tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57302152011-04-21T19:45:21.380-07:00EncountercultureWhat a bad ideaJamesnoreply@blogger.comBlogger451100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1107919666609154942005-02-08T19:27:00.000-08:002005-02-08T19:27:46.610-08:00Nu Hottness. No, I'm not shutting this place down, but I have to put that degree to work somehow, and I'd rather do that in a more professional-looking environment.
Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1106969962712525532005-01-28T19:33:00.000-08:002005-01-28T19:39:22.713-08:00#8: Scrumtrillessence
(yes I hate that little dot too. I couldn't find a better picture.)
There are galaxies of reasons as to why this project seems to have (predictably) tailed off, but a few of them brush shoulders with legitimacy, and chief among that subset is the fact that Pete Doherty's fingerprints are all over it. Most people, of course, wouldn't hesitate to ramble on about arguably Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1102495986190837092004-12-08T01:51:00.000-08:002004-12-08T00:53:06.190-08:00#9: Large
It’s getting to be really difficult to be hardcore these days. More and more, I find myself bitching and moaning about the lack of a soundtrack suitable for my waxing libido (this is why the Strokes exist, kids), and yet I can’t seem to put down Anniemal. It’s just too much damn fun.
“It”, I hasten to add, isn’t so much the songs – I’ve settled nicely into a listening pattern with Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1102205011994675132004-12-04T16:03:00.000-08:002004-12-04T16:04:46.303-08:00Haloscan commenting and trackback have been added to this blog. I figure why not.
Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1102204781966413952004-12-04T15:56:00.000-08:002004-12-04T16:52:27.916-08:00 Yet Another Goddamn Project So. End of the year. Time to do lists. As, at the moment, I am staying nearly sober (in preparation for OMG I WON'T TELL), I figured I would fill my time by attempting to write something about each of my ten favorite albums of the year, counting down to #1. As usual with my projects, I would afford this about the survival rate of a poor family on the Titanic, but Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1100661525666066112004-11-16T19:02:00.000-08:002004-11-16T19:18:45.666-08:00 Things I Learned About Rock from the Cool People (or: Since We Last Spoke)
1. LCD Soundsystem @ the Echo, 10/28
So there I was. We (David & I) had shown up ass-early and started in on the Jack & Cokes with little hesitation or reprieve; following a truly shitty opening “band” (Los Angeles seems to be overflowing with shitty electroclash outfits stuffed to the gills with atonal screaming Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1091209610605515812004-07-30T10:36:00.000-07:002004-07-30T16:15:05.150-07:00A Night Out
I give up: having seen the Scissor Sisters live, I can't imagine that there's anything I can tell you about the band that you don't already know. Their pop songs sound catchy as all fuck in a live mix (less tight, mind you, so "Laura" isn't the slice of Max Martinesque perfect pop that it is on the album, but I freaked the hell out when they started playing it so let's not split Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1090868149990089802004-07-26T11:53:00.000-07:002004-07-26T11:55:49.990-07:00AAAAAAAAAH
Just so y'all are in sync with me: thanks to my job, I have now seen a disquietingly close-up picture of a man without a penis right as "Mighty Real" by Sylvester peaks on my headphones.
Needless to say, I hate my job so very very much.
Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1090528141903725182004-07-22T13:15:00.000-07:002004-07-22T13:30:51.456-07:00In which I capitulate and try to start a blogmeme
So. A few nights ago, I ended up at a roller skating rink of all places for my friend Deidre's birthday. Before you ask: yes I did skate, yes I did fall and bust my ass, yes I'm sure it was hilarious to watch, and yes I will kill you where you stand if you give me shit for it. Imagine trying to balance a stack of four or five large pizzas on the Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1089358300640171942004-07-09T00:19:00.000-07:002004-07-09T01:46:20.623-07:00 There is always the temptation to just say fuck it and start getting high. When one can’t figure out a way to speak about something, pot makes you hypersensitive to yourself; if you know how to write and you like to smoke weed, your internal monologue will suddenly become the richest, saddest, most profound string of words ever sewn together by man, to the point where the fact that you get to Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1089077087243950652004-07-05T18:21:00.000-07:002004-07-05T18:38:18.373-07:00Hey Kids, Let’s Play That Real-Time Game Againe
Ah, Los Angeles. What the hell I’m doing in a city where coolness is so pronounced that you can pinpoint the exact location where a street goes from Ghetto As Fuck to Hey, Rich People Live Here down to a matter of houses is beyond me, but ours not to reason why. As a non-cool (read: poor/cheap) citizen, of course, my typical recourse is to make Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1088626943551317232004-06-30T13:01:00.000-07:002004-06-30T13:23:12.220-07:00Anal Bleaching: Exactly What You Think It Is
Or as I like to call it, "Sorry, World's Poor, but I just can't see you as being more important than the color of my asshole". In all honesty, my reaction to this is mostly Startled Laughter (as opposed to Indignant Liberal Fury), but I mean come on. Don't rich people spend their money on ANYTHING cool anymore?
Anyway. More later tonight, as I have Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1088105207125558842004-06-24T12:15:00.000-07:002004-06-24T12:26:47.126-07:00From The Vaults
(NOTE: A while back, I went through my ill-advised I Wish To Write phase and threw this together, ostensibly as something to submit to some sort of publication for print [basically I'm trying to avoid saying that I'd probably have ended up submitting it to McSweeney's due to my forceful and profound hate for Dave Eggers, although in my elaborate fantasy I would get greelighted Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1087588233509227742004-06-18T12:18:00.000-07:002004-06-18T12:50:45.996-07:00Yet Another Reason To Hate The Goddamned Cure With The Fierceness
Because I am dumb, I haven't seen the Rapture yet, which means that I just had to give seventy-fucking-odd dollars to Ticketmaster to see them play with The Goddamned Cure, but that isn't even the disgusting part. I got my tickets through the KROQ presale (thnx jn mrs), which meant that I had to enter a password. And the password Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1087585845116113572004-06-18T11:01:00.000-07:002004-06-18T12:10:45.116-07:00If It Weren't For My Horse
Every so often Pitchfork says something so profoundly and willfully stupid that I have to tell someone, but holy shit. Usually I just email St. Nate when I find these, but, uh, well, holy shit:
"...since, no matter how talented the DJ, it's tough to really kick shit up onstage just standing at a turntable."
- Jonathan Zwickel reviewing DJ Shadow's Live! In Tune & OnJamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1078337610285808462004-03-03T10:13:00.000-08:002004-03-03T10:15:39.483-08:00MAN OH MANNNNNNNN
As it turns out, (one of) my early birthday present(s) to myself is a ticket to see the motherfucking STROKES, and with the best seated ticket I may have ever bought in my life. I hate to use this blog like an actual blog but this is like tremblingly awesome, so here you go. Expect effulgent gushing on the night of April 2nd and most of the rest of that weekend, and probably Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1078264886378531962004-03-02T14:01:00.000-08:002004-03-02T14:05:19.840-08:00 Although lately I've been getting insanely jazzed for rock music again (thanks in large part to this and this and this, still, and even kinda this, the fact of the matter is simply that I am stuck in a retro rut (rutro?) where I'm unable to shake free of yuppie pop music. Since last year - probably in the last six months and change - I have acquired a stash of (*wince*) Billy Joel and Jackson Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1075231860825375332004-01-27T11:31:00.000-08:002004-01-27T11:56:18.216-08:00Here's another cool thing about mashups, gleaned from the in-progress Frenchbloke & Son Superchunk set (thusfar not exactly the greatest thing ever committed to ones and ohs, but fuggit): mashups may be the first musical phenomenon that I've run across in real-life-time where the aesthetic being pushed calls the medium itself into question. The opening few minutes of this set, as has been the Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1074766465033777992004-01-22T02:14:00.000-08:002004-01-22T02:19:04.106-08:00Okay, Were You Ready?
Right now, we’re in the throes of what seems to be, if all the indications are correct, a musical revolution, as dancepunk, Son Of Electroclash, seems poised to take over the critical discourse in much the same way that postpunk FOOOOOOOKED dragged us away from the experience-first modality of Lester Bangs. The Rapture’s Echoes was named the album of the year by PitchforkJamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1074423816010699292004-01-18T03:03:00.000-08:002004-01-18T03:05:00.030-08:00You Can Find Me in the Club*
Two facts resolutely refuse to settle into the compost pile of my cognitive thought processes:
One, that I have hated clubs, bars, socials, etc – all that shit – basically for as long as I’ve known that someday my age would grant me a safe passage in, and
Two, that I’ve been really fucking stupid for a long time.
Unless tonight’s events were a complete Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1074066702188374862004-01-13T23:51:00.000-08:002004-01-13T23:55:26.860-08:00Fear and Loathing on the Top Forty
It is a gimmick called real time reviewing.
The aim of the gimmick is to preserve vectors of thought by recording them as they present themselves.
I stole it from either Phil Schneider or Phil Rippa (although he probably stole it from Dean Rasmussen), so credit where it’s due.
I had a really, really, really, really, REALLY shitty day at work today, but I’Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1069491163389462612003-11-22T00:52:00.000-08:002003-11-22T00:53:10.983-08:00Bums, Bums, Bums
(Author's note: I have decided to say Fuck All This Content-Related Shit, I'm Just Going To Write About Stuff Which Seems Worth Writing About For A While. As a result you may or may not be getting some very odd posts. This will be one of them.)
Bums. I guess that's not the "correct" term for them, but there's a difference between a homeless person and a bum. It's a pretty Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1065917641274035072003-10-11T17:14:00.000-07:002003-10-11T17:14:01.270-07:00Lest I Forget
Jonathan Rosenbaum is probably my favorite pop critic of all time (although I like his books more than his reviews, especially Movie Wars, which is the What Is Cinema? of the modern movie business), but lately he's been kinda falling off a little. He generally makes good points, but he's very much a critic who grew up in the sixties when the Canonical Revolution was starting to Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1065916970426768252003-10-11T17:02:00.000-07:002003-10-11T17:02:50.546-07:00A few notes before seeing Kill Bill
Everyone in the world who likes movies these days - or at least everyone who likes movies with whom I've recently been in contact - has been frothing at the mouth about Kill Bill; it came out yesterday, and I've already been peppered with opinions (or in some cases for opinions). I have not, as yet, seen the movie, nor do I intend to see it for at the Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1065686235099052302003-10-09T00:57:00.000-07:002003-10-09T00:57:14.463-07:00Here is an experiment.
The true test of skill is not to try to do what you want to do; this is simply safeguarding yourself against failure, since if the results turn out to be unsatisfactory, you can simply shrug it off as "not meeting your expectations". The truth is that skill is the ability to do things, not the ability to want to do them. Allen Iverson is an unbelievably skilled basketballJamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1065639439006510142003-10-08T11:57:00.000-07:002003-10-08T11:57:19.146-07:00Ugh; I can feel the tentacles of sickness coiling around me like some sex monster from one of those incredibly distressing anime pornos (er, um). Thus, en lieu of presenting some whiny diatribe about why I like This or That (read: something about Me) or some pretentious and portentious piece of poncemanship about philosophy or movies or musi (read: something about me, but in the third person), Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1065308816638210592003-10-04T16:06:00.000-07:002003-10-04T16:06:56.690-07:00Ordinarily I don't see the value in posting catalogued purchases that I make, but this one was kind of significant. Last night I went to see Lost in Translation, and I can't get the experience out of my mind now, and that's not necessarily a good thing.
Lost in Translation, for those of you who've been living under a rock for the last month or so, is the critical darling of the year, this year'sJamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1065132432397770192003-10-02T12:31:00.000-07:002003-10-02T15:07:12.480-07:00You'll notice - well, those of you who know me, anyway - that I haven't written anything about movies yet. This is not unintentional; in truth, I've only written one thing about movies (a lonely, incoherent polemic about the auteur theory which only made its way out to a few people) in the last few months. It's just that I've been going through this weird thing where I'm not sure if I have Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1064875700481822432003-09-29T15:31:00.000-07:002003-09-29T15:48:19.960-07:00You may have noticed that this blog already seems to be falling apart. This is not, in fact, the case. I started this blog for one reason and one reason only - to get all the poontang that naturally comes from writing a blog.
Okay, for real this time. I started this blog because I have problems writing, and I have problems writing because I have a very precise definition of what it means to be Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1064433259441422072003-09-24T12:47:00.000-07:002003-09-24T12:54:18.806-07:00Whenever I burn CDRs for my iRiver (which, FYI, is up there with my vaporizer and my all-region DVD player on the list of Best Consumer Electronics Purchases Ever), there's always like sixty or so megs that I can't fill with an album. Thus, oftentimes I'll just shove a bunch of random songs to which I've been listening lately on there and run with it. Sometimes, however, those songs get ordered Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1064431745695785832003-09-24T11:00:00.000-07:002003-09-24T12:29:05.420-07:00In recent weeks, I've been trying to give Hail to the Thief a few more chances. I assure you, I don't really want to - there's something enormously attractive about being someone who rejects Radiohead right now, seeing as how most of my favorite critics from the 70s are the ones who rejected Pink Floyd and Led Zepplin on whatever level - but Hail to the Thief seems very much like they're trying Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1064377010427700552003-09-23T21:16:00.000-07:002003-09-23T21:16:50.366-07:00Let me clarify exactly what it is that I hate about blogs.
I have tried to read blogs not written by me or people I know, but the problem with %99.9 of them is that inevitably, they collapse into self-obsessed rambling rather than actual excercises in writing. Which is, I guess, fine for most people since most people don't want to be writers. I can't say the same thing about myself; it just Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1062699448196724572003-09-04T11:17:00.000-07:002003-09-04T11:17:28.200-07:00VICTORY (sorta)
I know this blog has fallen into a state of disrepair (and no less than a week after it opened - jesus, that has to be a record) because I've been working psychotic hours lately, but this is too good to pass up. Courtesy of this:
"Universal Music Group, whose roster of artists includes 50 Cent, U2, Elton John and Diana Krall, will cut the price of its wholesale CDs and push forJamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1062396675767828322003-08-31T23:11:00.000-07:002003-08-31T23:11:15.826-07:00FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK
Well, I was almost ready to post some long rambly thing about Gamble & Huff and the pleasures of buying new CDs and the sad bearing that it has on the prospects for my continued resistence to the RIAA, and then FUCK, I accidentally looked at my mouse wrong and another part of the blog-editing box gets clicked and my post gets lost despite the promise of a popup box to save Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1062196093300313612003-08-29T15:28:00.000-07:002003-08-29T15:37:41.800-07:00Yes, I Am Going To Ramble Like An Lefty Emotard
I am starting to wonder if pop culture has run its course. There's a lot of shit that came with the baggage of the elevation of low culture in the mid/late 70s, but at the heart of it was something truly special: the unparalelled access it permitted to those wishing to participate. This wasn't Beatnik culture (where you allegedly had to have talentJamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1062182774148775692003-08-29T11:46:00.000-07:002003-08-29T11:46:14.120-07:00The following was, in its entirity, the snarky-ass entry I had planned on writing about the VMAs last night:
"The VMAs happened last night."
As you may be able to discern, I am somewhat hostile to the continued existence of the VMAs. But then I got into work and heard about the Madonna/Britney/Christina thing and...[sheepish grin] yeah. Dammit, I'm a man. On some level I'm sure it's just Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1062046448192276532003-08-27T21:54:00.000-07:002003-08-27T21:54:08.070-07:00WATCH. THIS. SPACE.
Yes, I know ordinarily new blogs are packed full of shit as people explore the blog-space of their lives and shit, but not me, nosir; my plaintative wheadlings about wine, women, and inadequate mail delivery are thankfully still a glint in my eye. Instead I have plans. Big fucking plans. Big hour-long plans which will benefit YOOOOOOO. My reccomendation: Go download Soulseek Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1062002410187014762003-08-27T09:40:00.000-07:002003-08-27T09:40:10.256-07:00My idjit friends
One of my friends has taken leave of his senses and has decided to hitchhike across the country, to See What Is To Be Seen. He has also created a blog to record his various doin's and a-goin's, so feel free to check in on it every so often (it'll be permalinked too).
I wonder why I never even thought of going on one of these Le Grande Adveteures. I would like to think that Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1061952374943419552003-08-26T19:46:00.000-07:002003-08-26T22:51:35.983-07:00Announcing a Con-Test
I need a title graphic - something not unlike Nate's. If ye wifhe to submitte one, just email it on over to EDIT CUZ I'M DUMB. The winner will recieve...the satisfaction of seeing their work head up my page every time they visit. GIT TO IT, yawl.
Edit: In these days of Sobig and shit, am I actually dumb enough to ask people to email me files? I would have hoped not, but Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1061935773737354172003-08-26T15:09:00.000-07:002003-08-26T15:09:33.810-07:00It needed to be said
I work in the medical-records department of a hospital (think Harvey Pekar) for an outside agency. There is one particular room in the department where doctors come to look over dictation or whatever the hell doctors do when they aren't curing cancer. In this room, there is a radio. The radio is always on, and in the year and three months (depress-a-mundo) that I've been Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1061927127790705472003-08-26T12:45:00.000-07:002003-08-26T12:45:27.686-07:00And for those of y'all that are wondering (all three of you), yes this is going to be more about music than movies. Inevitably I'm going to start yammering about movies, of course, but I want to try to save the dynamite stuff for the Bedamned Secret Project, so music probably comes first mostly. Probably better this than clogging the ITVR music forum, anyway. Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1061926966772703752003-08-26T12:42:00.000-07:002003-08-26T12:42:46.676-07:00ATTENTION BRAD FUCKING COPELAND
Can you fucking hurry up and officially put out the blingin' blangin' remix of "Tom's Diner" already? Jesus CAH-RYST, I wanna go ahead and call it the best Thee Danse Myoosick song of the year. Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1061920637760955572003-08-26T10:57:00.000-07:002003-08-26T12:18:30.563-07:00The deaf and the dumb
Man, Putzfuck really does suck sometimes (that time most typically taking place over the entire course of a day), but they do serve a purpose by existing. It's always fun to go through their archived reviews and read them hamfistedly trashing albums that you love (example: Few things are more incriminating than Daft Punk's own lyrics, which, while generally deeper than "Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1061920195626890502003-08-26T10:49:00.000-07:002003-08-26T10:49:55.623-07:00I am already regretting that last post in preparation for my emoesque whingings to come. Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5730215.post-1061919613302892382003-08-26T10:40:00.000-07:002003-08-26T13:44:41.373-07:00I do not like blogs.
I really do not like blogs.
Blogs to me are something to be distrusted. I think Anne Frank really ruined it all - before her, diaries were something that were supposed to be, y'know, personal, not something that could Change the World or Influence Lost Souls or whatever. And yet that's what the lion's share of blogs are - people trying to rationalize away their lives by Jamesnoreply@blogger.com