the JEFFs

Here is a short interview with the dad of the JEFFs. I’m glad he encouraged them. I’ve never fell so hard for such grit before. My brother-brother-in-law who lives in Portland and drums in a band (bands?) sends and discusses music with me. It’s nice to have someone seek out your opinion, and take it seriously, on something they’re creating. Like sharing writing, only more intimate. Reading about these punk brothers who dressed up as Luke Skywalker and Batman only makes me wish that my sisters and I would have veered from musical theater and blanket-tent-building to the world of heavy fuzz guitars and doo-wop sing-a-longs. (Although Zoe and Kyle gave me Cake and Joni Mitchell, respectively, I still wish there had been some Pavement, Pinkerton and Dinosaur Jr.) They are a cool band. It’s just another reminder when the deeper tracks of their records creep into my headphones that greatness ≠ fame.

Sometimes when I see old ladies with sleeve tattoos it makes me want to have some tattoos. Then I’m reminded not only the wrath I would face from my mom but that I one day would also be an old lady with sleeve tattoos. You don’t have to travel the world, shop in the dodgy end of town or lose your lover to side effects of a parasite from a foreign country to have fun with your clothes. In fact this week I found myself a real lady wearing mascara (rouge is next?) regularly and a different pair of pants (fun pants, yes, that I accidentally have become known (?) for) every day this week. Forget the fact that I got chocolate all over my jeans on Monday baking whoopie pies and remember that the more pants you have the less laundry you have to do. See: link above, the interviews in in VICE are witty and highlight sometimes, just the strangest. It’s a nice reminder that everything doesn’t have to be peachy-keen and straight laced. Their publication thrives on retelling awkward situations (included but not limited to) haggling, making rude comments, cleaning up filth and taking heavy drugs with strangers. It was the music portion that led my to JEFF The Brotherhood in the first place.

Since I’ve reached my limit on the 20 allotted NYTimes articles a week ago (stay tuned Morgan knows the way around the firewall) I’ve found myself creeping around to parts of the Internet that I hadn’t frequented before. Who knew it was so big. I guess I was under the spell of the Times. Sometimes when you’re everywhere, so good and so well respected I suppose a publication love affair needs to be cut off by just that, a firewall. So here’s something new.  Before you think you’re better than me because you live in NY/BK (okay, sometimes I really do wish I lived there due to the foul functioning, cursed Metro system here) here’s a reminder of just how great you’ll never know DC is. RE: check out number one.

"MMJ"

And just as a side note. A favorite thus far from this year, and perhaps the sleeper hit that I hope no one overlooks – My Morning Jacket’s Circuital. A band I’ve never loved or hated, I’m finally turned on. Join me.

In addition to that, there is plenty other findings I need to get out to the world. For our vegetarian loving friends, there is another Opinionator blog contribution from Mark Bittman. He brilliantly brings up the comparison of house pet treatment against and farm animal treatment. Why is it okay to beat a pig or a cow before you eat it but not okay to beat your dog, cat (or in this case, a hamster)?  The treatment of farm animals and house pets should always be in the same conversation. Bittman does it well (in anything he does). If you’ve seen any footage from investigative food industry reporting (be it documentary or online) you can see the harsh lives these animals live every day. It makes you think, shouldn’t  you be treating the animals you consume every day the same way you treat your house pets? 

For our friends at Team Coco, there is a new documentary about him. It chronicles the backstage life and life of the Legally Prohibited from Being on Television Tour from last summer. Which I did see with my dad in Atlantic City. It was pretty funny. But it dragged in the end. (Even before his fame I didn’t think Reggie Watts was very funny.) The tour seemed like Conan wanted something to do with himself. Instead of doing nothing. Which is why his ‘dark’ side coming out isn’t surprising. Although I cannot feel bad for him since he was given like, what - 30 million? to leave The Tonight Show. It’s the writers and the rest of us I feel bad for. The previous for moving their lives to get (literally) nothing and the latter for having to sit and listen to it.

And now there is my still current obsession with the press surrounding the Strokes. You can stream their whole album on their website until it comes out next Tuesday, the 22nd. I haven’t heard most of it. Just the first track (and the single that you hear everywhere.) But when Angeline sent me this, I started raging. David Fricke can call them the band that lead the beginning of revival of garage rock. (I guess he can.) But in no way shape or form is it okay to compare the debuting of the Strokes to the debuting of the Velvet Underground. The Velvet Underground is one of the most important bands. It is because of their content, timing, experiments with music, instruments, sound and their poetry. There is plenty of literature on the subject. And it’s not hard to find.  Being compared to the Velvets is unusual. Almost unheard of. And of all places to be found, for this to be published in Rolling Stone, the paralleling really dumbs down the Velvet Underground. (The Strokes are the last band that ever deserves that comparison.) I’m not sure who I would even compare the Velvets to. The Strokes have a new sound, but in no way did they start a revolution for freaks, junkies, artists, poets or musicians. I can’t stop reading, but the more I do the more irritated I become at the undeserving pedestal the Strokes are on.

I haven’t read it yet (it hasn’t come in the mail) but I can only assume that this Week’s New Yorker Profile of Alec Baldwin is great.

I’m in the process of compiling my favorite live albums. Also I’ve found a way for you to stream MP3s right from our site, while you read. Stay tuned!

Also, Happy St. Patrick’s Day. As my mother said to me today via email, please drink responsibly.

This morning, Angeline sent me this. For my love of The Black Keys and Patrick Carney. It’s a cool article, as she pointed out, because of it’s structure. His ex-wife chose items to remember their past with and chronicle their happy (yet destructive sounding) life together.

Speaking of Angeline, The Strokes are still everywhere. It said that their record leaked, I checked for it, but it seems as though someone is keeping a close watch on this lady. From salon.com, it made me realize that I need to peruse Salon and read it regularly. Because I’m strangely addicted to their press, this caught my eye. Recently, the other articles I’ve read about The Strokes makes them seem like they are fighting and hate each other. No one seems pleased with the tour, the new record or the way they made it. It’s a nice explaination of Julian Casablancas’ expressionless uninterest in their SNL performance and their shady chemistry towards each other in the Under Cover of Darkness video (1.6 million views!) (revised note: drinking problem?) Aside from it all, you still hear the single everywhere. They are playing (played) a free show at SXSW and are hugely touring (including a night at MSG, the night before LCD Soundsystem.)

 What does music become when you do it just to do it? Even if it’s good? This record only seems exciting to the fans. They seem like they want nothing to do with each other and are fighting.  Is that what we’ve become attracted to? Or even prefer? With a band that seems so unhappy with themselves, how is it that we are so content? How does that work? If none of them wanted to be there, then why go through with it?

The first band, a local duo, Long Walks On The Beach, was fun yet incredibly underdeveloped musically and lyrically. The few students who showed up by this point, still early at 9:30, were toe to toe hipsters dancing around in a sea of flannels and leggings to boot. Cults, the second band went through a half hour set up with only 25 minutes of play time. Their dirt lip mustaches and long stringy black hair fell to the wayside when they knew every detail up of set up for their equipment. But when their vocals were drowned out I could feel their frustrations with the student engineers. By their 10:10 start time I realized I was one of six non students out of the 100 that were beginning to fill the room. My lack of alcohol intake, on a STRONGLY noted alcohol-free event (aren’t they all), didn’t help much in dealing with the overall atmosphere. I’m surprised the band wasn’t distracted by all the students screaming conversations over their music. Drunken Georgetown sophomores with no one to make fun of them with proved to be a lot less fun when you’re getting elbowed and shoved out of a place you’ve been holding for yourself. With no record out, where would they go from here? Meanwhile, the crowd was restless and getting worse and worse.

I befriended a shorter-than-thou grad student who at first seemed to be the only other person annoyed at, or noticing, the crowd’s behavior. Even drunk Ithaca hippies were never this rude. I felt myself longing for a complacent crowd at the State Street Theater. The silent crowd at the Sufan show at Castaways, or the old Lost Dog lounge where I saw Beach Fossils. But after being what felt like millions of miles from the comfort of Ithaca shows all I could do was make conversation. Best Coast is a sound-the-same band, I began to tell my nameless friend. Their lo-fi sound is incredibly well produced but their day by day lyrics distracted me from enjoying any further. He began to tell me that lyrics meant nothing to him. If he wanted poetry he would go read (name drop obscurity here.) I rolled my eyes and when he mentioned the last great lyricists (or only great) were the Beatles, I lost interest and laughed at everything else he said, without looking him in the eye.

frontwoman bethany cosentino

Best Coast was drunk. I was happy to see her playing guitar after expecting just another helpless female lead vocalist. I saw that her up and down slide of the same  bar chord helped her sounds stay the same. She was smiley and making friends with the crowd, only two feet above her hipster minions on fold out platforms. After stripping off the outer layer of her own band’s tee shirt, she apologized to those of us who paid to see them. (I learned students only paid $5 after the school subsidized their performance.) She said they’d be returning with Weezer in January. It was then that I decided I no longer needed to stay to hear the same song over and over again, purely empty music. All I could think about was the coming soon to DC Weezer “Memories” tour, back to back nights of full album run-throughs of Pinkerton and The Blue Album.

I went there with a mind to write something substantial about the night. The take over of lo-fi pop, how so many new bands sound the same: Girls, Wavves, Black Lips, the Smith Westerns, Crystal Castles (and the fact that we so easily embrace this.) I want to question why in the height of known technology that the most popular recording styles are on few channels with some reverb on the vocals. Anything but flashy, with thrift store frames and hand me down hats, the drunken crowd that was there just to play along with fame got the better of me. I wanted to ask them why they liked this band, who else they listened to. Is the popular musical simplicity present to balance our complex world? (Ironic that musical recordings are so stingy while release methods and coverage are generous in their efforts.) With environment meaning everything to impressions, I was overexposing my brain and couldn’t shut it off. Clearly I still can’t. Thank god for that-

It was Dre who told me not to hate him just to continue my status quo. It was Shai who gave me the GOOD Fridays (and yes I listened to them and enjoyed them for a short while) who helped me consider him as more than just his douchey-ness. After receiving the album for free and listening to it two and a half times all the way through I can say that it is grand, over the top, histrionic, over-produced, arguably layered too much, features a lot (too many?) of big acts (credited and not) and well, is very good. Although I don’t know how I feel about a favorite Pitchfork’s Poptimist columnist Tom Ewing comparing My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy to John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band.

See I’ve always hated Kanye West. And the level of thought I have given this man lately, quite frankly, scares me. I’m not sure I understand his popularity. OK, he’s a good producer. But is his popularity due to Jay-Z’s friendship? (Amazing Terry Gross interview.) The whole Peter Rothbart ‘gatekeeper’ idea is swirling about in my head (thanks Morg). Do we like him because we’ve been told this record would be great? Or is it actually? Also, I do not sympathize in the loss of his mother. She died during an elective cosmetic surgery (THERE, I SAID IT.) But I figured I would share this almost obsession and these ideas with you to see what you think. I am trying to write every day and since moving to DC have totally lost my passion (if there was any, it’s now gone) for politics and have completely thrown myself back into round-the-clock music obsession. Reading about it, writing about it and fervently, discussing it like word vomit. In a nut, I promise to be around more, only if you will.

To keep it short: recently fell into a co-worker’s personal music server with (this is the exact number: 1414 gigs) a lot of music. If you want any, you know what to do. Also, rediscovering my indie white suburban roots: I’ve completely fallen in love with Pavement (perhaps because of Malkmus to Lou Reed like qualities–Riley if you haven’t yet, listen to this band), Pinkerton, and decided I don’t miss college after an anticlimactic evening at a Georgetown show of Best Coast (I know, please don’t say it- inquire within for story, or just check back in a day.) Also Jack White is now ranking as a Jeff Tweedy all-timer (essay to follow as well) and is officially confirmed that I would do dirty nasty things to him.

To keep it short: will be around more, writing more as I’ve forgotten about this outlet and promise to not let our beloved ‘cant fall to the wayside. We need people who can say what everyone else is thinking and I volunteer. Also, if you’re reading this Riley: please accept my facebook friend request. Four months is a long enough wait.

Not only is Jon Stewart on the cover of New York Magazine, he has a new book coming out.

I love the New Yorker. I love it even more when my roommate steals them from her office (they were gonna be thrown away anyways…) and brings them home for me. This edition has a great profile of Mark Zuckerberg. After reading it, and seeing the full commercial for the new movie coming out on October 1, the Social Network, I’m into the story. It’s fascinating and probably one of the greatest (if not THE greatest) stories of our generation.

Also, I love Woody Allen. I know one person who doesn’t. My sister Kyle. She’s crazy for it. I didn’t know he has a new movie coming out. Did you? The photo there makes him look old. I didn’t realize how old he is. I guess the reality is he looks older than he is. That doesn’t make me love him less. What does is the fact that he’s married to his adopted daughter.

Life without music. It’s disgusting. Well, I’m assuming it would be. Last Monday I challenged myself to one week sans music just on my commute to and from work. Glad to be re-reading The Bonfire Of The Vanities, I’ve been too deep into Tom Wolfe to miss polyphonic beauty. It has led to incredible strangeness in my life. I do not recommend this but I do recommend lending yourself to a personal challenge. What else are you doing?

What’s with this? Living in a major city and using public transportation every day (and as a commuter) has made me an angry person. It makes me hate people. Which I know is rancid. But I sleep at night. Very well.

Music note: new favorite. Check out The Morning Benders.

OK. I’ve been getting much more into solo Lou Reed. I recent won 100 bucks off my dad on a bet. We were talking about Lou Reed, for reasons I’m not sure why. My father has never expressed any interest let alone knowledge about the man. Which is why I won. He proceeded to promise me that Lou Reed played on a studio record with the Eagles. I’m pretty sure, if memory serves me right, that I laughed in his face. We called our phone-a-friend, my dad’s former colleague, life long friend and known-to-be genius, also my god father (not sure why I have one, also he’s the most Jewish man I will ever meet): Danny Gold. He works for the New York Times and used to edit Frank Rich. Enough said. In a nut, I was right. I am a Coney Island Baby.

Preferably tied for first with Wilco, but that remains to be seen, the Velvet Underground is IT. The beginning of punk, housing four original geniuses, the biggest asshole in music history (we love you Lou) and the greatest (chick) drummer EVER. period.

Check out All Songs Considered. As from the first link above, they have interns review classic records said interns have never heard before. (Can you even imagine never hearing your personal favorite and getting to hear it for the first time over again? It must be like magic.) As you’ll guess, it was the first, The Velvet Underground & Nico, the most OVERRATED of all VU records but still you cannot ignore it. Either way, keep up with All Songs Considered. They are no underground like Pitchfork (they’re hiring!) and they aren’t the new rave of national breaking news (ahem rollingstone.com, that shit is real, at least for now.) I’d call it a middle ground. After their ‘Best Opening Tracks’ show, they asked for listeners’ favorite closing tracks. I was too late to join to mention that my favorite is Oh! Sweet Nuthin on Loaded, but at least I’m getting it out here.

All I’m saying here is– it’s never too late to get into the Velvets. And, if you’re ready for some real emotional discourse and disturbance, Lou Reed himself. Warning, it gets strange.

Well, the Opinionator is a great nytimes blog that I love to write about, although I haven’t been reading it as heavily anymore. For reasons I’m unsure of, my interest in the news has dwindled over the past year. Even my op-ed obsession has fallen to the way-side, something I never thought I’d live to see. But every once and a while I come across something that is just your style. More from the same guy anddddd here is his website. It’s cool and in flash, so make sure your computer can handle it. He must have some serious sleeping problems because just like the last posting and cartoons he shared with the times, this too is about insomnia –something I’m glad I’ve never really suffered from aside from nights that fit into their own category of restless thoughts and daydreams. Enjoy!

Now, I won’t lie to you. Even blogging relationships involve truth at all times. When I was a child I was pretty much afraid of EVERYTHING. Halloween, rubber masks, and Tim Burton’s A Nightmare Before Christmas. I mean come on. I watched that movie years later after having gotten over my fears and seeing it through a new mind…..that shit is SCARY. No wonder I was afraid of it. There is a lot of twisted life going on in that movie……..But now A Nightmare… is beautiful to look at. The movie has groundbreaking technology and imagination, and changed animation ideas and possibilities. For those of you who have overlooked Tim Burton (if you have?), maybe you shouldn’t.

When something like this comes around I cannot ignore it even if my childhood nightmares linger. The MoMA, the Museum of Modern Art in Manhattan, has a Tim Burton exhibit. And its running until April! This gives us all enough time to get ourselves there. The last time I was at the MoMA I stumbled upon the Dali exhibit, which was really amazing, and a whole bunch of modern architecture and interior design. It was strange seeing it in a museum but it definitely drew a crowd. Here’s the information- do whatchu gotta do. There is nothing quite like a demented imagination.

What this means is, I’ve found another. This one hails from GOOD magazine. If you have not heard of, or do not read GOOD- you should be. Its one of those things.

Also, go here and subscribe to some free podcasts to listen to on your (long?) trip(s?) to wherever you may be going. There is nothing better than human stories, I promise.