Album Review: "Damn the Torpedoes" by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers

As of today, there has not been a new edition of "Tom Petty Comics" in two weeks straight. Good Lord.

People, I have to say that I am truly sorry for all this. Sure, I am not Stephen Winchell, creator and illustrator of said Tom Petty Comixxx, but I personally would like to apologize to all of you for putting faith in this man. I mean, sure, the Stigmata comic was pretty damned funny, and ending on that one would be a pretty cool way of bowing out of the comics business forever, but jeez. People wanna read this damn comic, Winchell! This blog is useless without it!!

Either way, he's busy. But he still loves Tom Petty (who doesn't), so I'm sure there is a Tom Petty Comixsx #5 in the works. One that I'm sure will answer the age-old question: "Who the fuck is Jeff Lynne?"

(Kidding. Of course I know Jeff Lynne. He's that Xanadu guy.)

So taking Mr. Winchell's negligence into consideration, I have decided to replace his usual hilarious comic with a not-as-hilarious-but-quite-informative review of an actual Tom Petty ALBUM. That's right, that long-haired lothario's not just a superhero concerned about testicular cancer. He's also quite the musician! I'm sure you'd love to hear about him.

So let's discuss Damn The Torpedoes, probably the best album ever recorded by a Tom Petty.

Lookit that face. He HAD to become a rock star.

Damn The Torpedoes is the ultimate feel-good rock album for those of us that dig kickin' rock old school, with those Byrds and those Rolling Stones and alla them. That's probably why the album was such a hit in the late 70's - it eschewed all that punk, new wave, and progressive claptrap that cluttered the airwaves and scared away eager record buyers who just wanted to hear some fun, sweet, straight-ahead 4/4 guitar-bass-drum-keyboard rock tunes blasting through their stereo. Tom Petty and his Hoppin' Heartbreakers (their full name) were pretty much the perfect solution to this problem; Petty's voice was like Dylan mixed with Jagger, and the whole band sounded like the Stones on vacation. (OK, that made no sense, but you dig my trip bro - they were nicer than the Stones.) I guess you could lump them into the "mainstream roots-rock" category that Bruce Springsteen and Bob Seger occupied back in the 'ol days, but where those two were more romantic and dramatic, Mr. Tom was straight-up rockin', never stopping for an overwrought sax solo (sorry Broos) or weepy piano ballad (sorry Bob). And hey, that appealed to a lot of people! For good reason!

I'm sure you know the hits here. You must. "Refugee"? "Here Comes My Girl"? "Don't Do Me Like That"? All kick-nut. But this one's also chock full of great album tracks - which is a good thing, 'cuz with album with only 9 songs on it, it helps if more than 1/3 of the album is good! Otherwise it's not a very good album at all, is it? "Even The Losers," "Shadow Of A Doubt," "Century City," "Louisiana Rain" - hoo-ee, thems some great tracks. Admittedly, some of the album tracks sound just a smidge too similar - once in a blue moon I'll still forget which melody is which between "Even the Losers" and "Shadow of a Doubt" - but man, when that samey sound is so good, you really can't complain. Tom Petty's one of these rare artists, like AC/DC or the Ramones, that only benefits from sounding pretty much exactly the same from one album to the next. Why mess with perfection?

Lyrically, there's not much to write home about on Damn The Torpedoes - Mr. Petty's never been known for his lyrical prowess, nor does he need to be - but there's hardly anything embarrassing here. I guess you could lump in Tom with BROOS in the lyrical department, since a lot of the time he seems to cover similar subject matter: dead-end towns, heartbroken dreamers, soulless 9-to-5 jobs, etc. etc. It's nothing new, but when it works, it really works; specifically, "Here Comes My Girl," a piece of rock romanticism worthy of Springsteen, features a lovestruck Mr. Tom speak-singin' about the rough life he leads in a crappy town he hates. His redemption? A LADY. Sounds a little overwrought on paper, but in the context of the song it's genuinely exciting - hearing Tom shift his voice from a downtrodden street crawler in the verses to a rock 'n roll yelper in the chorus is enough to sweep any listener off their feet.

I have one genuine problem with Damn The Torpedoes: whenever I listen through it, I usually drop off after "Don't Do Me Like That." Why is this? Well, the songs get a little slower, a little groovier, and a little less exciting. I can't really blame this on a dip in musical quality; it's just that after the pure rockin' sweetness of "Refugee" through "Century City," plus the pop confection of "Don't Do Me Like That," hearing the slow "You Tell Me" doesn't quite fit with me. Whenever I crave a quick, perfect blast of Petty, I'll put the first side on, but not the second. So while I would say the first side of the album is stronger than the second - mostly 'cuz of "What Are You Doing In My Life?", which is kinda fun but inconsequential - the second side has "Louisiana Rain," a really wonderful ballad that closes the album.

So basically I'm complaining about nothing.

Tom Petty's 58 now. That's right - 58. He will never capture the wild youth preserved forever on the classic Damn The Torpedoes LP, no matter how many times he plays the Super Bowl (once, and counting). I mean, this IS the album that saved his career, allowing him to continue making wonderful music until he finally met his destiny as one of Jeff Lynne's Terrific Travelin' Wilburys. If you're not grasping the gravity of the situation, think about this: if Tom Petty had never made Damn The Torpedoes, he would have never been a megastar, never would have hobnobbed with "Got My Mind Set On You"-crooner George Harrison, never would have joined the Wilburys, and - I hate to say it - the classic reggae-tinged Petty classic "Last Nite" would never exist.

Ponder that shit. In your dreams. Or your nightmares.

DS Review: "Final Fantasy IV"

The box art for this game is kinda boring, but the box itself is shiny!

As somebody weaned on Square RPGs since the age of 9, it might be surprising for some to know that I have never, on any level, played Final Fantasy IV before picking up the recent DS remake. At all. The closest I got was playing a bit of the beginning of the Advance remake, but that was after my house burned down and I think I've blocked out the memory. Either way, I have often felt somewhat dirty in admitting my ignorance of FFIV - as someone who grew up on Final Fantasy and still loves the series despite its many awkward flaws (and there are many), having not played what some might call the Final Fantasy for so long is just ridiculous. I mean, considering the amount of times I've re-played VI, VII, and - guiltily - VIII, not to mention Chrono Trigger and Mario RPG, why couldn't I reserve just a little more time for the RPG that started it all?

Maybe it was the erratic remakes Square loves to churn out. Maybe it was 'cuz I only had an old crappy GBA without a backlight. Maybe it was 'cuz I thought the early SNES graphics were too primitive. Maybe it was 'cuz the original US translation is universally reviled by hardcore fans, and I'm not too fond of online fan translations. There are many many reasons for me never playing this game, each one more shallow than the last.

But finally I picked up this 3D Nintendo DS remake of the game, with a Best Buy gift card from my uncle. It was an impulse buy (or is that not possible with a gift card?), probably the most rewarding impulse buy I've had in a while. While I was a little worried that FFIV DS's new 3D sheen would diminish the charm of the original game, those worries were dusted away the moment I started guiding Dark Knight Cecil around Baron Castle, with Nobuo Uematsu's Theme of Baron playing in the background. Yes, even with the 3D, this really felt like Final Fantasy - or at least, how Final Fantasy used to feel.

You know what I mean. Silly fantasy-book characters. Giant world map filled with random enemy encounters. Villages burning down. Kingdoms under siege. Summon monsters and human beings just trying to get along. Monstrous boss-fights with that fist-pumpingly-epic Uematsu score making everything sound cooler than it already is. Everybody learning a lesson about life at the end, with just enough time to fight the Sum of All Evil in the Middle of the Universe. Yeah, some could call this nerdy and lame. I get a goddamned hard-on from it.

Lookit that diff'rence!

There's not too much to say about the gameplay here - if you know how most early-90s turn-based RPGs work, you'll know what to do here. Modern Final Fantasy fans should note that this game was the first to employ the Active Time Battle system, removing the usual "wait till your turn"-style gameplay in favor of making the player choose their potions REALLY FUCKING FAST HURRY UP OR THAT PURPLE GUY'S GONNA KILL EVERYBODY. It's a formula that Final Fantasy used up 'till FFX, where turn-based battling miraculously came back for a little while. Nevertheless, it's one of the most widely-imitated battle systems in RPG history, and for me playing another game with it is like going home again. It's such a fun, tried-and-true formula that I can't get enough of it - where pure turn-based combat can feel a little methodical, ATB gives yah a little kick of suspense.

Now let's talk about plot, please, because Final Fantasy IV was probably the first Final Fantasy game (and one of the first console RPGs overall) to have a serious, character-driven storyline that kept developing while the player advanced through the game culminating in one big fat plot twist at the end (hint: there's MOON PEOPLE). Now to modern video gamers, FFIV's plot is probably no great shakes. It's overdramatic, silly, cliche-ridden, and it ends with MOON PEOPLE, so I don't think you're going to catch many people sitting down drinkin' a Corona on the beach and playing FFIV for its plot alone. Having said this, I find the plot nothing but charming - harmlessly charming. Maybe because, deep down, I miss silly plots like these and find them very sweet. There's a lot of characters here that just beg to be endeared - the affable airshipman Cid, the wussy bard Edward, the proud monk Yang, or the befuddled old dotard Tellah will all wiggle their way into your heart (that is, until all these fun characters eventually leave your party and you're stuck with five dully-serious dudes at the end of the game... whoops, more spoilers!!).

If you love crushing moral ambiguity, you will love Cecil.

If you're looking for a Final Fantasy game with a more developed plot, jump on the FFVI train and never look back. Even as an adult, and even with its obvious flaws, I love the plot and characters of FFVI wholeheartedly. But to be fair, in the case of FFIV, I can see why people would love its plot game growing up. It's not gonna win a Peabody anytime soon, but it'll rope you in and make you actually care about what happens next. Maybe it's just the gameplay? Who knows.

So yes, the plot is fun if not a little too dour for my tastes. Maybe the one absolutely indisputable aspect of Final Fantasy IV is its music. Oh God, the music. Do you realize what kind of a roll Final Fantasy composer Nobuo Uematsu was on in the early 90's? Motherfucker was on a tear. The moment you boot up FFIV, you hear his gob-fuckingly great Red Wings theme. Then the Baron theme. Then "Theme of Love," now used to teach Japanese schoolkids how to play clarinet or something (no really, Google it). Then the overworld map theme. Seriously - no hyperbole - every single theme here is memorable. If there is ONE aspect of Final Fantasy IV that will suck you into the game RIGHT from the get-go, it is the music. This was Nobuo Uematsu's first Final Fantasy score on the SNES, and right from the bat the guy was the undisputed master of the SNES sound chip (to be utilized to its greatest extent in FFVI). And it all sounds lovely on the DS - I heard the GBA version compromised it a bit, and I hear no problems here.

Hey, if you're just a video game music fan, don't buy the game! Just buy the soundtrack!!

...okay, that's really not fair at all.

Either way, I hope most hardcore FFIV fans enjoy this DS remake as much as I have. Maybe I've been sullied by playing a bastardized 3D remake first before even touching the original pure 2D, I don't know. There's no way for me to know that. What I do know is that Final Fantasy IV on the DS is a very attractive game. Characters are rendered in a cartoony style, more like what you would imagine the original cartoony 2D sprites to look like in 3D - which is why I like it. Whenever I see older FF characters rendered as anatomically-correct human beings, it just takes me right out of it. There's some new high-falootin' Augment system in this remake that probably makes no sense to players that swore on the original; I only understood it 'cuz I used a GameFAQ. You don't have to do that. It's not necessary to beat Zeromus or anything.

But hey, I really like Final Fantasy IV! I should have played it earlier! It took me about 40 hours to get through, plus sidequests, and it felt like a breeze. You'll never get bored, and you'll barely ever have to endure constant level-grinding, something that hampers even the finest entries in the Final Fantasy series. But despite its breeziness, it's also challenging as all hell - especially in the lead-up to the last boss where every random encounter is pretty much a boss fight. But man, it's fun! Wastes a lot of your time in a GOOD way, like all RPGs should! A perfect way to relive your childhood and burn your precious DS lithium battery to the ground all at once. Buy now!

Comics Update: "Tom Petty Comics #4"

Hey folks. I'm here to offer up my deepest, deepest apologies to those waiting for your Tom Petty Comixxx fix this Sunday night. I have no excuse for this late update. I had the comic, and I didn't update.

Why?? Well maybe I'm just jealous of Mr. Winchell's unrelenting talent. Often I feel that Mr. Petty himself chose him as some kind of creative conduit, sending him these beautiful stories of heroic altruism. And I kind of wish he'd chosen me. If only I could draw.

Either way, here's your comic:



You heard it here first, folks: this "Tom Petty" guy is gonna be a big deal someday.

Album Review: "The Village Green Preservation Society" by the Kinks

Okay I can't say I love the cover art. It looks like Porky Pig's about to pop out of it.

Since I began updating this blog regularly just about a year ago, I have been afraid to write about my all-time favorite albums. For one, I don't like getting gushy; I know firsthand that when I really, really like something I will praise it so completely and so stubbornly that I will come off as a hyperbole-spewing sycophant. Secondly, most of my so-called "favorite" albums are pretty predictable, boring choices, and if I want to keep this blog good and fresh there's no use in touting the greatness of Revolver when everybody else in the world already has. And as someone who values what little cool music cred he has, I have no intention of offending the fraction of hipsters that read this blog to keep up with the "hip times" (as I call them). What use do they have for another review of Murmur? None, my friends.

But to be honest, the main reason I don't usually bring up my absolute favorite albums in this blog is, well... writing about them is hard. I have to, like, sit and listen to the album, and think about why the album means so much to me. I have to get emotional, you see, and I don't have the time to do that every week of my life! I've got episodes of Heroes to watch! Not to mention that said "emotional" writing would take, like, hours and hours to write, resulting in a long sprawling post expressing every possible feeling I have about said album and why. Then I've gotta talk about my history with the album, the first time I listened to it, what it meant to me then, what it means to me now, hyadda hyadda yadda bullshit. Like some kind of overcooked Livejournal entry.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am no living musical tome to be consulted whenever you people deem it so. I cannot pour forth such emotions with such ease. I live ninety percent of my life with cautious non-emotion. I intend to keep things this way.

Now, Village Green Preservation Society is an album that will make me gush, fawn, cry, etc. etc. because I love it just so so much. So for the sake of everyone's - and my own - tight schedule, I'll try to keep this review as concise and logical as I possibly can.

So this is how it goes: the Kinks were one of the finest British rock bands of the 1960s. In the wake of the Beatles and the Stones and the Who and yadda yadda, they were overshadowed, and after "All the Day and All the Night" nobody really cared much for them anymore - especially in America, where they were banned from performing for some unspecified reason. Village Green, released in 1968, was their absolute nadir commercially, flopping both in the US and the UK. In retrospect, this makes no sense because it is a lush, beautiful album that is recognized by most people nowadays as one of their best. But alas, the Kinks were ignored until "Lola" became an international hit in 1970. "Lola" is a great song, but lots of songs on Village Green are just as good if not better. That gives you an idea of what we're dealing with here.

Village Green is the only album I have ever heard that sounds both fully produced and rough-hewn at the same time. Nothing is immaculately orchestrated; Ray Davies's voice doesn't always hit the notes, instruments are buried in the mix at times, not everything sounds quite right. Then the instrumentation swells, a violin finds its way into the mess, everything becomes beautiful in its cobbled-together sort of way. The songs are quite British, more British than any other British band in existence ever. But it's never condescending, obnoxious, gimmicky British - it's sweet, reflective, charming British.

Ray Davies writes a lot of songs about nostalgia, which is probably why this album wasn't exactly lauded in 1968. The title track namedrops Donald Duck, for Christ's sake! Same year Blue Cheer did Vincebus Eruptum! Imagine that. But like its unabashed Britishness, its nostalgia is no gimmick because Ray Davies understands the folly of nostalgia - namely, that people who wallow in nostalgia aren't necessarily happy people. As such, Village Green is filled with happy, jaunty British tunes about sad, lonely people who just want things to be like they used to be. "Do You Remember Walter?" wallows in a dead friendship. "Picture Book" describes an album full of pictures of "those days when you were happy / a long time ago." "Big Sky" expresses wonderment at the uncaring nature of the universe - the Big Sky's "too big to cry." "Animal Farm" advocates running away to a farm to escape a world that's gone "half-insane". Despite what the uppity title track might have you believe, Ray Davies doesn't seem proud to be living in a fantasy world. Life isn't that easy.

So while these songs brim with sadness, they are all wonderfully written and performed pop tunes, 15 right in a row. No bum tracks. Every time "Big Sky" pops into my iPod shuffle, I'm awestruck and I have to listen to about five or six more songs at least because they make me feel so happy. Even songs I don't like as much as others surprise me - the loopy bridge in "Monica" and the wonderful chorus of "All Of My Friends Were There" being only two examples. And these aren't a bunch of samey-sounding songs either. You've got variation up the ying yang: "Picture Book" is perfect ramshackle pop; "Animal Farm" is an impossibly beautiful number with tasteful orchestration; "Wicked Annabella" is a fuzz-rock number that sounds like it was written to scare children on Halloween; "Last of the Steam-Powered Trains" is unusual blues-rock. These are not the kind of songs you would find on other immaculate British pop albums of the period, like the Hollies or Herman's Hermits (both bands I like, but y'know what I mean). The Kinks were the real deal.

Confession time: every time I hear The Zombies' Odyssey and Oracle I have to put this album on. It's a nasty habit; I play four songs of Odyssey and Oracle, remember how great Village Green is, and then play Village Green in its entirety. Maybe twice. Considering that I like the Zombies quite a bit, this is saying something.

There are many other Kinks albums I could have written about here - they were on a serious roll from '66 to '71, releasing wonderful album after wonderful album. Arthur, released a year after Village Green, is a serious contender for the Best Kinks Album championship belt. Something Else, released before Green, had "Waterloo Sunset" on it, plus a bunch of other songs that were practically just as transcendent. In context, Village Green could be viewed as just another great Kinks album, but I find that it hits a nerve no other Kinks album could. It's sad, reflective, beautiful, easy to listen to but hard to let sink in once you realize it's about friends leaving you and you childhood fading away and your hometown becoming unrecognizable. Bottom line: at 15 songs and 39 minutes, no other Kinks album could accomplish so much with such wit and economy. That's why it's so special.

And eventually everybody realized they fucked up. "Whoops! We ignored one of the finest pop albums of all time! Jimi Hendrix is dead! What the hell are we gonna do now??"

So don't fuck up! Go buy a copy of The Village Green Preservation Society for each of your children, right now! It's not an album that's going to expand your mind like other more prominent rock releases in 1968. No, Village Green is the aural equivalent of a big bear hug.

I mean, come on. This album just wants to give you a hug. Let it.

Comics Update: "Tom Petty Comics #3"

What? Oh? I'm sorry, I almost forgot! It's time for another fantastic TOM PETTY COMICCCC.

Good message for the all your young-adult fans out there, Tommy. But when will you finally finish your classic track "Free Fallin'"? Mr. Lynne can't wait all day!! Guess we'll all have to find out next Sunday!

Oh, and to tide you over on the Great Sean Rose Comixxx front, here's another stupid little doodle I did, "4Chan Time Traveler":

Boy Band Song Analysis: "Liquid Dreams" by O-Town

Typing in "otown liquid dreams" in Google Image Search was not one of my finer moments.

Poor O-Town. Poor young, impressionable O-Town. How were these five young, naive winners of MTV's Making The Band to know that their first single, "Liquid Dreams," would be the song to ensure the end of the Boy Band Era? I mean, it's not their fault. They didn't write it, and they had like three other songs after it that were pretty generic boy band fluff. So what marketing genius thought it would be a great idea to introduce this hot new boy band with one of the most awkward songs ever written? Seriously, I would wager that if any licensed Boy Band Historian were asked to point to one song that signaled the boy band era's death knell, he would point his wrinkled finger straight at "Liquid Dreams" and say "There! Right there! That's the motherfucker!" Poor O-Town. Poor poor O-Town.

Although, to be fair, boy bands - like any fad - were already on the way out when "Liquid Dreams" hit the shelves. And they never were very well respected critically or publicly, so not many people were exactly falling to their knees in tears when countless boy bands started disappearing around 2002 (excluding 13-year-old girls, of course). But "Liquid Dreams," probably the grossest boy band song ever recorded, certainly didn't help.

Why is it so gross? Well, the title is a pretty decent indication of what you're getting into here. I am no prude, but "Liquid Dreams" is one of the few song titles out there that will make me physically gag every time I type it, say it, or even look at it. For those of you under the age of twelve - nahh, times are changing, let's say eight - "Liquid Dreams" (ugh) is a not-too-veiled alteration of the term "wet dream." A wet dream is when you have a sexual fantasy in bed and wake up with cum in your pajamas. And no, kids, cum is not pee. It's stickier. Ask your parents.

So "Liquid Dreams" (ughh), as most would guess, is a slick boy-band pop song about waking up with cum in your jeans. Well, ok, it's not that explicit - I'm sure it wouldn't make it onto the airwaves if it were, god forbid - but the lyrics are suggestive enough that you know exactly what these sensual boytoys are singing about. This is notable for several reasons. First off, to my knowledge, not many boy bands at the time sang flat-out sex songs, as they usually came off as awkward and weird (not to mention they were marketed to young girls, and singing to young girls about sex comes off as just a bit pedo-y). The only real boy band sex song I remember (not counting Color Me Badd, of course) was N*Sync's "Digital Get Down," a song about "getting together" over the internet that sounded like it was written by someone's grandmother. The fact that a song called "Digital Get Down" was nowhere near as creepy as "Liquid Dreams" (yech) is pretty telling.

Secondly, if you actually bother to look up the lyrics, it's clear that "Liquid Dreams" (guhh) is actually written from the perspective of a 13-year-old chronic masturbator. The first line - "Posters of love surrounding me, I'm lost in a world of fantasy" - conjures up the uncomfortable image of a sad, bored kid lying in bed staring at a bunch of Jennifer Lopez posters in a vain attempt to stem his crippling loneliness. Thanks, O-Town. But it only gets worse. After listing off the many ladies that make up our protagonist's dream girl (who he calls a "morpharotic," a word that does not exist), he goes on to claim "My mama thinks I'm lazy, my friends all think I'm crazy / But in my mind, I leave the world behind." Are we seriously being forced to believe that the swarthy, 20-something manhunks of O-Town are actually a bunch of hairy-palmed orgasm addicts, living in their mother's basements pleasuring themselves 'till they burn their skin off? Too lethargic and sad to leave their rooms? I... don't think so.

But if you think there couldn't possibly be anything more awkward than a song called "Liquid Dreams" (ughhhh), you would be wrong. There's a music video.



See? They're dancing in liquid! You know, the song's called "Liquid Dreams" so they dance around in liquid, which fits the-

...oh god. Oh no. NO.

UGHHHHH.

THERE'S A WHOLE WATERFALL OF IT.

P.S.: RECENTLY DISCOVERED BONUS VIDEO!

Here's O-Town attempting to perform "Liquid Dreams" at Miss America 2000. The fact that they all sound like caterwauling pre-teens is just too fitting.

Comics Update: "Tom Petty Comics #2" plus an Extra Bonus Sean Rose Comic

Well folks, I screwed up. In my last comics update I kinda-sorta jumped the gun on Stephen Winchell's intentions for the Tom Petty comic, claiming - in a moment of cursed hubris - that he intended his comics to be a precursor to a planned Traveling Wilburys strip. Oh, what a fool I am. Here's his clarification:

"Anyway, I figured I'd clarify this because Sean in his not-so-subtle way maybe missed the point a little bit (and ruined a bit of the motive by making it so fucking clear)

My logic is this:
-I like Sean's blog
-Only his friends seem to read it despite its frequent and insightful updates
-People like comics

So I figured I'd draw a comic for his blog, and hopefully that would get people that don't know him from Milford/UConn to come and read the other stuff. Which is why I said I'd do a limited engagement (10 Tom Petty Comics)to see if it actually worked.

So that's what I'm all about"

Asshole.

Anyway. Here's Tom Petty Comic #2. Don't get any ideas. It's just a silly little comic.



Of course you might ask me - "Hey Sean, aren't you a great comics creator as well?" Well, yes. I am. And since I'm a little bit tired of Mr. Winchell stealing the spotlight from me - in my own blog - I figured it was time to bring out the big guns and show off some of my own treasured works.

So here's one of mine, selected with special care from the Sean Rose Archives. A classic for the ages. Big 'Ol Dick.



Yeah, had to censor it. It's just too edgy. If you wanna see the real thing, here ya go. It's not work safe, so as hard as it may be, you will have to resist putting it up next to Dilbert in your office cubicle. I'm so sorry.

Have a good night, folks.

Album Review: "49:00" by Paul Westerberg

Cover art by famed conceptual artist Paul Westerberg.

Up until about a week ago, I had no clue former Replacements singer/songwriter Paul Westerberg had a new solo album out. I mean, admittedly I don't check up on the guy too often, but when I caught sight of the album on Pitchfork I was a bit surprised. I knew that he hadn't released an album in at least four years, so the question was raised - why had I not heard about this? Where was the buildup? The anticipation? The press release? Why wasn't Mr. Westerberg's new sure-to-be-a-masterwork being touted as the Next Big Thing??

Well, the answer to that is simple. Mr. Westerberg's 49:00 was released to the American public in mid-July, and was recorded just a week before release. Not only that, but it was released only on the internet, exclusively available for download in Amazon.com's MP3 Music Store. The album itself was promoted with silly variations on the number 49, including its release date (July 19th, marketed as "June 49th") and could be bought off of Amazon for just 49 cents (inexplicably, the album is only 44 minutes long - more on that later). To top it all off, the album isn't even divided up into tracks - it's one big chunk of audio, with no breaks between songs. On the surface, the whole thing sounds pretty slapdash, and even with his weird means of distributing it, 49:00's internet-only status makes it seem like Westerberg wanted to keep this release out of the public eye, for whatever reason. As such, I expected a string of rough demos at best.

But 49:00 has been a very pleasant surprise. Again, I'm really only familiar with Paul's work with the Replacements, and the most I've heard of his solo work has been All Shook Down, which is technically the last Replacements LP. So despite having little to no knowledge of Paul's musical career for the past two decades, if 49:00 is any indication he's still keepin' on keepin' on, writing some wonderful wonderful melodies. And it's made all the more alluring with its formatting gimmick, giving the songs no titles and allowing the album to be considered as one consolidated work rather than just a bunch of songs.

Now, when I say "gimmick," I don't mean that in a derogatory way. Let me explain said "gimmick" to you - 49:00 is one big audio file, but it isn't just a bunch of songs stapled next to each other. Rather, the songs here bleed right into each other, with random song snippets jumping into the mix for sometimes as little as seconds at a time before moving on to another song. And they don't just cancel each other out - sometimes they even play over each other, epitomized by the album's halfway point during which two different songs are actually playing at the exact same time, each out of a different speaker. This makes for a mix of fully-realized Westerberg tunes and a bunch of silly throwaways, yet in the context of this giant musical clusterfuck they all kinda sound the same. In a good way.

Here's the best analogy I can use to describe 49:00's sound: it's as if someone decided to record a bunch of songs off of an all-Westerberg radio station, but mistakenly kept recording new songs over the old ones over and over again. What 49:00 amounts to is a sloppily-ripped Paul Westerberg mixtape. (I wish I could take credit for that analogy, but I'm pretty sure Pitchfork's used it. And Westerberg himself, for that matter. Just look at that album art!)

So while the format of this album is weirdly experimental, the music is much less of a stretch; it's pretty much standard Paul Westerberg. But that's hardly a bad thing. The whole album has a very laid-back, silly feel to it, which I'm sure was intentional (Westerberg plays all of the instruments himself, so that's no surprise). While it's kind of hard for me to refer to specific songs on the album, since none of them have actual names and Paul's lyrics are often very hard to discern, many of them have a similar country-rockish feel, with occasional lapses into hard-rockin' Tom Pettyisms and unusual balladry. Song titles do pop out at me, since many of the song's choruses have constantly repeated lines, so I'll give this a try - the lovely opener "Terry Who You Gonna Marry," the reflective "Something In My Life Is Missing," and the hilariously crass "Everyone's Stupid" are probably the easiest to label. 49:00 doesn't vary all that much musically, but when it does branch out a little it's very enjoyable, like the country shuffle of "New Year's Day" or the out-and-out hard rock of "Devil Raised a Good Boy" that doesn't sound nearly as forced as the rockers on All Shook Down. Other personal favorites are the the snarky "Gotta Get It Out Of My System" and "Goodnight Sweet Prince," a surprisingly devastating song about what I assume to be the death of Westerberg's father, judging from the lyrics.

"Goodnight Sweet Prince," actually, becomes the album's most memorable moment. As I mentioned before, halfway through 49:00 two songs start playing at once. It starts off with "Sweet Prince," which as I said is a surprising - if not slightly unusual - moment of tender emotion on an album filled with happy, silly melodies. But while Westerberg is pouring his heart out, another song starts cutting in and out of the listener's left speaker, continuing until both songs are actually playing at the same time. And it's not like both songs have similar tempos or chords or anything - they both sound totally out-of-sync playing next to each other. It's completely disorienting, it makes half of "Goodnight Sweet Prince" inaudible, and it almost makes me wonder if "Sweet Prince" was actually a sincere song about death or just a twisted joke. Either way, it's probably the most entertaining part of the album.

Actually, I take that back - the most entertaining part of the album is a bunch of random 60's/70's pop covers near the end of the song cycle, including (but not limited to) the Beatles' "Hello Goodbye," the Stones' "Stupid Girl," the Kinks' "Dandy" and Elton John's "Rocket Man," among others. It's fun while it lasts, but unfortunately it's probably the reason that 49:00 was eventually pulled off of Amazon after a short run due to copyright issues. As such, by the time I finally heard about this album, I was forced to Torrent it. I couldn't even throw Mr. Westerberg, one of my personal favorite songwriters, and extra half a buck. How sad.

As for the confusion about the 43:55 running time? Well, in response to 49:00 being pulled, Westerberg put up a new song on Tunecore called - you guessed it - 5:05. How droll.

And why is Mr. Westerberg obsessed with that goddamned number 49?! Well, he's turning 49 at the end of this year. Criminy. What's with all of these alt-rock icons jumping into their forties and fifties like this?? Henry Rollins, Ian MacKaye, Wayne Coyne, Eddie Vedder - hell, even good 'ol Steve Malkmus is like 42. Barely any of my favorite rock musicians are younger than 40. Those self-absorbed assholes, aging naturally and all that.

Oh yeah, the album. Find it! Hear it! The whole one-big-audio-file thing is a gimmick, but it's an awesome gimmick. It's the best goddamned audio-format gimmick I've seen since the Flaming Lips' Zaireeka, only the music is nothing shocking. But that's okay! The music's still lovely as all fuck! Paul Westerberg is almost five decades old and he's still writing fantastic music! Cherish him, people. And even if you don't dig the music, I guarantee that you won't hear another album released in 2008 quite like this one.

P.S.: I've actually found an unofficial tracklisting for 49:00, created by PaulWesterberg.net. Seems like I've gotten several of the song titles / lyrics completely wrong! "New Year's Day" is actually "Visitor's Day?" "Heat Risin'" is actually "Kentucky Risin'"? Am I deaf or something?

Comic Update: "Tom Petty Comics #1" by Stephen Winchell

My fellow Wilhelm Sketch Comedy founder Steve Winchell has been pestering me to post up some comics of his. He and I have been playing around with the idea of a "Traveling Wilburys Comic" for some time now, since both of us have an unhealthy love of said late-80's supergroup, but before we ever do embark on such a project Steve has decided to write what could be considered a precursor to the Traveling Wilburys - "Tom Petty Comics."

What's it about? Well, it's about Tom Petty. Kicking some ass.

...well, ok, that's just an assumption. Mr. Winchell has only made one page of this soon-to-be-acclaimed comic series, which I am posting here. Unfortunately, he tells me he will only update this epic comic saga if this humble blog of mine sees a significant spike in readers. But since I don't know how to track site hits on Blogger, I'll use the comments this post receives as an indication of increased readership.

But nobody's commented in this thing in a while, so guess what that means! If one - yes, one - person comments on this post, Mr. Winchell will be forced to continue these wonderful Tom Petty comixxx! HUZZAH!

So please comment and enjoy, people, or this will be the last you will see of Mr. Winchell's amazing folk-rock saga. (And comment in Blogger, please. Facebook doesn't count.)

Enjoy!

A Few Words on Neil Hamburger

There's been a lot of so-called "anti-comedians" out there since Andy Kaufman defined the archetype - people who use comedy as a tool to disrupt, confuse, and anger rather than entertain. Andy Kaufman did it best, to be certain, inspiring a slew of Kaufman devotees determined to view any form of "comedy" as one big existential joke. While the whole "anti-comedy" attitude has meshed pretty well with the sensibilities of modern stand-up comedians (read: Zach Galifianakis), there is a danger of using that "comedy is stupid" belief as an excuse to, y'know, not be funny at all. How hard is it to get onstage and say "Why did the chicken cross the road? WHO THE FUCK CARES!" just to get the audience to turn on you? Not very. Anti-comedy, as it were, is in danger of becoming cliche.

When it comes to America's Funnyman Neil Hamburger, however, the "anti-comedian" tag isn't quite apt - mostly because, like Kaufman before him, he's actually genuinely funny. Sure, his whole "schtick" (as it were) is that he's a really lousy comedian, a concept that naysayers still claim to be a poor man's Tony Clifton. But Neil Hamburger takes the concept of Tony Clifton and powers it through the Earth's atmosphere, burning it to a crisp until its remains emerge into space fouler and cruder than ever before. Where Tony Clifton was a hammy, obnoxious, over-the-top lounge act, Neil Hamburger is a mean, spiteful, and unbelievably foul-mouthed stand up comic. And where Clifton was nasty and energetic, Hamburger thrives on sad, slow-moving failure, characterized by his defeatist look on life and his narcissistic, painfully ridiculous jokes.

Hamburger, portrayed by music critic Gregg Turkington, is a hilarious creation on many levels. For one, his physical appearance is phenomenally scummy: oversized glasses, exceptionally greasy hair, and a tacky tuxedo perfect his "failed comedian" image, not to mention a glass of scotch he constantly sips onstage. He's also got a great scowl, or pout if you will, giving Hamburger a look of constant sadness and dejection - he's one of the few comedians that can make you laugh just by looking at him. There's also his bizarre vocal delivery, which ranges from a corny, over-the-top old-timey comedian's voice to a disgruntled, loud, angry voice of a man who hates everybody. But of course, none of this would matter if the material wasn't rock-solid - and I assure you, readers, that you will never hear a "blue" comedian better than Mr. Hamburger.

Neil Hamburger, quite frankly, is the best sculptor of out-and-out disgusting hilarity to come along in a long time. While some of Hamburger's jokes are just silly takes on "Why did the chicken cross the road?," my personal favorites of his are his celebrity riffs. Hamburger is particularly adept at taking common lousy celebrity cliches that worse comedians revel in - y'know, Michael Jackson's a pedo, Paris Hilton's a whore, etc. etc. - and delivering them in the most gut-wrenchingly ridiculous fashion that they somehow turn from standard "anti-jokes" into true works of comedic beauty. Any comedian can set up a joke with "Why did Michael Jackson dangle his infant son from the window of his hotel room?"; only Neil Hamburger can follow it up with "He was punishing him for refusing to eat his plate of sperm." Hell, sometimes the punchline isn't even the funniest part of his jokes - set-ups like "Why did Mick Jagger urinate on his own daughter?" or "Why did God send Terri Schiavo to Hell?" barely even need a punchline, and when he attacks less obvious targets like the Red Hot Chilli Peppers or Gerald Ford, it only makes things better. But what pushes these jokes over the edge is Neil's delivery - rather than reveling in the sheer grossness of these jokes, as a lesser comedian might do, Neil delivers each punchline with a profound sadness, as if dog food coming out of Madonna's breasts were some kind of crushing truth.

Of course, audience reactions to Mr. Hamburger are mixed. Now, admittedly I haven't been a Neil Hamburger fan long enough to be considered an expert - I saw him in his brief cameo appearance on Tim and Eric Awesome Show Great Job! last year and I've been hooked ever since - but from all the fantastic Youtube videos I have drudged up of him over the past year, he seems to have two different modes. In one, he's delivering his jokes in a corny croon to a bunch of people that don't get it and barely laugh; in the other, he's venomously screeching out his jokes in his full glory while an audience of loyal fans laugh and yell with joy. While the former is funny in a kind of fish-out-of-water way, the latter finds Mr. Hamburger at his crude best.

Recently, Mr. Hamburger has released a musical country album, Neil Hamburger Sings Country Winners. From what I've heard of it, it is fantastic - Neil's grumpy voice fits inexplicably well with old-fashioned country. But I could sit around and yakk about Mr. Hamburger's prowess all day and we wouldn't get anywhere. If you don't know Neil Hamburger, the only method of conversion is for you to hear the man's silky smooth voice for yourself.

Here's a semi-recent appearance by Neil on Jimmy Kimmel Live, a perfect example of a crowd that doesn't quite "get" it:



Here's one of Neil's most recent appearances on the late night Fox News show "Red Eye," in which Neil tells a rape joke that forces everybody in the studio to guiltily stifle laughter:



And here's Neil at his best: telling a string of Red Hot Chilli Pepper jokes that escalate in ridiculousness until they reach their apex at the end. The audience is with him all the way.



...ah, what the hell, here's one more, Neil's novelty music video "7-11's Are All The Same."

bonuspost: Something Is Wrong With Pitchfork Media

what the fuck

get on the ball you indie motherfuckers

"It's Not Jackie Chan": A Moment For The Ages

You know those moments? Those moments where you see something and you realize that you have been waiting to see it your entire life? A moment that makes you realize that all those years of hardship and learning and growing have just been a primer, a preparation, for this one beautiful moment in time? And that now that you have seen it, the rest of your life will seem banal and cold? That feeling that every single human need has been inexplicably fulfilled in one fell swoop, and all of the sudden you know that you could die right then and there and never feel a pang of guilt?

Yeah, this is probably up there.

More crappy music reviews coming soon, I'm sure.

Go On, Fulfill Your Sick Pleasures: A Tribute To South Park's Mr. Garrison

I still think South Park is a funny show. Yes, it has changed drastically over the years, becoming more overtly political and at times heavy-handed in its delivery of a "message" (quite a few of which I don't necessarily agree with), but for my money South Park remains unpredictable and funny every time I watch it. Even in its twelfth season, it's still exciting for me to watch, with recent shows like the three-part "Imaginationland" and "Super Fun Time" being excellent examples of South Park's vitality. It's still the only show I loved in my youth that's still producing quality, and in the aftermath of The Simpsons's sad decline, that's gotta count for something.

But of course I miss the old days. South Park's first few seasons were wonderfully crude adventures, filled with bratty kids and bitter adults, not to mention constant references to B-list celebrities like Eric Roberts and Fred Savage. It's weird to think that such a lousily-animated, cutesy show stirred up such a nasty controversy back in '97, especially in the wake of all that Scientology riffraff, but those first seasons do maintain a crude, foul-mouthed charm. It was a time where people still considered South Park a flash-in-the-pan thing (before Bigger Longer and Uncut became a huge critical hit) and as such Parker and Stone were willing to make their show as nasty and weird as possible. And no other character exemplified this like schoolteacher Mr. Garrison.

"Kids, you have to understand. There is a huge difference between gay people and Mr. Garrison." -Randy Marsh

During those early days, Mr. Garrison was - quite franky - an awful teacher, and an awful person. Teaching-wise, his lesson plans consisted of constantly watching re-runs of Barnaby Jones, discussing why Chubby Checker left the Beatles in 1972, and figuring out how to discern a policeman from a prostitute. He saw no problem in calling his students retards, making crude sexual jokes in front of them, or even threatening them outright with violence; as such, everybody at the school hated him. Personality-wise, he was a sexual deviant with a bizarre Southern drawl who would channel any and all homosexual urges into his hand puppet Mr. Hat, which he barely ever took off. If ever accused of being gay, he would ramble on about his love for "poontang" and "screwing hot chicks" - not to mention his outright hatred of homosexuals. Despite this, he would get caught with soliciting sex from children or having sex with various animals several times during the show. All in all, he was a fucked-up mess of a human being, and as such he was probably the best character ever. While most people point to the potty-mouthed Eric Cartman as the source of South Park's early success, Mr. Garrison was just as important, representing the absolute bottom rung of the show's ladder of deviancy.

But like everything else, Mr. Garrison has changed over the years. Once Garrison finally admitted to being gay in season 4, everything changed - he ditched Mr. Hat for the bondage-gear manwhore Mr. Slave, became the kids' fourth grade teacher again, and most drastically became a woman (although he did recently change back). The fact that these bizarre, deplorable actions have actually tamed his character since the early days is a pretty clear indication of how awful he used to be. While it's nice to see that Mr. Garrison's still around, I doubt he will be able to reclaim that special kind of evil that made him such a staple in South Park's early seasons.

But hey, we've still got the old episodes, right? Here I'd like to list off some of my favorite Mr. Garrison South Park episodes from the first few seasons. For the sake of this list I will only pick episodes before Mr. Garrison's coming out, as I feel that was a big turning point in his personality. And hey, since you can watch all of these episodes for free at SouthParkStudios.com, I'll link to each one! Ain't that a stinker!!

So here are my favorite Mr. Garrison episodes. Enjoy.

102 - Weight Gain 4000

It's obvious that Matt and Trey had a special love for Mr. Garrison from the beginning - he's probably the first character on South Park to have an extensive flashback / backstory, as early as the show's second episode. Of course, it's also telling that said backstory leads to him attempting to kill Kathy Lee Gifford from a book depository with a rifle, a la Lee Harvey Oswald. It's also a good showcase for Mr. Hat's personality - mean, dominating, and pretty much forcing Garrison to indulge in his worst tendencies.

104 - Big Gay Al's Big Gay Boatride

Notable for introducing Mr. Garrison's views on homosexuality - namely, that homosexuals are evil inhuman monsters. When his own fey personality is challenged by Chef, Garrison typically replies: "I only act like this to get chicks, dumbass."

111 - Tom's Rhinoplasty

Mr. Garrison gets a nose job that somehow transforms his face into David Hasslehoff's; as such he immediately quits teaching to become a model (??) and, as he tells his own students, to pursue his dream of "hanging around and screwing hot chicks." Of course, Garrison gets sick of being harassed by women constantly (we all know why) and gives it up. While Garrison's flagrant disregard for his students is on full display here, some of the funniest moments occur when the class is asked about their opinion of Garrison. When instructed to treat their substitute with the same amount of respect they had for Mr. Garrison, Stan responds: "We don't have any respect for Mr. Garrison." There you go.

208 - Summer Sucks

Mr. Hat leaves Mr. Garrison, so Garrison sees Dr. Katz (yes, that Dr. Katz) for therapeutic advice. Katz, of course, tells Garrison that he is a gay man channeling his homosexual urges through his hand puppet. And of course, Katz is killed by a giant ash snake (just watch the episode) prompting Garrison to say "Serves you right, you gay bashing homo!" A mess of contradictions.

Oh, and this one also introduces Mr. Hat's shoddy stand-in, Mr. Twig. Man I miss season 2.

214 - Chef Aid

Mr. Twig is sabotaged, and Mr. Garrison goes insane. As such, he is carted off to jail (??) where he is inexplicably saved by Mr. Hat driving a truck somehow. Mr. Twig, with his faux-French accent, encourages Garrison to be with Mr. Hat. "Do you love him?" he asks. "Then go to him." An unforgettable moment of Garrisonness.

217 - Gnomes

Mr. Garrison is on the verge of being fired because he is a terrible teacher, so he is forced to have his kids present projects on "current events" to the school board. Kyle, Stan, Cartman, Kenny, and Tweak present a fantastic project, obviously written by Tweak's dad - the board loves it, but Garrison knows they faked it. For the rest of the episode, we see Garrison at his absolutely most violent - he constantly threatens the kids to never reveal who really wrote the paper, claiming that if they do come forward, "Mr. Hat is gonna smack you bitches up."

317 - World Wide Recorder Concert

Quite possibly my favorite Garrison-centric episode. When said recorder concert is scheduled to take place in Garrison's home town of Little Rock, Garrison is afraid to go due to his parents living there, claiming to Mr. Mackey that his father sexually assaulted him. The reality - of course! - is that Garrison's father didn't molest him, and Garrison wants him to. So he spends the rest of the episode trying to get his own father to rape him. It's one of the most bizarre displays of Garrison's weird sexual nature, but probably the best - good enough that I'm pretty sure other shows have ripped off this premise since.

Oh, and this episode also has a great "Mr. Hat is not just a hand puppet" moment in which Mr. Mackey and Mr. Hat actually get into a fistfight on the school bus. And Mr. Hat wins. Wow.

407 - Cherokee Hair Tampons

After awkwardly trying to solicit sex from Eric Cartman in the previous classic "Cartman Joins NAMBLA," Mr. Garrison is - finally - fired. On Mr. Mackey's advice, he finally decides to pursue his dream of writing the Great American Romance Novel, hoping to prove to the world his love of poontang. Of course, he uses most of the novel's sex scenes - including the lesbian scenes - to describe the glory of penises in great detail. When his publisher confronts him about the constant usage of the word "penis," Garrison typically claims that he just wants to give "chicks" what they want. There's also a scene in which Mr. Hat jerks off Mr. Garrison, which will always stand as one of the most bizarre moments in their "relationship." This episode has to be one of the most sexually frustrating for Garrison, and it's probably the last episode to revel in the glory of his confusion - shortly after this, he'd finally fess up.

Tim and Eric Awesome Show Great Job! S3E01: An Adventure in Pictures

If you are like me, you have seen the season premiere of Tim and Eric Awesome Show Great Job! by now. If you are even more like me, you have watched it several times over and found wonderful little details you didn't catch the first time through. If this is the case, you may not need to read this post.

But what about those eager Tim and Eric hardcore motherfuckers who prefer to wait for the show's real premiere, 12:15 tonight on Adult Swim? Well, I am not one of those people, obviously, and I do not understand them. For one, when I know there is a Tim and Eric episode floating around that I have not seen, accessible with the click of a button, I must see it. Secondly, I have a lot of trouble watching Tim and Eric on television because it is hard for me to believe they inhabit the same space as any other televised network program (other AS shows included). In its own corner of the internet, Tim and Eric feels right at home. On TV, it is genuinely frightening.

So if you want to see the new Tim and Eric but are depriving yourself of it, fuck you you abnormal go watch it like any normal human being would. Either way, I have chronicled a handy spoiler-free pre-viewing guide that I hope you will enjoy.

Here are some things to watch for.

1. The Indian Man

You will not even get past the opening titles before seeing this man.


He makes a variety of faces.




He also touches himself...


...before making one more face.



2. Penis Advice

In this episode, Pep-Pep smells his grandson's penis.


Keep a lookout for some helpful textual advice.


You may also learn about some new body parts.


Oh, and there's some face changing.




3. Money Talk

A lesson in business economics.




That's a lot of hundos.

4. Griddleman

Check out the new trademark "BM."



5. Steve Brule

Steve Brule's back. Pickin' his nose.


Uh oh! Panini's too hot!


Nah, he's okay.



6. Women's Entertainment


I wonder what women like to watch?





Oh.

7. Advertising

Check out Eric's stylin' new grillz.


Check out Tim's passion.


The perfect ad.


8. Taut Drama

Eric overworks Tim. Tim becomes a thin-limbed corpse.


Eric, of course, blames the customers.


A lady outside is particularly distressed.


Tim is surely dead.

...or is he?


What happens, you ask? FIND OUT NOW! GO WATCH THE EPISODE YOU SPRING TURKEY. I'm gonna go re-watch it for the sixth time. Still not enough.

Music Critic Profile: Robert Christgau

Remember that scene in This Is Spinal Tap where Marty DeBergi is reading off all of the terrible reviews Spinal Tap have accumulated over the years? And he reads off the review of their album Shark Sandwich - "This one's a two-word review: 'Shit sandwich'"? And the band gets all upset and says "Is that real? You can't print that!" If I didn't know any better I would say that was a little dig at Robert Christgau, so-called "Dean of Rock Critics."

Now, I've been a little hesitant to profile Mr. Christgau, and there's a simple reason for it: I don't like the guy very much. He's kind of a prick. You know the aforementioned "Dean of Rock Critics" bullshit title? Yeah, I'm pretty sure he came up with that himself (I mean, jeez, not even Michael Jackson had the gumption to call himself the "King of Pop" - Liz Taylor did that for him). His short, stylized "capsule reviews" are loaded with abstract verse and often impenetrable language, giving the guy an unflappable air of pretension. I'm not sure who chooses what artist he reviews - it's either the magazine he writes for or himself, and I'm guessing the latter - but reading his reviews I always get the impression that he is impossibly above the subject he is reviewing, a lousy trait for any good critic. It gets the the point where he will review certain artists he doesn't like in a wholly dismissive manner, giving them a "shit sandwich" kind of review or simply labeling them as a "dud" and moving on with his life, as if said artist isn't worth his valuable time. Maybe he's earned it - considering that he was part of the first wave of rock critics back in the 60s, and he's still reviewing albums constantly, I guess he deserves to be finicky about what music he writes about. But the fact that the guy is a veteran rock critic doesn't wash the taste of asshole out of my mouth.

So why profile him? Well, 'cuz I read Christgau's stuff all the time. Head on over to RobertChristgau.com and you'll find tons of his reviews from Rolling Stone, the Village Voice, Blender, and many other sources, not to mention his Consumer Guide capsule reviews that are his trademark. I'm not sure why, but I get a real kick out of reading Christgau's reviews when I'm bored. It's like a game for me - I'll think of any given band and wonder, "Hey, I wonder what Christgau thinks of the Arcade Fire?" I type "Arcade Fire" into the Consumer Guide search, and voila, there's the review! (Note: He likes the Arcade Fire.) Man, that's something I need - a quick hit of terse, over-worded cynicism to get my brain boiling. I hate to use the cliche Forrest Gump analogy, but with Christgau, you never know what he's going to think about a band, and for whatever reason I'm always curious to know.

Now, what I have found out in the year-and-a-half or so of reading Mr. Christgau's reviews is that I tend to not agree with him most of the time. In fact, he tends to be completely flippant about bands I really like, not to mention somewhat douchey about albums I really really like. That alone isn't enough to really bother me - everyboy's entitled to their opinion - but it's just the way he does it that gets me. Maybe it's related to his "grading" system - rather than a five-star or out-of-ten gauge that most reviewers use, he uses an A plus-to-E minus system that just makes his personality all the more insufferable. Maybe that's his schtick or something; he's the "Dean" of rock critics so he has to grade artists academically, like a schoolmarm. Whatever his intentions, the whole grading business makes it seem like Christgau views pop albums like term papers in Chemistry class, which doesn't help his "douche" image. You know, I would wager that Robert Christgau is the definitive archetype of the Hated Rock Critic that so many people have decried over the years - condescending, hyper-literate, and often disrespectful, he might be the sole reason that most rock bands (and worse, rock fans) hate rock critics. So in a way he's ruining it for the rest of us who, you know, would prefer not to be treated like pompous douches.

OK, maybe I'm trailing off into a tangent of hate here. As I said, I read Christgau a lot, and to be honest I do not think he is a bad writer, not by a long shot. He's obviously a very smart human being. It would also be pretty hypocritical of me to get angry at him over dismissing bands he doesn't care about - I do it all the time. And once in a while I will find a review page on his site that I very much enjoy. Admittedly, they tend to be ones I agree with: I love his pages on Pavement and the Ramones, and I will give credit to Christgau for writing what I consider to be the best review of Sgt. Pepper's I've ever read. He also does, at times, turn me on to unusual albums I'd never considered hearing, like the Beach Boys' Wild Honey or the Talking Heads' Little Creatures. He also has a decent knack for championing great artists before anyone else does, like Prince or the Replacements. There are also some hilarious reviews here that only further Christgau's classic asshole image, most notably on his Sonic Youth page in which he gives a bad review to "Kill Yr. Idols," a song that openly called out Christgau by name. (Yes, Robert Christgau is so douchey that Sonic Youth wrote a song about it. Need I say any more?)

Now, something Mr. Christgau can totally 100% be proud of is the annual Village Voice Pazz & Jop Critics Poll, a poll he organized and ran for a solid three decades until he was dismissed from the magazine a couple years back. Over the years, prominent music critics have submitted their choices for the best albums / singles of the year, going as far back as 1971. Looking through these polls, it's honestly a treasure trove - there are so many interesting choices and obscure favorites buried in these lists, it's like manna from heaven for any obsessive popular music historian. There's also tons of weird, unexpected winners here that are so trivial and wonderful I can't resist looking for more. Guess who won Best Album of 1992? Nope, not Pavement - Arrested Development! Best Album of 1994? Nope, not Pavement - Hole! Guess who won in '99? PAVEMENT! (Okay, no, it was Moby. My bad. But seriously, Moby??) And hey, how 'bout the whacked-out year that Bob Dylan won Best Album and Hanson won Best Single? Or the even more whacked-out year that Bob Dylan won Best Album and Missy Elliot won Best Single?. Man, I love this stuff! Even if you don't like Christgau all that much, you should probably check out this list. It's a hoot!

When I think about it, maybe it's silly for me to get pissed at Christgau. The guy's in his 60's now, and his relevance is dwindling by the year - not only does he not run Pazz & Jop anymore after his aforementioned dismissal from the Village Voice, but he's working for Blender now. Bleh. But nevertheless, his website is an essential archive for any rock fan, and he'll always be a definitive figure in rock music journalism, for better or for worse. He'll never be any Lester Bangs, even if he wants to be, but he is an influential force. After four decades of writing, I guess that's worth something.