sleepy, dreamy, mellow mushy veggggtables.

I think this went well. I might skip a song or two depending on my mood, but overall not too shabby. Now roll on it, please.

Let's Sell Our TVs and Buy Radios

I was part of a Listener Panel for the Philly radio station 104.5 WRFF Wednesday night.

It was pretty neat. We filled out questionnaires, participated in a roundtable Q & A session, and signed blood oaths pledging that we would never listen to another radio station in the car and that we would leave the radio on at night while we sleep so that the station gets better ratings and that we would make 104.5's site our homepages and that we would throw away our iPods because the radio is the only thing that we need in our lives to make us happy and all that extra technology just clouds our better judgments.

It was a little weird.

But I DO love 104.5, they're as close to a college radio station as we're going to get on the big dial (sorry 89.7, cut that free-style jazz shit out and maybe we could talk).

I also got to add the only small change I needed to get off my chest: enough with the goddam Pearl Jam!

Roll On It!

I think my favorite reaction, when prowling through a friend’s iPod shuffle, is the transformation that takes place during criticism, this little transition, from friendly prodding to full-on guarded entrenchment.

Heels dug in and visibly offended, this iPod owner is suddenly testifying before Congress about campaign contributions. All of a sudden I’m your mother and I just found the weed stash you’ve been keeping in your old Adidas shoebox, you’re scrambling for legal footing and come up with something like this: “I can explain that…”

Problem is, there’s not much that can explain Panic! At the Disco. Hiding behind childhood gooyness doesn’t make Ace of Base suck any less, and just because that Keith Urban song reminds you of your ex-boyfriend doesn’t mean you should have any constitutional right to ever listen to it.

And this stuff gets touchy. People, myself included, don’t like to be told that the things they enjoy qualify them as intellectually and culturally stunted.

That can sting.

But hey, I’m enlightened, I’m reaching this harmonious apex of understanding, finding the ability to accept that some people will like shitty music, and they have the right and often the penchant to like said music.

So here, instead, is where I take my stand: if you can bump Rascall Flatts and Ludacris and you can enjoy it, why would and do you stop there?

Keep going.

I talked to some of my friends about how they discover music, where they find new and interesting stuff to listen to.

Most of them didn’t take me very seriously.

I got a bunch of “What do you mean?”

My buddy Mickey explained that he mainly works through mainstream channels, like MTV or popular radio stations.

“I don’t really think that I have a set method for getting music and stuff,” he explained to me. “I sort of just pick up things from friends or when I’m out, I guess.”

My friend Janie said something similar: “I just sort of know what I like when I hear it, so that part is pretty easy. I guess I’m not really sure where I do actually hear stuff, but I do.”

This is what I’m talking about. People not actively seeking music, not participating and expecting it to find them. This is a very active kind of arrangement, there is a real need to want to explore and seek things out.

When I asked about where people were going to buy music from, I got a few similar responses, summed up by my friend Christine.

“I don’t buy music… I download a lot of it, but I don’t really buy anything.”

Ok, that works. Not really a great idea (I’ll explain later), but at least it’s a start.

Just like, start pretending that the songs and artists you want to discover are the porn and gross videos we all seem to be able to track down so easily.

Get in the mindset.

Also, pick up a Rolling Stone, a copy of Filter or Under The Radar. Listen to some college radio stations! Roll on it!

Three is a Lot More Than Two

Here are three songs I'm playing and liking a lot lately:

"Music Box" by Regina Spektor – Ms. Spektor hasn't exactly been the Ambassador of Musicianship and Artistic Integrity lately (the radio-rehash and creepily narcissistic video companion to "Better", the soundtrack spotting of "That Time" in the Colin Farrell vehicle "In Bruges"), but sometimes she can sell out with the best of them, as evidenced with "Music Box", a wholly noncommercial song that turned into a JC Penny commercial spot for Fall fashions. Regina is a classically trained pianist, yet she leans heavily on funky time signatures, vocal eccentricities and what I'm sure old people would deem "quirky" lyrics. She's so punk rock.

"Supersonic" by Oasis – How easily we all forget that Oasis debuted with Definitely Maybe in 1994 and made The Beatles look like four lily English dudes who liked to hold hands and hang out with mystical gurus. "Supersonic" is everything that made Oasis great; Liam Gallagher tosses off sardonic lyrics stinking of nonchalance and a general refusal to commit to anything, while the boys chug along, fuzzed out and turned up. Grizzle be damned, this is good stuff.

"In Fact" by Gregory and The Hawk – I don't know hardly a damn thing about G and The H, and that's the way I like it. As far as I can tell, it's a girl playing an acoustic guitar and the noises that come out are pretty. "In Fact" is an unassuming adventure into whimsical fancy, clocking in at slightly over two minutes long. It opens with "Step one, light me on fire." Don't you want to know more?! Is there a step two?! Did anyone get hurt?!

Ticketmaster Is My Feudal Overlord

Ticketmaster has packed my lunch three times in the last two weeks.

I bought tickets online to see Kate Nash, Minus the Bear and Lisa Lampanelli (dirtiest and funniest woman alive).

The most egregious offense, bar none, were the Lampanelli tickets, priced at $32.50 apiece. Ok, yeah, that's not horribly expensive, my seats are pretty good.

But Ticketmaster tacks on two "convenience charges" of $9.75 for each ticket, plus an "order processing charge" of $5.15.

The final bill: $89.65.

That's $24.65 in additional charges. Almost the cost of a third ticket.

What the shit? Why am I being charged extra money for paying money?

Go to any major search engine and type in "Ticketmaster rip-offs", or some variation on the general theme, and you can get stuff like this.

It's a monopoly, a scumbag con machine bent on pillage and rape. Short of swinging by the box offices of the Trocadero, The Fillmore at the TLA (ugh, I hate even linking to Live Nation, those stupid douchebags) and Tower Theatre, respectively, I'm screwed, I'm stuck.

I'm just going to start e-mailing the Fortune 500 list my social security and credit card numbers and get this stuff over with. Preemptive strike style yo.

Your Grandma Hates You

Barbara Walters, the barometer of hip, hates the Moldy Peaches. You should care about this.

Walters interviewed indie spank-goddess Ellen Page, star of Juno, as part of her pre-Oscar primetime special and dropped a colossal bomb; she doesn’t “get” the Moldy Peaches.

And I thought she would. Like, really, I thought she’d shuffle between Wolfman Jack, the Andrew Sisters, and a pair of shoegazing acoustic stoners from New York City.

Adam Green, the half peach, shot back at Walters, claiming that because she sung part of “Anyone Else But You”, the duo’s smash hit, she clearly appreciates and even enjoys the tune.

He also managed to make this impossibly retarded foot-in-career comment: "If Michael Jordan turned out to be the biggest Moldy Peaches fan, I’d be, like, 'Join the fucking club.'

I tried very hard to find a deeper meaning to this quote but could only come up with this: Adam Green is a giant tampon.

This is, after all, a band whose album, The Moldy Peaches, was out of print because nobody gave two fruits about silly, mindless acoustic ditties recorded with low-fi equipment.

It’s only recently back in stores due to the popularity of the film, which prominently features MP’s Kimya Dawson.

This is like the worst rap battle ever; old, irrelevant lady versus young, irrelevant dude.

Not Even Mugged...

So, I didn’t die. And I owe Hoboken an apology. It was well lit, smelled good and was in no way scary or intimidating. My fault.

The same can’t be said for Be Your Own Pet.

They played Maxwell’s, a hole in a hole coffee shop/bar with an adjoining back room stage that reminded me of the cellar in Silence of the Lambs.

Dank. Dimly lit. Strings of lights tacked to the walls. A dump.

No One & The Somebodies and The King Left opened for BYOP. I thought it would be great if from now on, all of us at these shows could vote whether or not we wanted to hear the opening acts.

Like a show of hands. Majority rules, you play the crappy songs we don’t know, bark your garbled lyrics and numb us with your fuzzed out amps and keyed up drum mics.

Blah.

Anyway, BYOP ate our faces off. Jemina Pearl Abegg, donning a Disneyland kid’s tee and a black felt skirt, brought the pain early and often.

Backed by her band of male miscreants, Abegg thrashed, flailed, kicked and whipped through “Bicycle, Bicycle, You Are My Bicycle”, “Adventure” and “We Will Vacation, You Can Be My Parasol.”

She’s the star. She’s like 5’2”, lean, with striking platinum blond hair and a disarmingly cute speaking voice. And she will eat your first-born and punch you in the balls.

BYOP rarely announces the names of the songs they play. They don’t give a shit when people jump up on stage and freak out; no bodyguards, no security, they even let around twenty people pogo all over their instruments in the middle of a song.

They debuted a ton of new material from their forthcoming LP, Get Awkward, which drops March 18, sometimes to the chagrin of the frothy-mouthed faithful. Abegg let everyone know they’d be closing with a pair of new songs. A couple people booed. She told us to funk ourselves, seared back our skulls for about seven minutes, then exploded a pipebomb in our faces with “Bunk Trunk Skunk”, the nastiest of the nasty.

Yummy.

I Might Die Tonight!

I'm going to see Be Your Own Pet tonight in Hoboken!

And I'm terrified.

If I don't get stabbed and beaten to death in Hoboken, I'll write a review of the show in the comfort of my suburban home later in the week.

In the meanwhile, use your Ares and your LimeWire or actually go to a Best Buy and stop not knowing about Be Your Own Pet!

Give Me Your Money, I Own a Company!

If you’re one of the 28 people who still think MySpace is pretty keen and neat-o cool, you’re going to hate this.

CNN Money is reporting that MySpace is in talks with the music industry heads to launch a music-sharing site that will stream copyrighted music and sell MP3 downloads.

A quote taken from the article: “MySpace… has attempted to expand its position as a social networking site into an online media company.”

The Russian newspaper Pravda led the story with the headline “MySpace wants free music for its users”.

I know, they’re Russian, there’s probably a language barrier, they uphold the principles of Communism.

And yeah, there’s a slant here. “MySpace wants to genetically engineer unicorns for all the flightless children of the world.”

CNN Money isn’t stupid though, they know the last unicorns were killed off during the Mythical Horse Genocide of 1894.

They also know that MySpace has abandoned any semblance of peer to peer-ness and is rolling in corporate kickbacks.

It’s just one of the many steps in the process to make money via the mouse click and pillage our purses while we’re sleeping.

Yes, I have a purse. And yes, I’m opening a Walmart in my living room this summer. No shipping and handling, durh.

Well, Sure, You Could Say it Was Sublime

I was at Rowan University's Edelman Planetarium this weekend for the dual delight of a show about our solar system's prettiest planet, Saturn (I'm a wimpy nerd) and our solar system's trippiest ska-rap band from Long Beach, Sublime.

Brad and gang are the fourth band to get the laser lights treatment from Rowan (Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin and The Beatles were all psychedelic freakouts in their own rights).

I can't think of a better way to spend five dollars. I wasn't even high or tripping and I still spazzed right along to an instrumental "Pawn Shop", the hard-charging "Saw Red" and the guitar/scratch blowout outro of "Garden Grove".

GO! It's a half hour, it's cheap, it's really, really cool. Here's a list of shows.

Three is a Lot More Than Two

Here are three songs I'm playing and liking a lot lately:

"19-20-20” by The Grates (pictured!) – I have no idea what this song is about, but Aussie lead singer Patience Hodgson grrs, growls and bounces around on this pop-punch rockalong that defies you not to dance. Hodgson rhymes ‘tigers’ with ‘liar’ and you don’t even care, you sort of nod your head and think yeah, that makes sense.

“Islands on the Coast” by Band of Horses – It might take you a few listens before you start to dig BOH, but that’s only because you’re retarded. These guys are a consistent, reliable source of heavy melodies and beautiful, grandiose progressions that will dip you deep in introspective thought and conjure the images of your ghostly ex-girlfriends. Creepy crawlie.

“Waiting for October” by Polaris – Polaris is the band that played a ton of the music for the Nickelodeon show “The Adventures of Pete & Pete.” Mark Mulchay surges and cracks on “Waiting for October”, waxing prophetic about the end of the world while riding the haunted riffs of a ‘90s indie gem, the proof that Polaris is a band that is as much a band as it is a feeling and a memory of things you used to be and things you used to do. If that sounds confusing it’s because it is.

A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall, on your face.

I'm pretty tired of you plugging in your iPod at a party and force-feeding us country playlists, Ludacris B-sides and club-rape, French ecstasy Eurotrash rave mash-ups. "Skat Man" better stop coming up on your Shuffle when we're in the car together, and I swear to god if you tell me you only like two Carrie Underwood songs I’m going to punch you right in your underwood.

Have you ever been around someone while they’re playing music, and you just sort of look at them and want to thrash them right in the face until their eardrums start to work again?

I feel like this all the time. Hopefully you do too.

That’s why I’m going to do everything in my power to get people back on track. I’ll review new bands and new albums, talk about my favorite places to discover music, and, most importantly, rip people for the stupid shit they put in their brains.