Saturday, July 20, 2002 -- 03:06 p.m.

Brunching Shuttlecocks has it all figured out.
So does Ali Davis (warning: all text, but still might not be safe for work).

-Nate

Saturday, July 20, 2002 -- 09:34 a.m.

Personally I'm more worried about getting Cookie Monster to overthrow Elmo in a shag carpet-with-eyes coup d'etat than being exposed to some Muppet with HIV. Then again, I do not automatically associate HIV with gay smack addicts like the Media Morality Police do, and since there's a lot of MMPs out there I'll probably have to keep reading editorials that boil down to "OH GOD MUPPETS WITH AIDS -- next thing you know the superstar basketball athletes our children look up to will start claiming THEY have it too!" I mean damn, they had a "Peanuts" special well over a decade ago where Linus is smitten with a girl who has cancer so I'm not TOO shocked.

-Nate

Saturday, July 20, 2002 -- 09:02 a.m.

I woke up at 8 this morning with an odd realization. Now odds are you own a copy of Nevermind, or at least an MP3 of the leadoff track and renowned international superhit "Smells Like Teen Spirit". Now what you do is you start that song up and listen to that first by-now-a-part-of-our-national-tapestry riff. Pause the CD or MP3 before the Wall Of Death Guitars come in. Now go back to the beginning of that song and listen to it again.
If I didn't know any better, I'd say that, if just for a few seconds, Nirvana were trying to be Sly and the Family Stone.
Yeah yeah I know "Teen Spirit" is actually ripped off from some Pixies song and it's unlikely that Kurt was going for some sort of "Thank You For Lettin Me Be Mice Elf Again" vibe, but DAMN. That is some funky shit, seriously. I can only assume that the instantly recognizable nature of the riff (as well as a possible grunge stigma) is the only thing that's keeping it from being sampled in some party-up head-bob hip-hop track. Of course, I came up with this thought after eight hours of restless, humidity-wracked sleep so you might wanna just take that with a grain of salt.

-Nate

Thursday, July 18, 2002 -- 08:54 a.m.

And you thought that Vice article was bad: some website called "Jaguaro" (is that like an XKE built in Guadalajara?) thinks it's cool enough to tell you to forcibly remove many 'critically acclaimed' albums from your collection. I don't care if Midnite Vultures is kinda gimmicky: saying "You should know that Beck is the Christina Aguilera of the indie set" warrants a Jushin Liger-style barrage of super palmstrike dummy smacks -- though they alllllmost make up for it by saying you should buy Fugazi's 13 Songs and use it as a beer coaster (because as everyone knows, critics like me who decline to worship at the altar of Ian MacKaye are few and far between). Albums on this list I own, by the way: Combat Rock (which they make a decent argument against, actually), the aforementioned Midnite Vultures, Paul's Boutique ("[R]removing this album from your collection is an ethical imperative. If you do not, the terrorists have already won." Well call me John Walker Motherfookin' Lindh then), White Blood Cells (oh God, a JSBX comparison -- that's just WRONG), Dig Your Own Hole ("You bought it because you like rock and would like hip hop if it weren't for all the rapping that tends to accompany it." Uh, no. Listen to Kool Herc yelling on "Elektrobank" -- or do they even know who Kool Herc is?), Hello Nasty (They're over 30 on this album, so calling them "gramps" makes perfect sense!), Giant Steps ("Coltrane may be the John Holmes of jazz, but porno is still porno, and Giant Steps is still a tedious, embarrassing, snoozer of an album." Oh fuck them and their 'I'm cool 'cos I play Ornette Coleman albums backwards on 78' attitude), The Pulp Fiction soundtrack (hey, I own it for the dialogue), Dark Side Of the Moon (Guess what? I don't live "on campus". So I can still listen to it, neener neener neener), Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band (Overrated? Yes. Shit? No.), Zen Arcade ("an unlistenable mess" -- oh boo hoo, did the scawy feedback make baby cry?), Check Your Head and Ill Communication (I GET IT, YOU DON'T LIKE THE BEASTIE BOYS. Christ. Did they steal this guy's bike or something?). Boy, I should like stop writing right now and get a job as a carny or something what with all these bad unlistenable uncultured crapola albums I own! I have no business being a critic. I am sorry for having deceived you all.

-Nate

Wednesday, July 17, 2002 -- 08:38 p.m.

Not much to report on today -- been listening to Air's Moon Safari (still all moog-wanky and weird, still great), my promo of RDJ2's Dead Ringer (better than the best imaginable Herbaliser album but a couple of the guest MCs are assssssssssss) and Clinic's Walking With Thee (I've owned it for about three-four months now -- how is it that only yesterday did I notice how relentlessly funky-in-a-house-way "Sunlight Bathes Our Home" is?). Oh, I also got tickets to see Beck, August 8th in the Fitzgerald Theater in St. Paul. Let's hope Garrison Keillor keeps his nose out of it.

STROKES IN DOUBLE-SECRET TABOO MYSTERY INJURY SHOCKER! Mr. Badger sez it's drugs. I say Julian broke his foot off in the ass of some random Buddyhead writer and needs it surgically reattached. (Actually Buddyhead hate Limp Bizkit more than they hate the Strokes so I am torn on them. Hrm.)

I nearly lost it at work. You ever see that episode of Mr. Show where David Cross plays a method actor so devoted to truly getting into his roles that he lobotomized himself in order to snag a part as a mental patient? I kept remembering the scene where he runs around clad in a diaper, bolts out the front door and hops nimbly over a large brick planter, making weird noises all the while. You'd just have to see it to understand why I was on the verge of chortling like an idiot. That, and the "Supermodels Hotline" sketch ("CLOCK?").

-Nate

Tuesday, July 16, 2002 -- 09:22 p.m.

Word: southsidecallbox.com is updated. JBR reviews that new Sawnik Yoot album, Kipp and Bracken review some odd French movies and I discuss the finer points of a '70s educational film about booze.

Why haven't I found out about Fluxblog until today?

From a not-as-juvenile-and-meatheaded-as-you'd-think pro wrestling messageboard that I frequent: "You see, due to Joey Ryan coming out to Jimmy Eat World the past two shows at EPIC, the idea sprung into my head of the "Emo Kid" gimmick. Pick the wussiest entrance music possible (I'm thinking anything by Dashboard Confessional, although it would be a nice touch to come out to "Hear You Me", as I could dedicate each match to Mykel and Carli in proper fashion). Deliver promos in the form of spoken-word poetry. Weep everytime the opponent beats the shit out of me and yell something about "Can't you see this Hurts us BOTH?" And finish with a move yet to be determined called "The Autumn Zephyr". And do the Emo Dance." Courtesy of Buster Time's Chris Lening, whose one-time sig read "Transitions to offense by punching all crazy and yelling 'I'll never be good enough For YOU, Dad!'"

-Nate

Monday, July 15, 2002 -- 11:23 p.m.

1) Recent CD purchase: Atmosphere's God Loves Ugly. I know damn well it's not gonna be near as good as Lucy Ford though that's mostly because of my own tumultuous personal associations with that album last year; for some reason it's an album I associate with my finally getting my own apartment, and also with an ill-fated summer job that I don't wanna go into. I skimmed most of it though I paid close attention to the first two tracks, which seemed foreign and weird as Slug -- who is usually the closest hip-hop will get to emo (in lyrical content, at least; Doseone takes the prize in vocal annoyance) -- shifts into "I Will Fucketh Thine Shit Up, Verily" mode and talks about perpetrating some penile violence towards Sucker Emcees. The beats are all right, but nothing leaps out at me like "Between the Lines" or "Free Or Dead" or "Woman With the Tattooed Hands" did. Then again, Pitchfork panned it so it's gotta be good.
2) beck.com is streamin' the songs off his new upcoming album and... welllll, I'm not excited yet, though I'm far from dismissive. I knew to expect Mutations-y stuff, but the first song "The Golden Age" didn't do much for me -- it's a bit inert, and I can hardly remember a thing about it. Then again, it's internet-streamed and I could hardly understand the lyrics (which are often the most interesting bits of Beck's music, of course). "Paper Tiger" is nice and pretty and orchestral, but it sounds remarkably derivative of David Holmes' "Don't Die Just Yet" (which itself was somewhat derivative of Serge Gainsbourg) and it'll take me a while to shake that association. I am also starting to get a bit befuddled by Beck's alternating between "now I'm a crazy pop-collage prankster" and "now I'm a serious artist who likes making straight-faced folk/pop/rock songs"; this is supposed to be the follow-up to his Prince/Jagger falsettofest Midnite Vultures and so far it sounds like the exact opposite of "Sexx Laws"/"Hollywood Freaks"/"Get Real Paid" (which reminds me -- that latter song... was Beck two years ahead of the electroclash curve or what?). And then supposedly the follow-up to this album is going to be something with a lot of Dan the Automator production, which leads me to assume he'll be back to the lunatic uprocking that made him an outta-nowhere star in the first place. It reminds me a bit of Frank Zappa in that sense -- it's an interesting experience to listen to his serious avant-garde modern instrumental compositions but there's that nagging thought in the back of your head that says "this is the guy who wrote a song about the perils of frozen dog waste". On the other hand, it might not be so much a problem of "irony vs. serious" as it is more "party vs. after-party"; Mellow Gold and Odelay and Midnite Vultures had goofiness aplenty but for the most part it was a smart, often unnervingly weird sort of goofiness ("Truck Drivin' Neighbors Downstairs"; "Devil's Haircut"; "Broken Train") and his Mutations material seems to use that same sense of unnerving weirdness drained of the accoutrements of humor and given an aura of loneliness.
3) Akira was dope. I remember watching parts of it in high school and I found it kind of hard to follow, but my sardonic "artsy shit rules" side assumes that most of the people who complain about how "weird" the movie got are probably just bitter there weren't more sewer shootouts and motorcycle crowbar fights. It seems like an odd blend of Metropolis, 2001, Carrie, Blade Runner (natch) and a tinge of '50s juvenile delinquent films, and if that's not a formula for impressing me (who is often-times Easily Impressed, yes sir), I dunno what is. What really struck me about the movie, though, wasn't the stylistic violence or the Timothy Leary-san hallucinogenic weirdness, but the landscape: the doomed city of Neo-Tokyo is (and I hate to use this cliche, but I will anyhow) almost a character in itself, hyper-exaggerated 250-story buildings and billions of little lights streaming from windows and neon signs and freeways. Graffitti covers all available surfaces, shopping malls are incorporated into foliage-trimmed 50th-story plazas, roadblocks and rubble and garbage are everywhere. Aside from the post-psychedelic hypermod-in-ruins dystopia of A Clockwork Orange, the cavernous grimy ductwork of Brazil or the aforementioned neon hyperbole of Blade Runner, I can't really come up with a cityscape that captured my attention so forcefully.
4) I am a very proud man today as a quick google search has led me to learn that if you for some unholy reason decided to search for the term "batshit insane", this site would rank over net-dork-frat-nerd "edgy" "politically incorrect" haven Something Awful. (Link not supplied. Don't feel like it. Sorry.)

EDIT: Disregard Item #4. It seems to no longer be the case. ...the hell? Also, I forgot to archive last week's crap before posting this, so I reconfigured everything and... yeah.

-Nate