Previous Session

SESSION #42 - Yellow Ostrich

tweet tweet

list: things i didn't like this year.

(or, the music-y things that irritate me in recent memory)

If I wanted to listen to The Postal Service, I'd listen to The Postal Service.

New Years '09/'10 in New York.

Passion Pit is sold out, I don't do enough drugs to enjoy three hours of MSTRKRFT and frankly, if I couldn't motivate myself to see Surfer Blood at BK Bowl after a long day at work, I don't want to spend the whole night waiting for them to come onstage.

I mean, Milwaukee gets cheese curds, Culvers and Britt Daniel, Athens gets of Montreal DJ sets/Washed Out and Chicago's got everyone from The Hood Internet, Crystal Castles and The Drums to Margot & The Nukes and Wild Sweet Orange toasting champagne together at midnight. With how well Brooklyn-based bands have been doing this year, where are our amazing shows to choose from?

It's On With Alexa Chung being canceled.

She was the only host on television with her own legitimate sense of style, and despite being so goddamn awkward in interviews, tucked some very legit bands in the show's lineup between the Ashley Tisdale's and Justin Bieber's of the world, giving middle-school crowds the chance and option to dig into real music like MTV used to do.

But, most importantly, how am I supposed to feel guilty for those mid-afternoon junk food binges if her mind-bogglingly long legs aren't constantly there to remind me that fries go straight to the thighs?


That i can't listen to this album yet.

if they actually kill her off, i will lose my shit.

The sad state of the publishing industry.

From an e-mail earlier this year:

"Sign up for a full year of NYLON's Digital Edition for only $9.95 or NYLON Guys for $5.97. Each new issue will be delivered to your email. To become a subscriber now, click here and start enjoying the current issue today!"

Really? You're going to e-mail me a gifuckgantic PDF of your issue for me to "virtually flip through" and then charge me when i can just go on your website and read all of the same Peaches Geldof-sponsored life tips and blurbs about "innovative new designers" that are always constructing dresses out of PVC pipe and burlap sacks? Uh, no thanks.

These cats breaking up.

oh, thanks:


a note on music supervision.

Now, I'm not going to rag on Passion Pit for soundtracking a phone, Matt & Kim lending tunes to Bacardi or even The Dodos hyping the girliest beer of all, Miller Chill, though I enjoy the irony of the song being called "Fools".

Apple always has good music on their iPhone ads so Palm Pixie shouldn't have to slum it musically, and if I like listening to bands like these when I'm drunk, then hey, why not forge the connection between the two without me having to put in any work?

But, sometimes, I'm not so cool with it. While browsing through men's "raw denim shirts" with Donald at J. Crew's post-baby-jesus'-birthday-mall-sale that cost, i kid you not, $120, we realized that the oh-so-familiar tunes playing overheard weren't by Bing Crosby, a Miss Mariah original or a jazzy jazz version of Auld Lang Syne - no, they were playing Animal Collective's "My Girls", a song about minimalism and basic necessities. And when a place that views "basic necessities" as sweaters with cable knit and ruffled dresses, I've got a problem with it.

It weirds be the fuck out, but in the end, I'm fine with bad places playing good music, even if it doesn't exactly fit - i.e., my grungy grocery store plays Bat For Lashes, Forever 21 hands-down has the best in-store music of all clothing chains (trust me on this one). But, when the location undermines and hypocritizes the music, I'm not a fan.

Up yours, J. Crew.

oh, thanks:
photo via


Cold Cave at MHOW, 12/15

Just got back from seeing these cats at Music Hall for Vice's somethingorother-sponsored-by-fancy-booze-holiday party, which actually got off to a weird start. The place was full of people who wanted other people to think they were more important than them, and it was v. bizarre - on the way in alone, i had to wait behind two people explaining to the door guy that they're "friends of the guy who designed a band's cover art" and "she's friends with so-and-so" when you could walk in freely, RSVP or not, as long as you had an ID that looked like someone of your nationality. But, besides the entire fucking LES emptying out onto N. 6th for the show, a free double-billed show with Small Black only ten minutes from home is work the tiny trek, an putting up with the poopy peeps.


Cold Cave's music is the exact soundtrack of what it would be like to travel into outerspace for a Topshop opening on the moon. I mean, these three play some serious moon tunes. super loud, vibe-y moooooon tuuuuuunes. I find it no coincidence that the entire street smelled like skunky weed once I left, considering exactly two shots of vodka would have put me in the perfect mood to bop back and forth through their loud set. I spent the first two hours of the bash mindlessly on Gmail at home like an idiot instead of at the open bar sucking down sour mix + 1800, so I was definitely unfit for Cold Cave survival.

If you like space jams, Space Jam, astronaut Mike Dexter or had a crush on any of the cast members of Armageddon, check these guys out.

oh, thanks:
photo 2 via

Page 1 ... 40 41 42 43 44