[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
Goldberg isn’t a shrink, of course; she just plays one on TV. (She diagnosed Palin in The Beast—and on last Thursday’s Larry King Live.) In the course of rendering her inexpert diagnosis, she borrowed a framework from the last decade—a framework the Heathers aimed at Candidate Gore when he was the pig they were trying to kill. Palin lies when there’s little to be gained! Having adopted this Gore-tested framework, Goldberg’s next step was perfectly clear:
To casual observers, dance music’s multitude of genres must seem amusingly pedantic. How many ways are there to describe electronic music that you can dance to? House, trance, techno, drum & bass - it’s a confusing world with its own language, and that’s before they started chucking adjectives into the already dubious pot. Minimal techno? Psychedelic trance? Progressive house? Talk about splitting hairs. And then when you consider that language develops over time, especially in electronic music which is intrinsically linked to technological change and the fickle trends of youth, you’re left with, well, meaningless drivel. What does progressive house in 2009 mean exactly? Call us fools, but we’ll try to answer that.
Who Says” opens with the bold line “Who says I can’t get stoned?” but there’s nothing intoxicating about John Mayer’s unassuming soft-rock, with its plodding tempo, smooth vocals and polished bluesy solos. The soporific blandness recalls Eric Clapton at his 1980s worst.
“
| — |
FT.com / Arts / Music - John Mayer: Battle Studies Say it ain’t so, Financial Times! |
Hooray, the case against my high school friend’s senior prom date— the sweet, down-to-earth, totally-didn’t-see-this-coming girl he went with before stealing away my date, who actually liked him— has been dropped. Pangs.
(via maura)
fyi, looks like Maura will be on WNYC (you can listen online) talking about full-album concerts.
Until you’re suddenly a few feet away from someone Giving It Their All, you don’t realize the Nickajack Lake-sized difference between politely listening to a co-attendee’s demo CD, and assuming an audience’s responsibility to give-and-take.
des noise: SURF SOLAR (7” EDIT)
short little write-up of a Fuck Buttons show I caught at Grinnell College
It would be easy to say that I despise the very memory of the Mountain Man and let it go at that. But I don’t believe that all the misery, sorrow and death he caused was entirely his fault, any more than it is a snake’s fault when it strikes someone who steps on it. I’ll leave it to the psychiatrists to diagnose what’s wrong with his mind, but it seemed to me that he was a person everybody had rejected, not tried to help. Apparently nobody ever took an interest in him. He was about as lonely as a human being can get. So he was fighting back in the only way he could figure out, trying to capture by force the human companionship he couldn’t get any other way. I just happened to be the one he caught.
