Friday, September 22, 2006


It's not so much the creepy little kid or even the creepy little kid smoking at the end. It's the creepy grown man laying on a futon making the creepy little kid dance at his command and it's the creepy other kids arrayed around the creepy grown man that really creeps me out. I guess you can guess that I think it's the way creepiest thing I've seen on Youtube, um, in the last hour.

Christ, I mean, Chris Stigliano has his top 100 albums. I've heard about 30 of them, sad to say. Surprised, though, to see Yoko and John made it.

And here's your daily dose of Fergie hate. Enjoy these days, as some day she will rule the UK. Oh, and some Fergie love.

Lefsetz nails the new Bob Dylan although I don't know what he means by it not being "accessible". While it's fun to try and figure out what Dylan is trying to say in his songs (as I tried a few posts ago), it's still his crappiest record since that one after Slow Train Coming:
This is not a word of mouth record. These same worthless print writers are selling this record. Getting baby boomers who want to look cool and in the loop to buy it. Because if you heard it at a friend’s house, you’d NEVER buy it!
Some rare Raygun at SiL. Thurston Moore Raga-Superstar goes to Salon. Art Brut (another current band that makes me feel kinda young - and Bri'-ish) video.

And finally, Albini on a recent Cocorosie performance:

From a previously-linked blog:
blog wrote:
The opera shifted into hip-hop as a flock of birds flew overhead on this "windy night in the windy city." Bianca rapped while Sierra Casady sang through some effect that made it sound as if she was weeping. ... And finally, the first black musician of the weekend (at least the first I saw) stepped on stage and proceeded to beatbox expertly before doing a kick-ass, high-speed rap in French, and then fondling Bianca during a slow jam...

There is no part of this description that doesn't make me seethe with hatred for someone. The Cocorosies, their audience, the expert beatboxer or the poor blogger. There's something to hate in every phrase!

Okay, I don't hate the birds.

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