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Monday, September 26, 2005 Long time, no blog. BRB, fareals. Until then, I present to you... Come In Burned iTunes Playlist 9/26/2005  Liberally, DG Tuesday, May 31, 2005 Things That Go Bump in the Night: Alkaline Trio's New Modern Rock Album Crimson  Personal grievance to get out of the way: NOT EVERY BAND THAT HAS A GOTHIC TONE TO THEIR MUSIC OR IMAGE SOUNDS LIKE THE SMITHS. JUST BECAUSE A SINGER INCLUDES LYRICS ABOUT DEATH, LONGING, ALCOHOL, OR REMORSE DOES NOT MEAN THEY ARE THE NEW MORRISSEY. IF YOU FIND YOURSELF REFERENCING SAID ARTISTS WHEN REVIEWING AN ALBUM, RIP UP YOUR PAPER OR THROW YOUR LAPTOP OUT THE WINDOW, LOG ON TO MONSTER, AND FIND A NEW JOB. Now that that's out of the way, dude, is Skiba the new Robert Smith or what? Wearing all black and shit, mascara and fuckin' nail polish and singin' all tortured an... Green Day is to blame. There. I said it. Blame Billy Joe. I don't need to criticize pop-punk, because hell knows every schmuck in the DentonverseTM has had their say, and to do so is not only lazy but boring and tired and redundant... The Alkaline Trio have always had a penchant for a catchy hook, a memorable melody. But gone are the days of spastic power chord progressions and simplistic 3-piece arrangements. Just like Green Day swept school teachers and Seinfeld fans off their feet with 'Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)' and it's sweeping strings, Crimson opens with a maudlin piano line introducing the first single "Time to Waste", and this Blogga scratches his head. Skiba been hanging out with Richard Marx or something? I don't have a problem with 'epic', but seriously (if I may be allowed to take you back a few years), WTF? WTF indeed. Then the throbbing bassline comes in and it all makes a little more sense. No, they didn't go all Evanescence on me... in fact... sounds a lot like Good Mourning. Still wondering what happened to classics like "Nose Over Tail", I listen further. Track 2 is (yet another) weak Andriano track about, like, pain and poison and what not. They pushed his vocals back more than usual though. Maybe he's tired of all those Colin Hay comparisons. By track 3, "Burn", it occurs to me: The Alkaline Trio have gone completely modern rock. Perhaps it's that they're able to afford slicker production. Maybe they're just careerists trying to sell more albums (not that I've got any problem with that). It's entirely possible Skiba's finally off the White Lady. I dunno, but that's all that needs to be said. Crimson is a good album that will get more radio play than any of their previous releases. It's a modern rock record. It's the Foo Fighters mashed with Green Day mashed with (insert quasi-gothic, depressed band that skateboarding high-schoolers are in to here). My friends, it's a  on Come In Burned's JLB Scale. Hair grease, DG Thursday, May 26, 2005 Passing Through Unconscious States  Wow. You may be wondering what's taken me so long to update. My friends, have I got a story for you. Where should I begin... We flew in to LA early in the morning. We hadn't yet rented a car, and this being our first trip to California we were a little lost as to what to do, where to go, and whether we could drink the water or not. My friend Sam went to go rent a car, so I figured I'd go check out some of the sites. That's when I met Sebastian. Sebastian was a 40-something Argentenian, and his badge said "Tour Guide". He was standing alone at the front of the terminal with a banana peel in his hand, and he asked me for change for a $20. Curious, I asked him what the banana peel was for, and what exactly there was to tour at LAX. That's when he spoke the words that forever altered my life: The cat has nine lives, yes? Take peel and rainbow will pick you up at horizon. Eat your breakfast. Okay, okay, it sounded kooky to me at first too, but I was in a completely foreign land, and I wanted to experience all that I could. He held out his hand and I gave him 2 $5's and 10 $1's. Currency will give you drink, but only questions will give you spirit. And with that I was under his spell. I awoke 3 days later in a tent in the middle of the desert, having missed the concert, my friend was nowhere in sight, and my clothing had been replaced by a wool robe and headdress. I had the worst hangover of my life. I stood up and shook the sleep from my head, and stepped outside. There was no one around. I waited there for a few hours, what seemed like days, and then I decided to start walking with the hope of finding civilization and my wallet within a few miles. So I walked. Days passed. The sun rose and fell, rose and fell, rose and fell. I had almost given up all hope when I saw a small diner. I walked inside and ordered a glass of water. The man behind the counter barely took notice of me and my appearance. I asked him if he had a phone I could use and he shook his head no. I asked him where I was. He shook his head no. I asked him to point the way to a city, he looked towards the television, opened his mouth, and right then and there he clutched his chest, dropped to his knees, fell over and died. I turned to the TV to find out what shocked him to death, and that's when I saw the most horrible thing I'd ever witnessed in my entire life. E! news had reported that Nick and Jessica had filed for divorce.  After the initial shock wore off I walked out the door, completely oblivious to the events that had just transpired in the diner. I looked at the sun, decided on my directions, and headed east. I had no choice left in this messed up world. I had to walk back home to Indiana. I saw a lot of crazy stuff along the highway, heading home on my long journey. There was Raul, the Mexican fruit salesman who loaned me a cantelope. Meredith, the adventurous college girl who thought it would expand her horizons to pick up a hitchiker (especially one dressed as oddly as I). Sister Mary Catherine who told me the tales of Jesus and asked me if I needed saved. I just needed a drink, I told her. Thanks for the Corona, Sis MC. I finally arrived at my home a week ago, and I've been sleeping since. I don't know what ever happened with Sebastian, but my companion Sam had returned home without a hitch. He even got to see the concert. I understand that Bloc Party was incredible. So a word to all who travel to distant lands: don't look anyone in the eye. And always keep a spare change of underwear shoved far up your ass. Peace and a bottle of hair grease. I'll return soon with something truthful, DG Wednesday, April 27, 2005 It's the End of the World as Y'all Knows It  Ryan Cabrerra will star in a MTV dating show called "Score", set to trick cabbages in to watching in the fall. Word has leaked that Jessica and Ashlee Simpson's father will be the all-time contestant and choose his date based on her cup size and ability to suck. At singing, pervs. In similar news, NBC's "Revelation" airs tonight. Oasis' Liam Gallagher hearts Charlotte Church. "She knows how to get fucking hammered and she freaks people out." Slurred the washed-up singer. However, he didn't have much else sweet to say. "If that's what they (Scissor Sisters) call entertaining then let 'em 'av it - bright colours and fucking weirdos on stilts? I'm more entertaining than that cunt. And I'll rip his fucking vocal chords out anyday because he's fucking rubbish."Mr. Ego also knocked on CIB faves Kaiser Chiefs, Bloc Party, and The Libertines, but we'd all have to have a drink to make sense of it. Less than 72 hours until Weezer, Snow Patrol, Rilo Kiley, Bloc Party, The Secret Machines, Eisley, Razorlight, and the Raveonettes observe a sweaty pit of white belts and funny haircuts fight for a view and some water in the middle of a desert. Tell me why we do these things again? Oh yeah. The rock. Speaking of Coachella, here's some random facts about Indio:
Order Spoon's new album from Amazon on the left. Sorry for the lack of updates lately. I'm working on expanding the site considerably, so thanks for your patience. Sportingly, DG Friday, April 22, 2005  My fondest memories of Junior High, aside from the old building we used to smoke cigarettes behind after school, are from Friday nights and the cesspool of puberty that was the Twin Lakes Cinema. My friends and I would hang out after school skateboarding or harrassing the local Republican office for t-shirts, and then come 7 o'clock we would don our best Eddie Bauer button-ups, a dash of CK1 or Curve, take the $5 from our parents, and go meet up with most of the school outside the movie theater. Those of us fortunate enough to have dates would stand uncomfortably by our friends, hoping this deoderant stuff worked, trying to gather up the courage to hold her hand before the line started moving. Fridays at the movies are touchstones for our growth in to the teen years, a time when our feet were always toeing the line with the opposite sex. There were heroes, like Evan, a year ahead of me, who came out of the early show one night, looked in my direction, and swiped two fingers underneath his nostrils, signaling to me that he had just experienced things I had yet to comprehend. There were your buddies, the group without dates that wouldn't stop talking to you while the movie was on and you were just trying to get the balls to lean over and kiss her. There was Chuck, the old guy with the flashlight, roaming the aisles for the kids who wouldn't shut up, occasionally kicking some out. There were the shooshers, trying to watch the movie, or just afraid of being kicked out themselves. This was Friday night in Junior High. One of my first dates was to the film Powder. I don't recall who it was with, possibly Erica, maybe Lindsay, but most likely Megan. She held my hand first, about halfway through the movie, when most of my peers had gotten tired of making fun of the albino on the screen. My heart was probably beating fast, my palms were probably sweaty, and my blood was certainly flowing south. I finally kissed her, and was elated when she kissed me back. We made out for the next few minutes, and when the credits started rolling I wished I had made my move sooner. When we left we probably went back to our friends, and I'm sure I bragged to mine. This was Friday night in Junior High. What's the point of all of this you might ask? The point, my dear reader, is Jeff Goldblum.  Will somebody please make this guy an action figure already? Eh, DG Tuesday, April 19, 2005 Six-Degrees of Jenny Lewis (no one wants to pay to see your happiness)  Rilo Kiley - With Arms Outstretched (live @ The Glass House) Rilo Kiley - A Better Son/Daughter (live @ The Glass House) Thanks to TheCuttingRoom I fell hard for Jenny Lewis when I first heard "A Better Son/Daughter" from her band Rilo Kiley's 2002 album The Execution of All Things. The track begins with Jenny quietly describing awaking to bleak solitude above a muted organ, and shortly thereafter erupts in to a life-affirming anthem about living in positivity while the marching band provokes your goosebumps in the background. Jenny will be releasing a solo album sometime this summer on Conor Oberst's Team Love label, according to Billboard, adding to her already prolific career. In recognition of the singer and all of the work she's accomplished, I offer to you Six Degrees of Jenny Lewis.  Click on Pic for Larger Size Friday, April 15, 2005 Excuse Me, Mister.
 I'm sure it's something that you've thought about before, making an aside when you see some little hooligan with his pants sagging low. It's not hard, but rather strange, accepting the fact that, dude... you're fucking old. I was standing in a McDonalds one afternoon. I had just gotten up from a long night of shenanigans, my hair was messy, clothing wrinkled, face scruffy, and I desperately needed some greasy garbage to fill my stomach. So I grabbed the newspaper and a cup of coffee, and I went to the McDonalds down the street. I was waiting to be served and a little girl walked right up in front of me with no regard for the concept of single-file lines. Her father reprimanded her, and that's when it all went down: "Honey, you can't cut in front of the man. Tell him you're sorry."What? Wait! Hold the fucking phone. What did you just say to me you little brat? Did you just call me Mr.? Who is this mister? Certainly you couldn't be addressing me. I'm young! I'm vibrant! My jeans are faded on the knees before I buy them! I'm a liberal for chrissake! A li-ber-al! After her father was done punching me in the face I began to think about it. Obsess about it, really. Unhealthily. Where did all the time go? Reality check: Kids who are now getting their driving permits weren't even born yet when Back to the Future Part II was released in 1989. Part 2 I tells ya'. Arrested Development's 3 Years 5 Months & 2 Days In the Life Of... was the first CD that I bought with my own money. It contained the songs "Mr. Wendal" and "Tennessee", and introduced me to the humanitarian side of gangsta rap, which is what hip hop was called in motherfucking 1992. Also in 1992, "Iron" Mike Tyson, then heavyweight champ, was arrested for the rape of Desiree Washington, ideal citizen Jeffrey Dahmer was sentenced to life in prison, and William Jefferson Clinton was elected President. THAT WAS 13 YEARS AGO!!! Remember that summer day when you were trying to watch a baseball game but it got interrupted by some white SUV being chased around by police and then you found out it was that guy that was in those movies with the wacky guy who always gets hurt and Elvis' wife and he used to play football? That was in 1994, my friends, and that man's name was Alex Trebek. That was also the year Green Day had "Longview" all over MTV. And Nancy Kerrigan got wut wus comin to'er. And FRIENDS debuted. And Cobain killed himself. And Tupac died. As did Bill Hicks. Geez, this is getting depressing on so many levels. Anyway, you get my point. You're fucking old. But it's okay. Don't feel bad when you have the urge to tell that kid to pull his pants up. It's okay to tell the giggling girls in the movie theater to shut up. You've earned the right to have fond memories of Boyz II Men (who topped the charts for 14 straight weeks in 1994 with "I'll Make Love to You"), and damn anyone who criticizes you for it. Just please don't call me Mister. Fetching my slippers, DG Wednesday, April 13, 2005 In my myopy I neglected an importan birthday.When I was fourteen my world abruptly turned upside down and inside out, and I was suddenly existing in space all alone, with nothing and no one to guide me. It could have been the end of any hope I had for a bright future if it weren't for my Uncle Bill stepping up and taking me in. I don't want to go too far in to detail here, as this is a public forum. Anyone who knows me personally should know that if they ever have any questions all they have to do is ask. I simply want to acknowledge that, without him, I don't know where I'd be, and that I have more respect for him than anyone else will ever have, and more than he'll ever know. Happy Birthday Uncle Bill. Thanks for everything. Back with the usual pointless crap tomorrow, DG Tuesday, April 12, 2005 Vice Records Interview (Bloc Party about to Blow the 'cuf up) (you know, relatively speaking)  Fanboy here. I didn't think it would come to another Bloc Party post this month, but fuck it, this shit is newsworthy. In an interview with the Columbia (yes the university) Spectator, Vice Records' GM Adam Shore had a little bit to say about Bloc Party, as well as a mouthful about indie-yuppies that's already being discussed on Stereogum (thanks for the link). Anyhow, here's a portion of the article reprinted without express written consent of the ballclub: (Vice) will face their biggest challenge yet in maintaining that image as they work with the Bloc Party album, Silent Alarm. Damn, did you hear that? Bloc Party on The O.C.??? I haven't yet figured out whether I'm excited and happy for them or dissapointed that it already came to this. I mean, it's going to be great for their careers, but is it really the best thing to do for the integrity of the band? Don't get me wrong, I've got no qualms with The O.C., this just seems a little out of character for both the show and the boys. As far as MTV is concerned they're probably just a flavor of the week, so that's probably not going to get the flipped-collar crowd to the shows, but darned if Alexandra Patsavas ain't one powerful broad. Ongoing...  "A good compilation tape, like breaking up, is hard to do and takes ages longer than it might seem. You gotta kick off with a killer, to hold the attention. Then you have to take it up a notch, but not blow your wad, so maybe cool it off a notch, and you can't put the same artist twice on the tape, except if some subtle point or lesson or theme involved, and even then not the two of them in a row, and you can't woo somebody with Joni Mitchell's "Big Yellow Taxi" and then bash their head off with something like GBH's "City Baby Attacked by Rats," and... oh, there are a lot of rules. Anyway, I worked hard at this one." The summer before sixth grade I lived in a farmhouse sitting on eight acres of land. Quite a bit of it was populated by trees, and all of it had to be mowed. Being the eldest of three siblings, it was my job to do the mowing. Sure I complained and pouted, but in retrospect I really didn't mind the chore. First of all, I got to drive the riding lawn mower, and any red-blooded boy in America who is still too young to drive anything that goes above 10 mph can get a thrill from the riding mower. Second, I was new to the town and didn't have any friends in the area aside from several cousins, so other than playing baseball I didn't have a whole lot to do with myself. Last, I had a Walkman (this was a device that would play "audio cassettes", which were small, rectangular thingamajigs that contained music. Class dismissed.), blank tapes, and a radio with all the great "today's hit music" a young cabbage still to develop taste could desire. So I would spend a couple hours dubbing songs, and then I would go out and mow and listen to them over and over again. I once hit a tree because Alanis Morissette's "Ironic" ended prematurely and I had to switch to the other side. My grandfather didn't think it was much of an excuse. Several years and a lot of brewing teen angst later I discovered As time and my tastes evolved I began to develop a science to mix CDs. I would make them for my friends in an effort to get them to like what I considered superior music. I began to think of my cover band's set-lists like mixtapes, and form them that way, full of ups and downs at just the right times, making our performances feel like riding a wave to our audience. I'm certain I'm the only one who thought of it that way. At this time I wasn't aware of the "rules" Nick Hornby writes about in High Fidelity, but chalk one up for universal consciousness, because I eventually started following the same formula with my comps, and still do to this day. See, any joker with a burner and a supply of 3 Doors Down songs can make a mix. It takes a purpose and some skill to make a comp worth giving to someone. There's an art to it.
If you're having trouble finishing song selection and need some suggestions, or are just looking for some new music to check out, go to The Art of The Mix (Dot Org). And I guess that's that. Oh, one more thing. Can't believe I almost forgot. Ahem... Joanna Newsom's voice gets to a lot of people. She may be the best new lyricist this side of James Mercer, but I've seen people go in to shock when she goes for the high notes. Exercise caution when including. Or learn the hard way. Accused Indie-Yuppie, DG Monday, April 11, 2005 Coming Attractions:  Friday, April 08, 2005 Come In Burned iTunes Playlist 4/08  Anyone happen to catch Bloc Party on Letterman Wednesday night? After they played "Banquet" Dave came out to do the standard handshake with the band and welcomed them to the States, etc. He seemed really impressed. Not that often a late night host gets excited about a band. They were nearly flawless, despite Kele's throat problems. Sorry if lately this seems like a Bloc Party fanboy site, that's not what I want it to become, I'm just more impressed by Silent Alarm every day. Instant classic? My Blue Album, I think so. I'm hoping the booking people at SNL catch on quickly and the lads rock our boxes sometime this season. May I suggest Jason Schwartzman to host? He's got a new movie called "Shopgirl" coming out in the fall, not to mention the box office behemoth to be "Bewitched" next to $20mil man Will Ferrell and Nicole (she's big enough to go with one name, right?). Plus, dude's mom was Adrian, yo, which puts him in the Coppola family with Nic Cage. That should be pull enough, yes? Ham. Lollapalooza $35 tix sold out in 80 minutes yesterday. Bummer. In other news, Perry Farrel loves surfing and bellydancers. Coachella looks bright, however. Where's the Rogue Wave love at these shows? Seems obvious to me. Until we meet in a crowded bar and I tell you lies again, Wednesday, April 06, 2005 Beergoggles.
  Tuesday, April 05, 2005 A Modern Way of Letting Go  When I moved in to my first apartment I got a dog from my aunt and uncle. He was a boxer puppy who I named Nico. At the time I lived three hours from home, and if I wanted to pick him up it had to be right before I left my hometown to head back to my apartment, which was about 11 o'clock that night. So I went to the local Wal Mart and bought a carrier, then went to my uncle's house to steal Nico away from his family, putting him in this cage and sticking it in the back seat of my 1980 Oldsmobile Delta '88 (green, if you were wondering). We drove in to the morning, and when we arrived at my apartment I set the cage down in my living room and opened up the door, got him some food and water, and watched as he sat there, completely horrified, away from everything he'd known in his short life. He sat in the carrier for about 3 days before he finally came out. I'd try to get him on his leash to take him outside to do his 1's and 2's, but it was more like dragging him, and I was afraid I'd pull his little puppy head straight off his neck. I ended up just letting him poop in the cage and then cleaning it up afterwards. I loved Nico. After the shock wore off he would occasionally come out and play with me, and his presence attracted the attention of the girls around my complex. When I would go to work for a typical 10+ hour shift my roommate was in charge of caring for him. One day I opened the pizza place I was managing, and worked 8 am to 7 pm, and when I got home Nico was sitting outside in his cage in the summer night air. I was impressed that my roommate thought to give him some fresh air, as I had been hesitant to leave the pup in his care. I played with him outside for a little bit, and one of my neighbors came outside. "Dude, (your roommate) left him outside all day in the sun." What? Where is my roommate? His car's not here. "I felt bad for him", said my neighbor, "so I brought him some ham from my fridge." I had no choice after that. I couldn't leave him home alone all day if I had to work, for fear he'd starve or get let outside and run away. I had to give him away. I had to say goodbye to Nico. He was too fragile at this point in his life, too vulnerable for me to help him. No matter how much I loved Nico and wanted to have him be a part of my life I just couldn't manage my life with him in it. So I had to let him go. You may be wondering why, in a blog dedicated to pop culture, I would write about my old puppy Nico. It's because today is the two year anniversary of the day I had to take him out behind the house and shoot him in the head. Just kidding. Sorry about that. I was lucky enough to find a sweet girl who's parents had a big yard and two other dogs to take him. I figured he'd be much happier there, and I'm sure he is. I'm writing about my dog because I'm a sucker for a metaphor. On a totally separate note, happy birthday Samson. Bring on the midget strippers and carnies! Puppy dog kisses, DG Friday, April 01, 2005 We've Got Crosses. On Our Eyes. Bloc Party The Metro, Chicago 3/31/05   Despite the hipster crowd's inability to move their feet, and the girl in front of me who didn't seem to understand that people smoke cigarettes at concerts, Bloc Party blew the molding off of the walls at the Metro last night, and reminded this blogger what a great rock band looks like. An incredible performance, an unforgettable night.  An undeniable "Almost Famous" on the JLBS. Please go pick up The Ponys' Laced With Romance and Bloc Party's Silent Alarm and support good music. Thursday, March 31, 2005 The Black Table Gets It Right
On steroids in baseball, Will Leitch writes in Thursday's BlackTable: In 20 years, this era will not be looked at with the scorn of "the Steroid Era." It will be looked at with amusement, back when "performance enhancers" were so crude, detectable and bad for you. Whether or not it's "good" that it's a natural evolution of the game is behind the point: It simply is. Mark McGwire should be in the Hall of Fame, and so should Barry Bonds (obviously). The recent hullabaloo is simply because a bunch of middle-aged sportswriters are cranky because "baseball isn't like it was when I was a kid." Yeah. And there are Wal-Marts everywhere now, too. Deal with it.Read their entire "42nd Annual Big Black Table Baseball Preview". As a big fan of Leitch's writing, I recommend checking out his Life As A Loser columns, and then go buy the book. Class dismissed. Dudes and Their Makeup I'm told that in my previous post "It's So Sexy, Let's Get Crazy", it sounds like I'm making fun of guys wearing eyeliner. On the contrary, I've got no problem with the rougher sex... (pause for giggle)... glamming it up when it suits them. Does this mean I want to see the guys putting up the drywall at the new 7/11 getting a little sexy with their eye makeup? No, of course not. Well... yes, in a way, but that's a different story. To show my support for guys getting all pretty like, here's my top 5 Google image search results of dudes and their makeup. 1. Matt Skiba of the Alkaline Trio  Matt Skiba is the man. Sure, his voice may be getting gnarlier, and his hairline may be going a little farther north, but his hooks are undeniable and his lyrical imagery is dark and relatable. Appearance-wise, dude was never pretty, but you can't tell me he doesn't look like a nose-candy lovin' mothasuckin ROCKSTAR in that pic. Sure, the cheetah strap might have something to do with it, but without that eyeliner he'd just be another dude with a guitar. 2. Ewan McGregor  Forget what you've heard, heroin chic never died. Riddle this: in 10 years, do you think he'll be remembered for Trainspotting, or that movie with the squinty-eyed girl who can't really act? Mmmhmm. Guess why. Yep, it's the eyeliner. And, you know, that toilet scene. 3. Courtney Taylor-Taylor of the Dandy Warhols  Courtney Taylor-Taylor IS rock and roll. No matter how jaded a music lister is, I defy anyone to sit still during a song like "Bohemian Like You" or the O.C. oldie "We Used to Be Friends". Need another reason to go out and buy that eyeliner pencil? Nope. 4. Brandon Flowers of the Killers  Rocks newest prettyboy, the guy that sparked this discussion, and blossoming egomaniac (?), Flowers' Killers have put ReNew-Wave and eyeliner at the front of the mainstream. Sure there are haters out there, but they're only kidding themselves. 5. Liam Gallagher of Oasis  So what you haven't heard an Oasis record since What's the Story..., they're still untouchable over the pond, and you can't ask for much more from a rockstar: inflated sense of self-importance, well-written songs, fur, feuding, and (you guessed it) eyeliner. Admit it, you'd sell an organ to be this guy. So I hope I'm clear now. Hairgel does well, but eyeliner's finer. Revolution is in the air tonight at the Metro as Bloc Party rocks our collective socks. Will report (with Jason Lee's Beard Scale) sometime soon. DG Wednesday, March 30, 2005 It's So Sexy, Let's Get Crazy Baseball calls, so there's not much time for a post, but if you've got nothing better to do at work than look at blogs, might I suggest Thighs Wide Shut for continuous Pat O'Brien fucking sexy coverage. Ooh, I want you to click that link sooooo bad. Let's get crazy. Speaking of English rock stars, Bloc Party is tomorrow and I couldn't be more wet with anticipation (shout out to PO, holdin' it down strong wit my Betty Ford peoples). On the rillz doh, should be a great night. Here's to hoping the Chicago set does more than stand around with their thumbs in their white belts and actually enjoys the show. Heck, I won't knock the fashion I guess. I'm a proud supporter of dudes wearing eyeliner, as long as there's a goal in mind. It's beautiful outside and I'm gonna go try to relive my days as a star shortstop, and hope my back doesn't get all out of whack in the process. I might be one of those stiffs at the Metro tomorrow. Hey, if not being able to rotate will win me some scene points maybe it'll be worth it. I love each and every one of you, Pat O'Brien stylee, DG LollapaKiley
 Jason Lee's Beard loves the idea of Lollapalooza 2005 Simply to report for my non-Pitchfork reading fews, they bear excellent news bi-fold today. First, Lollapalooza is returning this year after their embarrassing failure to sell any friggin' tickets in '04, and with a handsome line-up boasting Beck, The Killers, and everyones favorite fake garage rockers Kings of Leon. Show is in Chicago's Grant Park in July. For More info go to Pitchfork or Lollapalooza.com after April 1st. Also to my afternoon delight (did I just say that?) Rilo Kiley is heading out on a North American tour (and opening for... Coldplay? in Las Vegas) commencing in San Diego on 4/28. Um, I think some free tickets are in order. Just, you know, asking politely. I'll return with more later, but as of publishing time I've been on-deck for a shower going on 72 hours. Grimey. Sunday, March 27, 2005 Jason Lee's Beard "I've got this theory," I told my friend Sam for the third time that day, "that you can tell how good a Jason Lee movie is going to be based on the status of his facial hair." "Oh really, Dave?" Sam responded, "You're an idiot. Quit repeating yourself." I then cried in to my hands for a minute and jumped out the window, falling to my violent, bloody end, screaming nonsensically the whole way down about Jason Lee's Beard. I think it's time I investigate my rationale, and possibly invent a new rating system in the process. Shall we?  Mallrats (1995) Brodie Bruce (perpetual 5 o'clock shadow) Kevin Smith's second feature was critically panned, but adored by the ViewAskew fanbase. While not quite a full beard, his stubble still pushed this film in to success, with countless TV airings, solid DVD sales, and more than a few one-liners etched in to our collective memory ("I hope his pants get caught and a blood-bath ensues."). Mallrats' version of Jason Lee's Beard will hereforeto stand as a "4" on a standard 10 point scale.  Chasing Amy (1997) Banky Edwards (fall in love with Jason Lee's Beard) The kind of film many Kevin Smith fans wish he would try for again (try harder than Jersey Girl at least). This is the Jason Lee's Beard that America fell in love with. Solid from sideburn to sideburn with just a small gap at the mustache ends, this version said about the film "I'm unique and witty, but you can care about me too." And care we did. An "8" on the Jason Lee's Beard Scale.  Kissing a Fool (1998) Jay Murphy (kissing a clean-shaven face) I didn't see this movie, but judging by the title, poster, Schwimmer, and total lack of Jason Lee's Beard, I'm assuming it was garbage. Bottom of the heap on the Jason Lee's Beard Scale. "1".  Enemy of the State (1998) Daniel Leon Zavitz (high-octane beard) This fast-paced Big Willy adventure had Regina King AND Jason Lee's Beard, both highly undervalued in the movie biz. Although it was a small role, it was a critical one, and without it I wouldn't have been on the edge of my seat for number "7" on the Jason Lee's Beard Scale.  Dogma (1999) Azrael (horns) Jason Lee's beard wasn't cast in Kevin Smith's religious satire, but only because Lee's character was a "friggin' demon". Because horns are almost as cool as Jason Lee's Beard, this is a "6".  Mumford (1999) Skip Skipperton (quirky beard) This odd movie was interesting enough to keep me, um... interested. Jason Lee's Beard doesn't appear in all it's full, thick glory, but the growth was just enough to make more money than Mallrats, but not quite as cool as demon horns, which makes it number "5" on the scale. Almost Famous (2000) Jeff Bebe (classic rockin' beard) Ah, the creme de la creme of Jason Lee's Beardness. This remarkable film had me at Tiny Dancer, and put Jason Lee's Beard in to worldwide consciousness. Top of the pops here, "10" on the Jason Lee's Beard Scale. Vanilla Sky (2001) Brian Shelby (writer beard) Playing opposite the World's Biggest Movie Star can't be easy, but Jason Lee's Beard pulls it off fantastically in Cameron Crowe's gorgeous Vanilla Sky. So nice I saw it twice, Jason Lee's Beard makes it's most appropriate appearance on the face of novelist Brian Shelby. "I good you bidevening", Jason Lee's Beard, at number "9".  Stealing Harvard (2002) John Plummer (Tom Green clean) I saw this piece of crap-o-la at work (while giving plasma) a few years ago, and it was as bad as you would expect, being all no Jason Lee's Beard and all. The only thing saving it from the depths of the scale is that Tom Green has a beard. "3"  A Guy Thing (2003) Paul Coleman (a clean thing) I've not seen this piece of garbage, but I'm sure it's no better than Julia Styles' Save the Last Dance. I think Lee hooks up with her in it though, so a couple points for that, putting it at number "2". I'm assuming Jason Lee's Beard was present during the recording of The Incredibles, because it was on one day when I was doing laundry and was enjoyable. I left out a few other noteworthy movies, like Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back (left off since it was just a reprisal of two former characters), and Heartbreakers (because Jason Lee's Beard or lack thereof would have been overshadowed by J. Love Hewitt's, ahem... acting). I think I've proven without question that Jason Lee's Beard is the determining factor in whether or not to spend your hard earned money on the new Jason Lee film. So now that there's science behind it, feel more comfortable in your decision, and enjoy... Jason Lee's Beard.
Thursday, March 24, 2005 The Totally Tubular TV Torso Tallenge So here's the dills. I'm going to post a collage of TV personalities' torso's and give you their names, and you simply put the name to the bod, and whoever gets the most right will win... something. I'll announce the winner in a week... or so. While I may be a little vague at this point, I intend for the prize to be a good one to make it worth your time. So to recap for the people who got bored after the first sentence:
Sound simple enough? Okay, my dedicated few, let's play The Totally Tubular TV Torso Tallenge.  Here are your choices, including 1 that does not belong, just to keep it interesting.
Googling is considered cheating, and you know what they say about cheaters: they usually do well in life until they get caught. Good luck y'alls. DG Wednesday, March 23, 2005 "I Smell A Sequel"
Mmm... Cinema.  "SpiderBabe is a non-stop erotic action epic and hilarious spoof featuring sexy superheroes, voluptuous villains and state-of-the-art visual fx that will have you crawling your walls in sticky anticipation." Sticky anticipation indeed. Speaking of non-stop erotic action epics, I picked up Bloc Party's Silent Alarm today and, well shucks, I think it's just great. We'll be at the Metro show in Chicago next Thursday, so if any of you non-NY bloggies are going, hit me up. Check the sidebar for free music thanks to BlocParty.com. I know that some of you are having difficulty seeing the title at the top of the page, and I've tried tirelessly to fix it, but the problem is that you're not using Firefox (or maybe I'm HTML handicapped, but I'd rather blame you). Looksie, I get that you're just comfortable with what you have. You probably still use Excite as your main search engine. You probably still have dial-up. You probably still use a rotary phone and call men "Mack". Well, pilgrim, the year is 2005 and we use Google and know that Firefox is the best browser around. So do yourself a favor and check it out, Jack.  Now that I'm done being a condescending prick, I'd like to encourage all of my WL folk to go check out The MiniVans this Friday (3/25) at Kinsey's coffee shop in downtown Lafayette. It's an all ages show, so if you don't go they'll just assume you were never born and probably throw their cig butts in your face while they curse your mother. Windstar also does some bitchin' crochet work. Take 'er sleazy, DG Friday, March 18, 2005 An Open Letter To Tommy Lee  Dear Tommy, First off I'd like to tell you that I'm a big fan of yours. It's true, I've never listened to any of your work with Motley Crue, and as for your solo efforts... well, let's be honest, has anyone really listened to those albums? No, I'm not a fan of your music, but rather your celebrity. I was disappointed when your VH1 show went off the air. I was awestruck and inspired by your decision to go to college and participate in the drumcore. I didn't watch you and Pam's vacation video since you made it clear you weren't happy about it going public, but then you made that "Get Naked" video with Lil Kim and I figured if you had come to terms with it enough to spoof it on MTV you wouldn't be too upset if I watched it. And I did. And I gotta say man, you've got a great penis. Good work. My purpose for writing you, though, is to ask you to stop doing ridiculous things like making a solo album and having Nick Carter make a cameo. I'm confused by this decision. It seems to me that your fan base, and I truly mean no malice by this, your fan base appears to be 1) old Crue fans, 2) the WWE-type crowd, and 3) the limpbizkit fans who think Fred "sold out". Really awesome people, don't get me wrong. If this is the demographic you're aiming for, don't you think they're going to be a little angry when they go pick up your record and hear a Backstreet Boy singing (or, possibly, rapping?) on one of the tracks? I mean, you're touring with the Crue again, playing stadiums, no doubt raking in a ton of dough, so this couldn't be an attempt to make you more money. Are you trying to appeal to to a wider audience? I hate to keep putting people in a box, but I'm assuming this choice was one made from a marketing standpoint, and my guess is that the only people who still care about the BSBs are soccer moms who probably loved the Crue back in their heyday but haven't heard your music since, and most likely aren't going to rush out to buy your record. No no, this couldn't be about money. I know Nick Carter's your friend. I saw that episode of Punk'd. Are you doing him a favor? I see he's trying to gain more of an "edgy" rep, getting in bar fights, drunk driving, beating up girls and what have you. Is this an extension of that? Is Nick having an identity crisis and you're just helping him to discover himself? Are you showing him why it's better to rock his way in to listener's hearts than dance in to them? Does Nick Want It That Way? Sorry, Tommy, for the pun. But honestly, I'm bewildered by his participation with your music. I watched your frustration with the music industry on your VH1 show, your struggles to get your music heard, to sell more records, to reclaim some of that power you had in the '80's, and I've gotta tell you Tommy, this isn't going to help. Maybe that's it. After your last album failed to succeed like you wanted you became jaded, disgusted with the industry, and now you have the opportunity to release another record that you know deep inside won't perform as well as you'd like it to, so you might as well stick it to the establishment and do whatever the fuck you want. Dude, Tommy, if that's your motive it's the most punk rock move I've seen since Jack White fucked up that poseur from the Von Bondies. It may be career suicide Tommy, but god bless you for it. Peace out, DG Wednesday, March 16, 2005 Principal Owns You Greets. It's a beautiful day out and this is the 4th day in a row my body has decided to punish me for abusing it. Could be worse. I could be Michael Jackson's corpse or Mr. Belding...   (Mr. B should invite the girl on the left out for a bite to eat at The Max. Lookin' skinny.) Oh no, you saw right. Mr. Belding doing the shocker. Apparently Screech leaving his side after "The New Class" sent him on a bender. Speaking of sloppy drunks... The MiniVans Own You. The Minivans are a drunken duo from my hometown(s) and they make me laugh. I think their music is:
If for some reason you're coming to north-central Indiana send me a message or go to their website and let us know. They'd be happy to let you bum them a smoke. Their live shows are, simply put, "spazzerageous" and guaranteed to give you "herpes". If you're one to judge a band by their song titles, take this Dickensian masterpiece of vulgarity for a spin: Bring On The Bitches NEXT... Travis Morrison may have gotten pushed around by the snoots at my every morning's first stop, Pitchfork, but his (kaput) band The Dismemberment Plan reshaped rock music for the better. Just wait and see, 20 years from now there'll be a(nother) big rock revival and MTV8 will be playing Buzzworthy bands' videos in between shows about "pimping" flying cars, and you'll complain to your little cabbages about how they're ripping off the D-Plan. Below is a live cut from the KEXP studs in 2002, just Travis. It's pretty weak, and probably only for fans, but something's gotta fill the void. If you're not already tuned in to D-Plan go out and pick up Emergency & I and enjoy. Travis Morrison - You Are Invited (live on KEXP) KEXP.org has a ton of archived audio from in-studio perfs that you can stream while you're ignoring the work in front of you. On the left column of this page I've got a great full band performance by Rogue Wave from said studio. Mah. Speaking of Charlton Heston, what has two thumbs and wants to make you a big'a pizza pie'a?  This guy. Hip gyrations and heart palpitations, DG Sunday, March 06, 2005 New Music Sundays 3/6 Stizz, You Big Dummy To your booty by way of your ears by way of M.I.A. by way of London by way of Sri Lanka. When this track first hit the interweb many moons ago it set indie kids hearts aflutter and their feets aflitter. Many feared we'd not get to hear the debut, Arular, when it was reported that the album was delayed indefinitely due to Quincy Jones and that blasted 'ol intellectual property law, but thanks to XL and Interscope it will be ready to pick up at any self respecting record store near you on March 22. It won't, however, contain the original version of this track: URAQT (Diplo Mix) This one was originally featured on the Piracy Funds Terrorism Vol. 1 mixtape. The OG version's sample-swiping self is the reason we had to wait another month for the disc in the first place. Enjoy (again), and go pick up the full length you big dummy. Hey Samson, wanna know what it sounds like waking up on your hallway floor with a towel on my head and someone's cologne all over my clothes? Click here: Olympic Hopefuls - Holiday A quintet (that's 5 people) who like their tracksuits and love their Weezer, the Hopefuls (formerly Camaro's) have a debut called The Fuses Refuse to Burn out, like, now on 2024 Records. Go buy it and send me a copy. And finally, that beautiful bearded bard Sam Beam has a new album out under the Iron and Wine moniker called Woman King, and from what I've heard it's the cat's pjs. I wanted to put up the song "Evening on the Ground" because it's so good, but Sub Pop just don't wanna give 'er up. Here's the title track instead: Iron and Wine - Woman King  Don't worry, I'll be back with more stuff you won't read soon, but for now enjoy the free junk. And if you like something don't be such a tightwad, go sell some plasma, and go pick up the records. Then make a copy and send me one. Saturday, March 05, 2005 Left My Wallet In El Segundo  I hate Thursday nights. No, let me rephrase that. I hate Thursday nights on Friday mornings. And sometimes all the way through Saturday and Sunday, too. Thursday, aside from great television (see previous entry), is a night when, in the past, I've danced with my ex, danced with chubby girls, danced period, done the worm, lost (spent) $80, fallen asleep in random hallways, and most recently lost my wallet. While the other transgressions have made me cringe, the latter misstep has me crying in my $.10 Old Style. I rarely lose stuff, like outright LOSE it (not spent in drunken foolishness), so to lose my wallet is hard to take. Why, you (don't) ask? Why, I'll tell you. I love my wallet. I've had one ever since I was far too young to have anything to put in it. My first one was a brown leather (pleather) tri-fold that my dad gave me in my stocking at Christmas. I was probably 6 or so at the time. I put baseball cards I didn't care about in it and pictures of classmates, as well as the occasional dollar or so that I would "earn" for doing chores. I remember another wallet that I begged everyone who would listen for when I was about 10. It was a black leather (plastic) wallet with a giant Cubs logo stiched (glued) on the front. I had it until I was 13 or thereabouts, when I retired it for one I purchased myself, one more appropriate for an adult (teenager), a brown leather (really) tri-fold with places for business cards, 6 plastic picture holders, and multiple bill holders to separate your $1's and your $100's ($5's). I kept that beautiful bastard until my 18th birthday when I purchased the wallet I had up until last Thursday night. When I turned 18 I realized that I was getting older, and noticed how my tastes in most things had evolved. I no longer wore pants so baggy that it looked like I had a diaper on. I had taken out my earrings (so '90's I'm told). My closet was contained more than black. My KoRn CDs had long since disappeared. I was pretty much out of skate culture by then, but when I went to the mall for my new wallet, something I'd be looking at everyday for years to come until it had completely worn out (not until I had lost it at a Top 40 bar) and I had to retire it, I wanted something that would remind me of my youth. Those early summer mornings when I'd meet Silas and we'd skate the day and night away, before skating had become commercialized, while we were still some of the only kids interested in it. A time when my long hair kept me apart from the "preps", but still earned a bit of their respect... or something. I went in to Pacific Sunwear and picked out a waterproof blue polyester tri-fold DC Shoe Co. velcro wallet with a business card holder, standard bill holder, 12 plastic picture places, and a zipper pouch for change (bus tokens). It also had a keyring to attach a wallet chain, but I had outgrown that short phase long before. I dealt with heckling from several friends about it ("are you 4?",etc.), but I didn't care. They could have their grown up accessories. I loved my wallet. Dammit... lovED. I have a few OCDs. Since September 11th (don't ask why. out of respect?) I swipe my deodorant 11 times total with each application: 5 under the left arm, 6 under the right. When I turn off the shower I turn the hot water on quickly one last time before getting out. On the rare occasion I'm on a baseball field I hop over the first and third baselines (a'la Turk Wendell). More than all the rest, though, before I go anywhere I pat myself down. My left front pocket to make sure I've got my cigarettes, my right front for my lighter and keys, and my back right for my wallet. If you're one of the 5 people I know who read this blog, watch me next time we're together and I get ready to leave. I'm sure I'll do it. But now I'll only be patting my buttcheek. I'm calling the bar I lost it at for the rest of the night until I get a hold of someone. If there is any sense in this world I'll be able to describe it to them and they'll tell me I can come pick it up. If they don't have it however, keep your eyes open. If you find it there's a $100 ($1) reward. And no more Thursday nights out drinking. I'll leave that to the kids. Until next Thursday. Thursday, February 10, 2005 Lookin' Out for #1: The (Impending) Death of 'Selling Out' It's Thursday, and as has been the routine for the past two months I'll be glued to my television at 8 o'clock for The O.C., the show people all around the interweb have labeled "90210 Redux", "trashy melodrama", and other similarly lazy criticisms. I once thumbed my nose at the show as well, missing an entire first season in fact (though the magic of DVD has brought me up to speed). My complaint about the negativity towards the show isn't that the criticisms are incorrect, it's that I don't see what's wrong with that. You're missing the point if you dismiss it with that kind of shortcut to thinking. I enjoy the melodrama. I enjoy the dorky wit of Adam Brody. I enjoy Sandy's eyebrows and 'pal/dad' persona. I enjoy Rachel Bilson in her superhero costumes. I'm sure I'll enjoy Marissa and Alex's sweeps kiss tonight. Who wouldn't want a stunning view of the Pacific Ocean right outside the cozy confines of your palatial estate? Shit, who wouldn't want to have a palatial estate? As a young man from the Midwest with a low amount of drama (not to mention lesbian kisses) in his life, The O.C. is one of the best forms of escapism around, and thanks to a push from a bright young lass of impeccable taste a few months ago (and now the insistence of a particular online publication), I'm happy to indulge each and every week. One of the most compelling influences the show has had on popular culture is the music in it. Popmatters.com has coined the term (I believe they were the first) "The O.C. Effect", referring to what featuring relatively underground music in the episodes has done for the success of the bands, the backlash from rock elitists, and the credibility of Indie since it stopped being a way of life and started becoming a genre. This season has showcased "live" performances from The Killers, The Thrills, The Walkmen, and Modest Mouse, and has undoubtedly led to increased record sales for those bands in the days following the episodes airing. This specific brand of mass marketing has never seen this level of success (relatively), as The Peach Pit of 90210 typically featured already well known acts (wasn't Color Me Badd on there once?), and most other shows that attempt such a trick either fail miserably (anyone see the episode of Las Vegas with The Polyphonic Spree? ugh.) or don't give the musicians enough face time to really make an impact. I'm of the understanding that other shows , primarily on the WB, have gone down a similar path recently, but we're talking about The O.C. here. I don't watch that (other) trashy melodrama. Indie bands by nature don't make much money. Sure, over the past couple of years the amount of listeners has increased dramatically, but nowhere near what Hilary "Don't Call Me Lindsay" Duff has copped from the hands of mewling pre-menstrual cabbages the world 'round. Is it so wrong that a struggling artist would sell a song to a burger behemoth, or to a "hip" new car commercial? Do we as consumers of independent music not want to see the musicians we appreciate become filthy fucking rich, or at least secure enough to ensure they'll continue to make records? I remember the ridiculous cold shoulder the ostentatious indie hacks gave Fountains of Wayne when "Stacey's Mom" started getting buttloads of airtime on MTV, and claims of "sell-out" spewed from every 'zine writer with a chip on his shoulder. The problem is that FOW has always written songs with more pop than anyone else this side of The MATRIX, so what's the big surprise? The public don't deny a good hook, baby, and FOW were destined for the success they got. But still the Indie elite shunned them, while NOW 714 welcomed them with open arms and a long line of 0's. A quick word to the elite (if this actually gets published): Indie is rarely followed anymore with the word "rock", and as long as the players don't start mugging all over MTV and they don't all become ClearChannel's little minions, I don't see a single thing wrong with that. Death Cab's on Atlantic now, you say? Well, I enjoy the musical stylings of Mr. Gibbard and Crew, so more power to them and a better studio to boot. Allow Indie to be the genre that it has become. I assure you it won't be the death of quality records, and if you really put as much value on the "scene" as it appears you do, life's going to be a whole lot less fun. Gotta go, it's getting to be that time. Maybe I'll catch the Honda commercial with that Alexi Murdoch song before the show. All my lovin', all my kissin', DG 
Tuesday, February 08, 2005 Goodbye Forever "tunes mean people: roads to people, remembrances of them." - David Reisman, "The Lonely Crowd" For several months now I've noticed I experience most music in a much different way than I used to. After reading Rob Horning's dutiful "Sincerity Fixation" I realized what's been irking me. Rather than absorb songs for the musicianship, or the textures, or the rock and roll mythology attached to the players, I was envisioning 'K' listening to them, as though they were messages from me, like every song were destined for a mixtape that would, through thoughtful song placement and careful segues, explain my side of things and express what I couldn't with words. Over time I began to construct scenarios involving her listening to these songs. The look on her face when they arrived in the mail. The moment it occured to her how she'd wronged me because of a lyric she heard. And I would be sitting back (in this slightly-schizo fantasy) in spiteful glory when she told me she had made a mistake, changed her mind, was ready to dive in. And I would tell her it was okay, and we'd kiss deeply, get in the car, and cruise off across the barren plain in to the sunset as The Shins' "The Past and Pending" cue'd up and carried our fading figures in to the golden distance. Then it struck me like a sock full of quarters to my chin: dude - get a grip. This line of thinking is no different than funeral fantasies. You know, the "you'll be sorry when I'm dead" nonsense. This isn't a movie, idiot. I keep having to remind myself of that these days. I know, I know, I've strayed light years from the point. So where were we? Is there a point? Oh, right, experiencing music. Ahem... Human beings connect music to memories. Your first kiss, taking a road trip, that time in freshman year when you and your buddies were so blazed and you stopped the car and talked to that cow for like, half an hour maaaaan. If the connection is strong enough, hearing those songs again can alter the memory entirely, leaving you with an inaccurate picture of the people and/or events, and your feeling about them. For example: You went to a high school dance with your girlfriend (we'll call her Bags McGee, you know, because it's a funny name), who you were only really with in the first place because you liked the way her can looked in those little blue shorts with 'Abercrombie' written across the back (or daisy dukes, or gingham skirt, depending on age of the reader). But she finally pulled you away from your buddies in the corner and on to the dancefloor, and her hips seduced you while KCi & JoJo's "All My Life" played in the background. Now, years later you're in a car with your teenage cousin and she's twisting the radio tuner around and stops at one of the zillion ClearChannel 'New Hit Music' stations, and KC & JoJo flood your brain with the memory of that steamy night you spent with Bags McGee at the dance and, later, in the back of your bro's parent's Jeep Grand Cherokee where you fumbled to unhook Bags' bra and proclaimed your undying love for her. The song keeps playing, and you pretend to act annoyed (you're older, wiser, and have to protect your indie cred) but you're really enjoying the memory, and you think to yourself, I miss 'ol Bags McGee. Man, she was a great girl. I wonder what she's doing now... I should look her up. The fact of the matter is you and Ms. McGee broke up a week later because she always wanted to go "do stuff" and you had higher priorities, like getting your team to the Super Bowl on Madden 2K and watching your secret tapes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (or hanging at the arcade and watching your secret tapes of Beverly Hills, 90210/hanging out in a parking lot and tipping cows, depending on reader's age). You never got along with her, had nothing in common, and only enjoyed her company when she'd let you see how far you could get on the basepath. But hearing this song again is giving you an entirely different portrait of Bags as a person and your time together, because it's associated with a positive memory, a happy thought of your youth. This can be applied to any type of mood, music, or memory. We've all experienced it. But what about the present? In the spirit of the old art/life, life/art question, is it also possible that we can alter or build an image we have of another person by the music we listen to and associate with them? Now, I'm not talking about a tune recalling a memory, rather framing an idea of them with songs about adoration and beauty, undying love and bitter loss, eventually building them up to such an incredible ideal that they could never amount to. I've done it. I'm not proud of it, but I have. And with the way emo has sold over the past couple of years, I'm positive I'm not alone. Horning notes that songs evoke personal relationships. Maybe myself and all of emo nation (not that I'm, like, you know, including myself in it) should appreciate it for that, and not for the kind of reaction it will provoke. It'll be refreshing to listen to music without all the baggage. Eskimo kisses and a warm familiar blanket, DG 
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