Transitions are messy, difficult things – decayed and overgrown bridges secured only to our faith and loose threads. They are our hope that the rickety board the camera captures won’t dramatically give in a frugal twist of fate.
Heads Last night, I had one of those philosophical conversations that always ends with life’s great intellectual volvulus: the question of whether anything matters. I believe this is less of a question and more of a self-fulfilling prophecy. It’s easy…
Ariel Pink and his band have become a strange mirror for the current music scene. At once, they began pointing out the smooth vanilla into which indie rock has melted into and the futility of critics who think musical greatness is something measured and mathematic, a goal that can be achieved by anything other than unabashed creation.
I know how this title sounds. But, no, this isn’t an ennobling plea for you to boycott the music industry – we know they’re funding the Third World War in Africa already – or some commentary about how music and…
Let’s start by praising Jebus for the good news: “Comedown Machine” is better than “Angles,” The Strokes’ much-maligned fourth-album, that sporadically redeeming stinker that hummed with all the power of a weed whacker left in snow until the thaw of spring.
Heads “Cokefloat!,” the debut album from the jittery Glasgow trio PAWS, is a kaleidoscope of “Boregasms,” gleeful “got-your-nose” apathy and junkies with beautiful eyes. In short, it’s a grabbag of the best of ’90s college rock, flush with fuzzed-out guitars,…