NEWSLETTER

CAUSE CO-MOTION!		MEGAPUSS
BARNACLED		ENERGY

Q-Tip The Renaissance Universal/Motown Fresh off the success of this summer’s Tribe Called Quest reunion tour, Q-Tip has returned from the world of motion pictures with his first album in almost ten years. Wait a minute, though, before you go getting your Jansport in a bunch, this is NOT a Tribe album. That’s right, instead of the highly anticipated follow-up to the classic Beats, Rhymes, and Life we are getting the follow-up to 1999’s solo piece of shit, Amplified. Lucky us. I mean who really needs to hear a new verse from Phife Dawg or a perfect beat from Ali Shaheed Muhammad when you can hear Tip duet with Norah Jones. BONITA APPLEBUMMED KID SISTER Dream Date Downtown		PARIS Acid Reflex Guerilla Funk Everybody’s favorite government-questioning, Caucasian-loathing rapper is back in the building with 15 new jams that are so disgruntled even Dead Prez would be like, “Dude, chill out.” On Acid Reflex, his first solo record since 2003’s Sonic Jihad, Paris is still bumming out about the usual stuff: police brutality, other rappers, black-on-black crime, religion, blah bladdy blah. But he also has a whole new list of topics to be pissed off about, most notably Obama. On the Reverend Wright-sampling “Violence of the Lambs,” P-Dog lets it be known that it’s going to take more than a black presidential candidate to turn his frown upside down. The rapper, producer, and part-time stockbroker also has some choice words about 9/11, Iraq, and the current administration, all set to the beat of his 90s Warren G-inspired funk tracks. Acid Reflex, like Paris’s other six records, is a quaint trip back to a time when rap was still political and scared the shit out of white people. CHUCK DEEZ

I feel like Kid Sister is actually too good at rapping to be lumped in with the whole “cute-girl dance-rap” subgenre. She rhymes ten times better than Uffie, dances better than MIA, and she has a live show, which is more than can be said for Lady Sovereign or Lily Allen. All Kid Sister has to do now is get some plastic surgery, have a baby with a Marley, and serve a year in prison and she will officially be accepted into the real hip-hop sisterhood of the traveling pants. VANILLA GORILLA
MT. SIMS Happily Ever After Hungry Eye

Hmmm, not sure when magick sigils became the province of faggy serious guys who are really into late-80s Seal, but color me tickled all the same. What do these guys do when they’re feelin’ down, cut themselves in the bathroom to La Bouche? GEOFFREY RUGGLES

CULT RITUAL Self-titled 7" Youth Attack Seems like these kids came out of nowhere and just shut the party down with what is easily one of only two or three hardcore records worth giving a shit about this year. Each inch out of the seven is a relentless noise assault that hacks and slashes its way through your life like a tornado full of hatchets yet still maintains enough of a musical dynamic to remind the listener that it’s a punk record and not a power saw that someone turned on and left in the baby’s crib. This is a 2008 must-have for anyone who digs Poison Idea, post-My War Flag, and pissing their fucking pants out of sheer exhilarated amazement. YOGURT VON SANDWICH HANDS JAY REATARD Matador Singles ’08 Matador Even though blood-obsessed Bradford Cox bedmate Jay Reatard was born in Tennessee with an arguably less-retarded last name (Lindsey), he plays garage-punk like Aussies the Saints and with a British accent. Bullshit like “garage-punk” usually gives me Montezuma’s revenge, but there’s something about his shitty guitar strumming and the way he says “retard” (takes one to know… oh) that works like Imodium for me. Plus, the way he says the C-word sounds kind of like “cud,” and I’m a sucker for cow-vomit references. FRANK BEANS BROTHER JT3 Jelly Roll Gospel Drag City This sounds like it came from the same 1970s that Robert Pollard lived through and the rest of us missed out on for some reason. You know, the one where Genesis never started sucking and punk didn’t even need to happen because Squeaky Fromme assassinated Rick Wakeman instead of trying to shoot Ford (but then she also killed Ford and Marc Bolan became our president). ENOLA NEWNESS LOVEDRUG The Sucker Punch Show Militia Group Lovedrug’s publicist wants everyone to be aware that this band delivers “pop rock with an edge.” Wait, try and control yourself, I’m not finished. They also boast some passing similarities to both Foo Fighters and Queens of the Stone Age. Yes, both, I shit you not! So by now if you are one of the few people who has not instantly leapt out of your chair and run frantically to the nearest CD store, I will assume you just don’t appreciate edgy, poppy rock music. You’re probably more into hip-hop, like Rage Against the Machine. Which is cool too, I guess. DR. PROBLEMO HUMAN EYE S/T Hook or Crook This is like that Mirrors album we just wrote about, but newer and more differenty. ANAL FLOSSTRADAMAS AVERKIOU Throwing Sparks Clairecords The problem with “shoegaze” as a descriptor for these guys—other than the fact that saying it out loud is basically waving a wiener flag—is that the arms-crossed apathy it implies is the opposite of how I feel when I listen to them. They’re like the atmospherics of Slowdive filtered through the enthusiasm of your younger cousin’s first pop-punk band, and as a result the whole thing has a happy smoothness that makes it perfect ecstasy accompaniment for people who like music instead of techno. JACOBY LESTER CAUSE CO-MOTION! It’s Time! Slumberland Wow, these guys have got the early-90s K Records vibe going so dead-on, it’s like they’re Civil War reenactors, but instead of reliving one of the most important conflicts in the history of this nation, they chose a musical trend involving about 20 nerds in pea coats. Still, what would you rather listen to, this or “Battle Hymn of the Republic?” (Answer: this.) DONG DINKO RED EYED LEGENDS Wake Up, Legend File 13		WILD BEASTS Limbo, Panto Domino Yet another orgy of smarmy self-satisfaction perpetrated on an epic scale by yet another troupe of frail and pale Euro dudes. Lyrical content is ostensibly clever wordplay delivered in a falsetto shriek so grating it could earn an AIDS wish from Diamanda Galas. A telling pull quote in the press kit they gave us explains how Wild Beasts “can’t agree on any influences; there’s something accidental about our music.” You know what else is accidental about music? Sometimes a piano will fall on someone’s head. Maybe that will accidentally happen to these douchebuckets. BRANDISH DEBALLS ENERGY Invasions of the Mind Bridge Nine When you are under the legal drinking age and your most favoritest ever band is (apparently) AFI, having a record on Bridge Nine is probably like winning an Olympic medal. Unfortunately, it’s actually the Special Olympics, and everyone knows it is far more preferable to simply not be retarded. SASSY STEAKUMS GOLDEN TRIANGLE S/T 7" Rob’s House These guys have a similar deal to the Cramps where the first time you listen to it, it’s sort of like, “OK, another shambly 1950-60s garage group,” but then you keep putting it on when you’re at home alone until you finally start asking yourself the important questions, like, “Why is this making me so insanely horny?” TELLY SUVV THE MIRRORS A Green Dream Hook or Crook This was Greg Ashley’s band before he started the Gris Gris and followed Roky Erickson’s footsteps from Texas to California. If you’re a fan of the Gris Gris, this sounds like a slightly punkier, younger-voiced version of their distinctive folksy psychedelia. If you’re not a fan, go buy a copy of the Gris Gris’s second album, For the Season, and their self-titled first album, listen to both of them, then reread the previous sentence. You’re welcome. HEADGAR GAYCE LOVE IS ALL A Hundred Things Keep Me Up at Night What’s Your Rupture? Nostalgia is an odd bird because sometimes you end up feeling warm fuzzies about something you didn’t like too much when it was happening. For instance, if you had a really whiny Jewish girlfriend in middle school, the absolutely unbearable squeal of this singer might make you miss her a little bit. I did, so listening to this makes me kinda want to fingerbang, but more so I just want to turn it off and put on good music instead. DUSTIN LOWELL WILDERNESS (K)no(W)here Jagjaguwar Ever wonder what would happen if someone went back in time, captured a caveman, tried to teach him rudimentary English, made him listen to Rites of Spring on repeat, and had him sing for their mediocre slowcore postrock side project? No? Good. That means you have relatively good taste and you would hate this album. CHRISTIAN “SHIT” STORM HANK WILLIAMS III Damn Right Rebel Proud Sidewalk Records Confession time: I have a hard time keeping my Hanks straight. Hank I is easy, because it’s all old sounding, but II and III? Give me a break. It’s like trying to remember which version of X you’re supposed to like (hint: It’s the Australian one). In any case, I’m going to give it the old college try before cracking open this disc. Hank Jr. is the conservative one that alt-country and Elliott Smith types claim they’re into even though most of his shit sounds like Dwight Yoakam, and Hank III is the funny one who swears. Right? Uhp, first song in, Hank III just told the institution of the Grand Ole Opry to “suck his dick.” Nailed it! QUIT PRETENDING YOU LISTEN TO COUNTRY MUSIC

This band really sounds like a pissed-off version of the B-52s, which is almost a contradiction in terms. It’s like being at an abortion-clinic protest on ecstasy. You just want to dance but everybody’s angry about dead fetuses and whatnot. I’m just waiting for “Rock Lobster” to come on. CHRISTIAN “SHIT” STORM
BELLE AND SEBASTIAN The BBC Sessions Matador As an obsessed B&S fan, I never thought I’d see the day when I gave one of their albums a pukey face, but I’m sorry, I must! Because—and only because—I already downloaded bootlegs of all of these songs off Kazaa in 2002. And also, where the hell is the song “Rhoda”? That was always my favorite unreleased song, but the version I have sounds like it was recorded in a monkey’s anus. They should have thrown that song on here, and they should also stop torturing all of us poor little dorks and put out a new damn album already. MEG SNEED LITTLE JOY S/T Rough Trade Good news, bad news. Bad first, because that’s how they always ask for it in movies: This is pretty bad music. Good: This is the first and last you’ll hear of them. The band is made up of a producer (busy job), a guy from Brazil (different country), a guy in one of the biggest bands in the world (other priorities), and his girlfriend (named Binki). JON YOUKILIS DANIELSON Trying Hartz (First Fruits ’94–’04) Secretly Canadian		LAKE Oh, the Places We’ll Go K Calvin Johnson says he’s all about the internet, but can you imagine the kind of YouTube comments all those old Olympia bands would get if they were just coming out today? I don’t even think “fag” would cut it—those commenters would have to invent entirely new slurs to contain the levels of prepubescent rage they’d be feeling. Anyways, these guys aren’t terrible, but they’re certainly no Crabs. SHELBY TANNER MEGAPUSS Surfing Vapor After hearing two of these songs on MySpace, which I enjoyed, I ran over to our reviews editor and asked if I could review the album. I suffered terrible abuse for any and all interest in a Devendra side project, which I genuinely thought could turn out OK. But once I got the whole album, I gave it a few listens, and motherfucker, it’s terrible! I guess those two songs online are the audio equivalent of extreme-angled MySpace photos for insecure teens. Fuck you, Banhart. JAMIE LEE COITUS

In 1994, the Buffalo Bills lost the Super Bowl to the Dallas Cowboys by a margin of 30 to 13. It marked the Bills’s fourth consecutive Super Bowl loss. It was the same year that Daniel Smith, main dude behind Danielson, starting putting out shitty records. Maybe he was inspired by the Bills of the 90s, because both sucked really hard. This album chronicles Danielson’s early years, when they were making pretty much the same religious, pretentious, castrated Captain Beefheart music they are today. I’m not a violent guy, but I would really like to hunt this band for sport. CHRISTIAN “SHIT” STORM
PALMS It’s Midnight in Honolulu Rare Book Room For some reason this little boy-girl group reminds me of those weird early-70s albums Nico did with John Cale. I think it has something to do with the non-gimmicky way they slip back and forth between spooky Teutonic dirges and fuzzy little guitar numbers and torch songs that sound like Beat Happening and evil keyboard experiments where the girl is howling at the top of her lungs. Or maybe it’s just because she sounds insanely German. WILBUR WARHOL VARIOUS ARTISTS 1970’s Algerian Proto-Rai Underground Sublime Frequencies Sublime Frequencies has basically become this generation’s Folkways Records. One day, libraries are going to have a whole shelf of these thick, beautifully packaged records and some kid is going to discover them and go borrow the ancient Califone record player from the back room and spend the rest of his childhood learning his brain full of music. Fuck is that gonna rule. When he gets to this volume he’s going to be like, “So rai music is like the Algerian equivalent of R&B and this is the hornier (both in the sense that it’s more ‘sexually charged’ and that it has more horns in it) early version that was forbidden from national radio. Cool.” And if they still have Nick at Nite, he’s also going to be like “Isn’t that the riff from I Love Lucy?” LEROY GUMPTION OHGR Devils in My Details Synthetic Symphony		YXIMALLOO Unpop ESP-Disk ESP-Disk is really good at putting out albums that are incredibly baffling and difficult to describe. For instance: This is like… a Japanese guy… who’s been recording shit like this since the 70s apparently… grunting and mumbling into a mic… over sparse computer bleeps and screechy bits… and it’s all pretty jarring… Is he drunk?… Kinda disturbing… Now he’s yelling rhythmically… and now he’s tapping out a Donovan song on an old synthesizer while humming along with it. See? It took me like half an hour to come up with that description and it’s barely coherent and not quite accurate. I guess the point is this is the weirdest album of the year so far, so eat it up, weirdos. LATOYA TOYOTA BARNACLED S/T ESP-Disk I could not tell you what the fuck is going on with this thing. It’s like electric klezmer music from Baltimore, but every so often there’s a weird noise interlude that sounds like you’re underwater? All I know is that listening to it while high makes me feel like I’m being chased by a fat guy with a scimitar in some old Looney Tunes cartoon. BELLA KANOLI
I imagine that in his civilian life, this guy goes out once in a while for dinner with his mom and dad, right? So maybe sometimes a random Skinny Puppy fan spots him in a restaurant or on line for the ATM and runs up to him saying shit like, “I can’t believe it’s Ohgr! Ohgr you are so awesome!” And his mom turns and looks at him all confused and hurt like “What the fuck is an Ohgr? I named you Kevin, after your uncle who died in the war!” And he’s probably really uncomfortable and embarrassed in front of his parents and some 37-year-old man with blue dreadlocks. Maybe that happens, maybe not. Either way, this album isn’t really too interesting so I just invented some bullshit scenario to entertain myself. GENERAL DISARRAY

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