Don’t Get Sentimental

So I’ve decided to try to resurrect this site once more, as we’ve (me, Nick, and Dave) have tried to do more often than anyone with their own website should. Meaning we should have given up a long time ago or just stuck with it. I mean there are a whole 3 of us.

My reasoning behind this attempt is that our lease (I don’t know what the correct interwobs term is) on this site should be up sometime this summer. Not that you would be able to tell when that was, because you know, we barely touch this thing anyways.

So why try now? Well mostly because I don’t believe that I or we can keep this up, and you probably don’t either, I’m sure Nick doesn’t believe it, and I’m pretty sure Dave doesn’t either, even though I haven’t talked to that dude in what seems like eons. We’ve crawled under our respective rocks on our opposite ends of the world recently. I’m sure we’ll reconnect over a 3 a.m. tweetfest that will drive everyone insane the next morning, with us realizing we should switch to a more efficient means of communication about 30 @replies into our convo. Albeit too late. Did I use that right? Let’s hope so.

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Metric is an awesome band.  If you aren’t familiar with them already, go get Live it Out and rock the fuck out.  They’re a Canadian indie band that, well, rocks.

Anyway, their new album Fantasies drops on 3/31 and they’re accepting pre-orders now at http://ilovemetric.com/.  They’re trying something that is becoming increasingly more popular these days and offering not just the album, but tiered options with different prices.  You can buy just the album, or get it on vinyl too, or spring for the Limited Deluxe Edition for 64.99, which comes with all sorts of cool goodies, including signed pictures of the band and limited edition artwork, such as this piece:

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At some point this past weekend, the subject of Thomas the Tank Engine (TTTE) fan fiction arose. I promptly forgot about it.

Then, on Monday, I was served with this.

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“Ghost Showers” the second single off of Ghostface Killah’s 2001 release Bulletproof Wallets, while an obvious attempt at a club hit, still manages to be full of clever lines and a memorable song overall. Another reason why Ghost is by far one of my favorite rappers. Who else can make a club song that is lyrically brilliant?

The sample for “Ghost Showers” comes from the song “Sunshower” by Dr. Buzzard’s Original Savannah Band, a group based in The Bronx, New York, known for their distinct and original sound. You’ll see what I mean. Here’s the song:

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The investigative reporting team here at DGS has uncovered some startling new evidence in the case of Travis the chimp, of Stamford, Conn.

Loyal readers of the blog, who are legion  by the way, will remember our groundbreaking coverage of the attack last week that attracted all sorts of riff raff to this fine site.

Through some old-fashioned hustle (Dave’s google images search) and investigative ingenuity (my random gchat conversation with a coworker), we’ve uncovered the root cause of this tragic incident.

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I mentioned the Princess Bride in my last post which eventually led to my IMDB’ing of the movie. Apparently the guy’s name is Westley, not Wesley. That’s a stupid name. And I’ll prove that with random Clone High clips.

Mr. B:

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More Swedes!  First Aid Kit are a Swedish duo of sisters who have garnered a bit of blog-fame (blame?) for their cover of the Fleet Foxes‘ “Tiger Mountain Pleasant Song.” These two precocious swedes are currently 18 and 15 years old, which is hard to believe given the maturity of their sound.  I suppose I have a soft spot for young-girls-whose-voices-and-lyrics-belie-their-real-ages, but these young ladies have developed a kind of old-soul, folksy sound that soothes the mind and soul.

They currently have one album out, the 7-track Drunken Trees, that features the sisters’ beautiful harmonies over sparse guitars and synths (that is, folksy synths, not that in-your-face 80s sound).  But, as is often the selling point for me, their lyrics are what keep me coming back for repeat listens.  There’s something especially heartbreaking about two teenage girls belting out lyrics like:

“He’s never there to be with you
And you remember when you were young
When life was new and it was fun
Now every corner’s filled with dust”

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I first noticed it when I was brushing my teeth. I turned my head side to side, toothpaste dripping down my chin, trying to catch it in a different light.

My sideburns were … off. Way off. And not like I shaved one too high. Or that idiot $7 barber down the street trimmed the front half of one off. The left one, if I may say so, looked awrite. I would describe it as lush and slightly shaggy. Righty, however, was lookin a lot more gray, a lot more sparse.

I panicked. Maybe it’s the combination of being addicted to House and lacking any medical training, but I came up with some pretty horrendous diagnoses.

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Just kidding. I don’t browse. It comes straight to my google reader via rss feed.

Anyways, I’ve solved that one question that has been hanging out there for eons, since the first troglodyte speared a woolly mammoth, drew a picture of it on a cave wall, invented fire and roasted that bitch. Since the first t-rex got bitten by a mosquito, cloned millions of years later, and then ate that lawyer off a toilet on an island off the shores of Costa Rica. Since the first hynerpeton said “screw the seas, I’ll take some beach-front property, thank you very much.” Since the first two single-celled organisms caught eachothers’ eyes across the primordial bar, gave eachother that awww yeah ’70s porn music look, met up at the evolutionary jukebox and said “lets do this, lets make our mitochondria into mitochondrion.”

Oh, yeah, that’s the evolution version. If you’re down with intelligent design, then this question has been hanging out there since around noon, last Tuesday, when the earth was created.

The question that has never had an answer: Is there anyone worse off than those “for 63 cents a day” kids in fill-in-the-blank third world country?

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“I became the perfect party apprentice, with a PHD in sitting on kitchen counters and drawing my cheeks in and shooting you looks that I don’t even mean.”  -George Pringle

On Pringle’s MySpace page, she exclaims, “I’ll GarageBand yo’ fucking face!”  And damn, does she mean it.  A self-described GarageBand junkie, Pringle builds pulsating electronic creations that lay the foundation for some fucking great music.  It’s more musical poetry than straight music; most of her lyrics are spoken word, and she sporadically breaks into song, mostly for what qualifies as her choruses.

This 22 year old, avant garde songstress performs poetic monologues over her songs, with lines that read like what she might have written at 3am, inebriated, after a party that didn’t go at all like she planned.  Like a stream-of-consciousness journal entry, with all the exposed emotions of a broken-hearted girl, but with the maturity and wit of a much older soul.

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