I’ve been listening to a lot of recordings from the Fugazi Live Series in the past few days. I saw them play three times, but only one of those shows in this available for sale. I bought a copy of that show – The Chance in Poughkeepsie ‘98 – and, having the frame of reference of several other Fugazi live recordings, I can confirm that they did in fact play a well above average show that night. I remember being in awe of their performance, so it’s nice to know I was right, and not just a teenager wowed by one of his favorite bands. (Which I was, obviously.)
Use our patented “pentagonal gaze” method, a kind of eye contact that subconsciously sets the tone for a kiss: While your target is speaking to you, look into their left eye, then their right eye, then their right elbow, then their belly button, and then their left elbow. Repeat this about 10 times, or until you feel you’ve successfully sent the message that you’re into this person’s HOT BOD. You will know this method has been successful when they lean in for a kiss and/or the ground opens up to reveal a hellmouth. Fun, flirty, and satanic!!
This piece by Hazel Cills and Gabby Noone is one of the funniest things I’ve read in a long while.
I don’t know this from personal experience as my mother is a widow, but when I listen to Thurston Moore sing new love songs it feels like he’s my dad and he’s talking about how happy he is with his new girlfriend. It is an awkward feeling, and I do feel bad resenting his happiness, but I guess most kids end up choosing a side in a divorce.
In the context of U2’s career, which ranges from the monumental highs of Achtung Baby and The Joshua Tree to the PR train wreck of Pop and the cringe-inducing disaster that is No Line on the Horizon, Songs of Innocence is more boring than it is embarrassing. And like, hey, “not the nadir of their career” is some kind of relief if you’re a long term fan. The embarrassing thing here is not the music so much as them feeling this need to force themselves into relevance, and to seize upon the “surprise album” tactic in a very “well, all the superstars are doing it now, and WE are superstars too” way. This is very much a record for hardcore U2 fans — it’s essentially a memoir of their early days set to music — and despite what Bono thinks, it wouldn’t be a disaster if it was only heard by people who are actually interested. U2 behaves as though they are “too big to fail,” but their notion of what failure entails has become so perverse that they’re willing to take a quite personal album and effectively make it little more than junk mail.
Ain’t no album like a U2 album because a U2 album is MANDATORY.
Before the “Don’t read the comments” era, Joan Rivers was there as a constant reminder not to worry what people say about you — it’s probably as bad as you fear, and so what? She was there to teach us not to take strangers’ opinions so seriously. Week after week, she gave living proof that the world is a shallow, stupid place, throwing bitch-fits all the time for no reason — so why take it personally? That was Joan’s gift to humanity: She helped us lower our expectations for the world, which made it more fun to live there.
I really love Rob Sheffield’s take on Joan Rivers.
The writer who reviewed Together for Pitchfork wrote on Twitter recently that his lukewarm review was one of his greatest professional regrets. And I thought, “How often does that happen?” How often does that happen that somebody who wrote a lukewarm review of your record actually apologizes and says, “I think I was wrong”? That is a rare and precious flower, that one.
He’s talking about me. I wrote that review and regret it. This retrospective on the New Pornos catalog is both my penance and a labor of love.