A change has come, she's under my thumb

I was just browsing all of the usual blogs and I realized that a full-on fight had errupted on Shaya's. That is hilarious. I didn't realize that your dating life inspired so much passion from strangers in Oklahoma! Anyway, it reminded me that I hadn't posted in a while. I mean, Christ, it is almost August! (Why is it always time to pay rent??)

Anyway, I am on record as being the whitest white girl ever. I am hopelessly in over my head when music geeks want to talk hip hop--after all, I was that girl who, before the 2001 robbery where all of my CDs were stolen, owned like 5 hip-hop albums (for those of you who care: "Things Fall Apart" by the Roots, "Aquemini" and "Stankonia" by OutKast, "The Low End Theory" by Tribe Called Quest, and "Three Feet High and Rising" by De La Soul.....Yeah, that's a pretty white-girl list.). I mean, c'mon people I'm a Morrissey fan. I spent my high school years moping to the Cure or wishing that I was British while listening to "Modern Life is Rubbish," not wishing that I lived in South Central because Dr. Dre was so cool (though I definitely grew up with a bunch of people who did). It's not that I hated rap music, I supported it in the abstract and stood up for it and defended the language used in it. But, generally speaking, rap never really spoke to my life. Plus (at the risk of sounding like a too-political wet blanket feminist) it was really hard for me to listen to songs that demeaned women or told violent stories. So I stayed cozy in my rock cocoon for years. (Cuz rock stars never demean women! It's not like one of my favorite Stones songs is "Under My Thumb" or anything!)

The thing is though, I have some great friends who know a lot about hip hop. Listening to them expound on the greatness of the lyrics of Easy-E (Shaya) or the excitment of alterna-hip hop like Atmosphere (Kenneth) or giving the Game a chance because of his storytelling skills (Jon), has really gotten me more interested. I'm still pretty ignorant, though I think the number or rap albums I own might now number 10. (That is if albums like M.I.A.'s count as "hip-hop")

I bring this all up because, despite the hideousness of the weather recently, I've been in a really good mood. And being in a really good mood in summertime is not only something I'm kind of unfamilair with (I'm much more a winter person) but it lends itself to a different soundtrack than my usual. I mean, its hard to bounce down the sunny street smiling with Bright Eyes whining on my iPod (no disrespect meant to Conor--I still want to have like 10,000 of his babies and I LURVE his albums!). Luckily I found this collection of mixes that Jon made for me like 2 years ago in an attempt to school me in excellent hip hop. And while I listened to those three CDs when he first gave them to me, I don't think I really gave them a chance. But I've been listening to them almost non-stop for the last two days now. In fact, as I write this Nas is rhyming about how it ain't hard to tell. And it is awesome.

Ch ch ch check it out!

Um....has anyone else heard THIS yet? I'm sure that the link is getting passed around the blogosphere like wildfire because it is so freaking great. This guy compiled a "CD" of pop covers being done by some of my favorite bands (Rilo Kiley, Flaming Lips). It includes the Ted Leo version of Since U Been Gone/Maps that I mentioned before and a hilarious/touching version of Ben Gibbard singing Avril's "Complicated," and Superwolf's live cover of R. Kelly's "Ignition" (which, PS, had a resurgence in popularity in the apartment this week). The Tilly and the Wall cover of "Hey Ya" actually made me want to hear that song again.....a feat that I thought would never happen after the heavy saturation that song got.

I wish I could download all of these onto a CD....Anyone know how? Or is that highly illegal?

Feel like I'm gonna ignite

There is so much awesomeness going on, my heart (which is capable of crazy 13 year old girl obsession in a totally unnatural way for a 27 year old woman) is fucking bursting.

1) Why did nobody tell me that my boyfriend is on the cover of the Voice? Jesus, I don't go in to their offices for like a month and I loose all touch. I'm sorry, the only thing foxier than Michael Pitt is Michael Pitt playing faux Kurt Cobain. Yum. I wish I hadn't been such a tired ass pussy a couple weeks ago when his band played at Pianos. I might have imploded if he were standing a foot away from me in person. Hell I almost imploded, knowing that he was two blocks away from my apartment.

2) Speaking of amazing bands that play right downstairs from me--last night I totally missed my opportunity to see Be Your Own Pet at Rothko when the assmunching door men wouldn't let me in. Much to my delight when I picked up the new NME today, they had a whole feature on their UK tour. Christ I feel old--it used to be that I wanted to grow up and be Kim Deal or Kim Gordon, now I want to get younger so I can be like Jemima. She's like a blond, Southern Karen O--if Karen O weren't yet legal to drink.

3)Got the new Statistics album. It's pretty freakin' great. Denver Dalley's (formerly of Desaparicedos with my other boyfriend Conor) Saddle Creek-ish band ('cept their label is actually Delaware's Jade Tree) got less keyboard-y on this release and totally embraced anthemic Weezer (circa the Blue Album) choruses. Check it out. It's like if Desaparicidos was Conors agit-emo band before he went all folk singer-y, then it was Denver's political noise band before he went and crafted big hooks.

4) Also, I don't know if I've peed myself about the debut album from Clap Your Hands Say Yeah on this site yet--but I've certainly written them up for work a bunch. It's a shame that they are playing the VICOUS 2nd anniversary show at Southpaw for two reasons....#1: Cuz I'm not dragging my ass all the way to Park Slope ever again if I can help it and #2: Cuz it's been sold out since it was, like, announced. For all those hipsters who love Arcade Fire but wish they weren't so funereal or all of the Pitchfork readers who poo themselves over Neutral Milk Hotel but wish that David Byrne were their lead singer--this band's for you!

5) I woke up early this morning (a/k/a 11:26) to go to a noon showing of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, which I quite liked. The movie looks great, Johnny Depp's Wonka is less scary than Gene Wilder's (he scared the crap out of me when I was a kid because he could totally turn on you!), but more disturbing. I've loved Noah Taylor since Flirting and especiallly since Almost Famous and, while his part here (as Charlie's dad) is small, I just loved seeing him at all. Plus, the best thing about this new version: No Cheer Up Charlie! I highly recommend that everyone see it during an afternoon showing in a theater full of kids because they were the best part. One small Chinese boy with thick glasses who looked about 8, loudly made one of the most innocent and honest gasps I've ever heard in a theater when Charlie finally found the golden ticket. It was so effing cute. The only downside to today's movie was that I couldn't enjoy the last 10 to 15 minutes of it because I spotted a rat running across the aisle and became traumatized. Seriously there is nothing I hate more than rats. So I spent the end of the movie with my feet on the arm rest of the chair in front of me, trying not to hyperventalate.

6) Today is the SIREN fest and I'm really sorry not to be there. (If, for no other reason, than to see Be Your Own Pet, Spoon, and Q and not U before they disband) But it is too hot for me and my a/c addicted ass and I have to go to work in an hour. This will be the first SIREN I've not gone to. I was even at the first one. If memory serves they showed the PRHM Karaoke documentary inside the freak show tent (ah.....little did they know!)

Baby it's bad news

I meant to get online last Wednesday to blog about how much fun I had last week with Kenneth and Sarah at Cake Shop watching Living Things (St. Louis, represent!), perhaps the best band you've never heard of (which I think was the headline in Spin when they were written up a couple of months ago). I wanted to go on and on about the sex appeal of the incredibly dirty lead singer and the amazingness of the cupcakes that we ate and how pissed I was that the free Sparks had run out before we'd gotten there and how MC-5-ish the (way too short) set was, but instead I woke up to hear about the bombings in London and all of that seemed like bullshit.

I don't really know what to say instead (as sincererity and politics aren't really my strong suits, at least when it comes to blogging). But since I lived in London for a year and ever since have considered it the only place outside of NYC where I would live--I figured I should at least tell you all how saddened by all of this I was and how my heart goes out to the people of London. But I would also like to point you in the direction of this really interesting article from the Voice that talks about what it was like to live in London on that day (which, incedentally was also Leah and Adam's birthdays) and how this kind of attack is met with sadness but not flag waving and solemn factual news reports instead of crazy graphics and alamist cable news reporting. Just something to muse on....

In other, happier news, we are all settled into the new apartment. Thanks to all who came and helped us warm our new house on Friday (though I guess we really didn't need the help--I drank so much I was fucking flamable). That whole evening was hilarious--starting with the nigh before when Shaya decided that we had to start cleaning and haning curtains at like 2 am. In the course of the night, I went from the shindig at our place to Hip Hop Karaoke (though, sadly, I mised Jon's performance of "99 Problems" by Jay-Z) to the Magician to Orchard Bar (where Marisa and I danced our asses off until the unfortunate DJ choice to play Bush happened--fucking ""Breathe in, breathe out," my ass! I've never been so happy for a band's demise, outside of Creed!!) to some after hours place that I can't even remember because I was seeing double by then. Everything after that (Marisa buying and eating a package of Peperidge Farm cookies in like 4 blocks, the sun coming up, the weird Electroboy we befriended) is a total blur. I had such a good time, in fact, that I had to spend the rest of the weekend recovering. Yeah, I'm old now. I take comfort in the fact that yesterday at work, when I was getting my official ID, the ID guy thought I was an 18 year old intern. Ah, if only I could still drink like that!

Mis-shapes, mistakes, misfits

I fucking heart Chuck Klosterman. Seriously. Which seems exceptionally weird to say because, unlike all of the other men that I theoretically heart (say Bob Geldoff or Michael Pitt), Klosterman is a man I've actually met. In fact, for four months in 2003 I sat in a cubicle in front of his desk in the offices of Spin every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Ah the glories of being an intern! And, while I'm sure he wouldn't know me from a hole in the ground (a fact proven everytime I see him in a New York City bar and I have a glimmer of recognition and he looks at me like I'm wallpaper), there was a time when he used to grace me with a hello every morning. This is not to say that I think he's a jerk for not knowing me: He get's at least two new interns every semester, but each of those only meets one Chuck Klosterman.
Now, when I saw I heart him, I don't mean in some weird sexual way (though he is totally cute enough and his smart humor and media pedigree makes him a stud in my general zip code), I just mean that when I read his stuff, I feel like he is totally writing them just for me and never before has someone so totally spoken FOR me on the page. (I wouldn't want Chuck to inadvertently stumble across this little post while googling himself one day and think that I'm some crazy stalker fan. I bet he'd remember me real quick then, "Oh yeah, that intern. She did always seem vaguely crazy!")
Anyway, I mention this because I'm in the middle of reading his newest book ("Killing Yourself to Live"), for which I dragged Carrie to every bookstore in the Union Square area yesterday afternoon. It's a great book--I knew it would be, I've liked everything he's ever written--but it is weird to read something that is so autobiographical and know so many of the characters. When he describes different people that he works with or what the Spin offices look like, I totally know who and what he's talking about and I've spent hours trying to figure out the folks who aren't named directly or are given pseudonyms from little identifying clues he's dropped in there. It has given me this weird false sense of being a media "insider." (When, actually, all I am is an ex-intern who currently has no job!) I had the same weird "insider-y" feeling reading the new issue of NYLON on my way to Philly for Live 8 this weekend. It was the music issue and there were all of these articles on people that I knew or places that I'd been (for example there was a piece on Atlantic A&R rep Mary Gormley, who I used to speak with daily when I worked there, and a piece on Misshapes). It is a totally out-of-body experience to realize that your ex-co-workers and your local haunts are considered newsworthy.
But back to Chuck.... I highly suggest that everyone run out and buy a copy of his new book (and no, I won't lend you mine, because I never get books back and this is one I'd like to keep!) if, for no other reason, than to read his passage about LA. He says that he hates LA (a sentiment I can clearly get behind) and that no other city has ever lived up to its stereotype like LA. That stereotype (and this is something I've always thought, but never been able to crystalize into words) is that of people who are a weird mix of stupidity, total narcissism, and unyeilding niceness. He then goes on to write a three page "screenplay" about his blandly handsome actor/waiter that is perhaps the funniest and truest (those two always seem to go together--sort of like actor/waiter) thing I've read in a long time. If your vitriol for the city of angels isn't enough to convince you to drop the $23 on this book then perhaps his savvy explanation of how Radiohead's "Kid A" presaged 9/11 (or at least was its perfect soundtrack--also something I, myself, have claimed for four years), or his totally right on commentary on the role of the rock critic (for which he uses Robert Christgau as an example. Add that name dropping to his "Fargo Rock City" references to Chuck Eddy and all of my Village Voice bosses will be present and accounted for. See, I told you this book made me feel like a "media insider!") will motivate you to the store. Hell, maybe you too were once a Spin intern and now want to see if you can guess who the people are who have had their names changed. There are a million good reasons to read it (Seth Cohen fawned over his last book "Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs" on one of the last episodes of the O.C.!) but mostly, you should read it because it is unfailingly clever, but unflinchinly bighearted. That is a rare combination these days. People often call Klosterman an ironist, but the truth is that it is his earnestness that is winning (I felt bashful reading about him telling some girl that the number of his sexual conquests was three) and we need more earnestness in the world sometimes. (See my review below of Live 8 for proof.)

We Are The World

I don't quite know what to say about my weekend at Phillyl's Live 8. I could throw my cap in with the rest of the cultureal commentators and complain that MTV's coverage was embarassingly terrible (which it was--C'mon, I want to see music--namely music form the shows in Tokyo, Johannesburg, and London and all of the places that I couldn't be, not watch your simpering VJs talk over Pink Floyd or watch another commercial for the Real World.) but that's not necessary. You all know the coverage sucked and I entreat everyone to watch the stream at AOLMusic instead. The strean will be up for like six weeks. And I could complain about the shitty bland acts in Philly versus the other concerts (Will Smith vs Bjork? No contest! Toby Keith vs. Green Day? Please!) But even that strikes me as trivial. Yes, the lineup was a little stale (Big Willie actually performed "Summertime" a hit that definitely predates my high school experience and possibly even my breats!) but the spirit felt triumphant.

It was exciting to be standing out in the hot sun in my oft-overlooked hometown, while the ironist in me laughed and pointed at the Jersey girls who were singing along and waving at the JUMBOTRON while Bon Jovie was on! The crowd's enthusiasm was infectious (just how my boyfriend Bob intended it) and by the time Kanye West was on (perhaps the best Philly performer) me and Lacey (shout out to Lacey!) were singing along and dancing just like the rest of the fools in the audience! In fact, speaking of Kanye, his Live 8 performance was the first time I ever really liked "Jesus Walks," even if it is a kind of inappropriate sentiment while supposedly supporting starving Africans who've already been bombarded with missionaries for three hundred years or so.

So in case you need a tally: Number of bands seen live: 5 (The Marleys, Bon Jovi, Destiny's Child, Kanye West, and Will Smith.) Number of acts I'm not counting because they caused me to actually leave Live 8: 1 (Toby Keith) Number of times Lacey tried to leave, but was instead infiltrated by me: at least 4. (Once I had to stop for a real Philly soft pretzel, once to search for a legit Live 8 t-shirt--not a shitty homemade one-- once to let my homemade spirit take over as Will Smith was carried to the stage on a throne by six guys, while women threw rose petals at his feet and Jazzy Jeff played a loop from Ali that says "Here Comes the Champ," and finally once to wait while I swooned over a jumbotron broadcase from London of Bobby G. introducing Madonna as well as an Ethiopian girl who was near death at the time of Live Aid and now just graduated from college. Yes, I got teary. ) Number of SPF of the sunscreen in my bag: 35 (I am a pale, pale girl!) Number of SPF I was wearing: 0 On a scale of 1-10, how bad is my sunburn: 6.5 Number of acts watched on TV at Lacey's apartment: Hard to tell because of all the shitty jump cuts that MTV did, but at least 5. (Shakira in Paris, Green Day doing "We Are the Champions" in Berlin, the Killers doing most of "All the Things That I've Done," Jay-Z with Linking Park, and a nanosecond of the Pink Floyd reunion.) Number of bands I actually cared about seeing in Philly: 3 (Kaiser Chiefs, Jay-Z, and Kanye West.) Of those the number I actually saw: 1 (Just Kanye. The Kaiser Chiefs went on before I got there--and before the concert actually started, I might add. And Jay-Z went on after I left because I was too hot, too sunburned, and hated Toby Keith too much.) Amount that I heart Bob Geldoff: Lots.

So, in short, the cynic in me wants to laugh at the lame bands I saw and weird people in the crowd, but there is a part of me (and it is the part that is slowly taking over) that felt like real change was being made on Saturday and got swept up in that feeling. Plus, now I get to go watch Bjork and the Killers, and the Who on aol....

PS: The weirdest part for me was seeing the Killers come onstage for the big "Hey Jude" finale and seeing Ronnie "March 31st, Irving Plaza!" Vanucci standing next to Sir Paul. I mean these are guys who I saw play at Don Hills with 100 people in the room. They are guys I've harassed at Rothko ("All Killer, no filler," not being one of my proudest moments). And here they are, onstage with greats--Rock'n'Roll royalty--in front of hundreds of thousands of people who are singing along with them. It was crazy. It made me feel like I could've played Live 8. (Don't worry, I know that is delusional thinking.)