The Denial Twist

With the advent of tai-bo, feminism, Title IX and the Spice girls, the entire female race has never been stronger. Conversely, the entire male race has never felt more useless. After spending a month travelling with my girlfriend, I came to the unsettling conclusion that she really didn't need me for all that much. Sure one could make the argument that I'm needed for that whole "love and companionship" thing, but as soon as she tires of my good night kiss I'm out of a job (and Homey's gotta get paid!) However, there is one corner of the market in which man still reigns supreme, and it is opening jars. For one reason or another, girls always seem to struggle with opening jars. Maybe it is just a secret ploy on their part to make us guys feel good about ourselves (and if it is, keep it up), or maybe they just have weak wrists. Either way, as soon as a jar needed to be opened, I was ready to put on a show. Pickles, tomato sauce, onion dip, it didn't matter, I had to get that sucker open. What else do they need us for, our oh-so clever tongue in cheek "take" on the new Avril Levine song? Our cutting edge off the cuff comments? With the Sex and the City playing round the clock, the male species are hardly needed for their entertainment value anymore. Who needs another witty rant when you can watch that Kerri chick rip her current beau for his own inadequacies. If I didn't get that jar open what would I say, "well it looks like we're not eating tonight, but do you want to here my rousing dig on Brandon Flowers?" You want proof that God's a guy, look to our wrists; just the G-mans way of keeping us dudes in the game. Believe me, the girls aren't going to stick around for the ambiance.

Carlos D rocks the bass, ladies and moustache like a vandal, does not call back the next day

Interpol's latest tour, accessible only to indie hot spots such as Kitchener and London Ontario, made its first stop in our nations capital, good old Ottawa. True, NYC has better venues, consistently better bands, and way cooler people; but every once in a while the Sens win big, pitchers are two for one, and Interpol comes swaggering down our slushy streets. Only in Ottawa can you see a band of this magnitude in a crowd of no more than 600. Since Canadians are impossibly polite we made our to very front without the slightest problem. The night then pretty much played out like we hoped it would; we grabbed some beers, took our spots beside some girls in heroin chic motife, and watched as Carlos D showed us what a real man looked like. I want, nay, need a moustache. Interpol threw down an absolutely blistering set which reaffirmed my belief that they are head and shoulders above almost any other band on the planet. The new material is awesome, Carlos D blew a kiss our way (I'm guessing at our skinny pale friends) and I scored some sweet merch. Only in Ottawa can you score that type of night without having to knife someone in McDonalds parking lot. I guess the next logical question is when does Radiohead come to town?

Brandon Flowers is a douche

His music sucks, and I can't stand the guy. Quit giving Las Vegas and the moustache a bad name. I heard rumours that Elton John openly refers to him as "a backstreet boy in eye liner." Best album in the last 20 years my ass.

Music of 2007

2007 has been a pretty sic year for music so far. Arcade Fire dropped their new album, The Shins left some table scraps for that Scrubs guy to use in Garden State 2, and James Murphy gave us a reason to dance again (besides the possibility of a back alley bj). So here is a list of what I've been listening to lately; some of which was was actually released in 2006. If that is a problem for you, then sign off of msn and go hang out at the local record store for the next 6 years of your life, I'm sure they'll sympathize with you.

Arcade Fire - Neon Bible: This ones a no brainer; if you don't own it already, you better have a good excuse, like epilepsy. Although the album is somewhat lyrically awkward, it still has the chops to become a year end favorite. Win ditches his inner Bowie and goes straight for his inner Boss. Springtsteen shines through on the ballad of Joe Simpson (Antichrist television blues) where Win champions his two daughters for a life of radio fodder and marriage ending reality TV shows. Neon Bible certainly has less of joyous, celebratory feel to it that its predecessor; instead, it offers a bleaker, somber look at the world today. Win's looking through his windowsill and he does not like what he sees; MTV is turning today's youth into vacuous celeb-utaunts, there's an unnecessary war, and there's bad ass wave getting ready to knock us all out.

Feist- The Reminder: For me, the mark of a great album does lie in its instrumentation or lyrical content; its true worth can be found on the back of a discarded pay stub. That's right, it is truly a great album if I am willing to pay money for it. And believe me, I don't fork over my parents hard earned mula for much; hell, I'd download clothes if I could. But this is an album I'd gladly throw down a $20 for (although there better be change). On The Reminder, Feist shatters all expectations and trumps her previous effort, the much loved baby-maker of an album Let it Die. Remarkably, Feist maintains her knack for heart warming vocals while reaching new heights with foot stomping anthems such as my moon my man (the fact that she says "my boobs" in the song is just awesome). The album maintains the sense of closed door intimacy achieved on Let it Die, while exploring adventurous new territory on songs like the vocally daunting Sea Lion Women. Here Feist has achieved quite the feat; she has reached of fine balance of tracks appropriate for a bed room romp and a yuppie cock tail party. Oddly enough, they are both things I am willing to pay money for.

Clap your hands Say Yeah- Some Loud Thunder: The production on the 1st track leaves a lot to be desired; what Ounsworth was thinking is beyond me. None the less, there are still some incredible songs to be found. The concept of going to hell only to have Satan wants nothing more than an all night dance party is something only the weird at the back of the class could think of. No whips, no chains, just dancing, dancing. And yes, it is conceivable that Alec Ounsworth was that weird kid. While the album does have the occasional misstep, songs like Underwater gives listeners a tantalizing taste of what the band is capable of. Maybe you should have been nicer to that weird kid at the back, even if he did smell funny.

Phoenix-Its never been like this before: This album came out last year, so on a hipster time-line it might as well had 9 years of shelf life. None the less, if you haven't listened to it give it a whirl; it was certainly one of the less heralded albums of '06, and flew under the radar on most year end lists. In short, it's the album I wish The Strokes made good years; how a bunch of french dudes managed past to swagger past NYC's favorite sons is beyond me. But in the process they had time to ditch their baguettes and get down and dirty while giving it for their French war Lord Naploeon. Last time I checked Julian still hadn't givin props to Rudy G.

The Shins-Wincing the Night away: What used to get me off about the shins was the environment they created; each track had a warm, almost cozy atmosphere to it. In trying to create a larger sound (and in effect lose some of their mass appeal), some of this niche is certainly lost. Still, you have have to give James Mercer credit for writing an album about his struggles with insomnia. The album does deliver a number of gems, some of which Zach Braff has already jacked for Garden State 2.

Yo la tengo-I am not afraid of you and I will beat your ass: I am not sure what's better, the album itself or its humorous yet incredibly threatening title. Regardless, it provides indie kids with two things they are in desperate need of; good music to dance to and the possibility of a stiff beating.

The Hold Steady-Boys and girls in America: Sidle up to the bar and order this jack and coke of an album. Stained whiskey glasses abound, the album is littered with Kerouac references and visuals of stoned-spiritless girl friends. No album in recent memory has done a better job in capturing what the high school years are really like. From clumsily playing grab-ass with your first crush, to making the always poor decision to walk around and drink some more, Boys and Girls in America firmly set fire to the gritty details which most teen movies gloss over. Empty bottles, nervous and awkward foreplay, going out every weekend only to end up in the same place, and massive nights where the chaperon narc'd on you for dancing too close.

Peter Bjorn and John-Writers block: A very, very cathcy album with mass appeal for 3 key demographics- your grabdman with a penchant for whistling melodies and songs which explore the concept of a generational gap (young folks) - your nostalgic/when we were young and ued to travel parents (Paris) - and you and your stoner friends who year to trave; ie, get really high in another country (Amsterdam). I dj'd the other night during my dinner time set, and the folks at table one complemented my choice between mouthfuls of hamburger helper.

Of Montreal-Hissing fauna, are you destroyer?: I saw these guys on Conan the other night, and I can't pretend that I knew for a second what was going on. I've listened to the album twice; it sounded good but complicated, so I'll give it another go in the future. Call me then, we'll talk, punch will be served.

Menomena-Friend or foe- Upon arriving late to the concert, we asked some yuppie in a lululemon track jacket (his first mistake) if Menomena had already playing. After curtly replying yes, my friend T-bone chimed in "they haven't played yet, this guys a fucking moron, he doesn't know what he's talking about." Was my friends comment over the line? Possibly. Was it appropriate? Menomena hadn't played yet, so this misinformed cross dresser was in fact wrong, and there fore an asshole. Was it a good show? You better fucking believe it; thinl Tv on The radio with a better feel for instrumentation.

M.ward-Post War: This album also came out last year so I might as well be talking about the Beatles in terms of freshness; regadless, I played it during my breakfast set the other day at The Dining Room (Westboro's new hipster scene) and it killed. Lumped into the alt-country scene (not a bad thing), M.ward has produced one hell of a soundtrack for early morning breakfast sessions. His bluesy 'twang left my parents asking for seconds, which is more than I can say about the scrambled eggs.

Modest Mouse-We were dead before the ship even sank: After selling 3 million copies of Good News over the counter of HMV's everywher, you'd think that M-squared would be ready to be slapped with the "sell out" tag. But after ten years of impersonating a rabid dog, doesn't Issac Brock and his pained yelp deserve a little cash flow? True, dasboard is a little more radio freindly than we are used to, but songs like missed the boat amd little motel remind us why we've grown to love this humble rodent. If they aren't due for a pay day, I'm not sure who is.

Malajube-Tropme L'oeil: When my buddy first this band, his opening remark was "wow, they would reach a much wider audience if they sang in English." Upon later revisiint this comment, he admitted "wow, I was a real douche bag for saying that." Francophone status aside, this is an album overflowing wuth style, reaching from BSS dream pop to radio friendly jingles, and of course a little dose of Frap. Trompe L'oeil (trick the eye, if you were curious) is a little bit like poutine after a long night of drinking; so deserving, so french and at times, so utterly glorious.

Panda Bear- Person Pitch: The buzz about this indie-wet dream of an album is that it draws heavily from two influences; The Beach Boys and, wait for it.....The Russian Futurists. I'm going with Brian Wilson rather than some kids from Sudbury with a good sound and a bad name. Either way, the album is enjoyable mix of experimental noise and melodic pop ballads, which makes for a surprisingly listenable effort.

LCD Sound System-Sound of silver: You have to give it up for LCD;s drug loving front man for doing the impossible; getting indie kids to dance. Yes shake those pale skinny limbs, shuffle those Chuck Taylor's, and check your pretension and vintage cardigan at the door. Its time to dance!

It was written

Writing on the wall; yet another pop-culture blog in the already over crowded market of inane one way conversations. But hey, if Chuck K can make a buck writing about nothing (and I mean nothing), then why can't I (besides the obvious lack of talent, education, drive etc).

It's not what you're like, it's what you like

In John Cusak's music flic High Fidelity, the comment is made that it is not what you're like, but rather what you like that defines you as a person. Books, movies, music; these are the things that really matter. It is your personal taste that says who you are. Under this mindset, I could care less about how you treat your self or others (you could sell Panda's on the street for all I care), but if you thought that Sam Town was a good album then we are going to have a serious problem. So to make it as quick as possible for you to decide whether or not I am in fact a total jag-off, I have made a quick and easy list of my likes and dislikes. Don't fucking judge me.

Likes: Expensive haircuts, a good one-liner, getting roaring drunk (and talking about it the next day), collars that go up, and stay up, driving my parents '99 Subaru Outback, Feist in the tape deck, meth labs, and a good pair of socks

Dislikes: Shaving, parking, girls who wear sweat pants with Uggs, line ups, and the plight of Charlie Sheen.