A few comments about the live broadcast of Canadian post-rock supergroup Broken Social Scene's live streaming broadcast on youtube last night...
I won't recount the setlist, partially because I think the band posted it last night after the show. They led off with World Sick, the major single from last year's Forgiveness Rock Record. It's an unsurprising move for established bands to dispense with "the song" at the beginning of the set to appease new fans and get people generally excited before moving deeper into the catalogue.
The band played several of my favorite cuts off the new record, including Texico Bitches, All in All, and Sweetest Kill (dedicated to "the oblivious ones"), as well as some old favorites like Cause = Time and Canada vs. America, introduced as being reintroduced into the tour rotation in response to the recent explosion of the Tea Party movement here in America. Lisa Lobsinger, Andrew Whiteman's wife Ariel, and either Jen Turner or Kristina Lieberson of Here We Go Magic (I was too busy trying to read for law school classes to look up and catch which) all contributed to Anthems for a 17 Year Old Girl. And darling of early 2000s indie films, Lover's Spit, also made it into the set.
Overall, the production, both video and audio, were very good. I'm not sure if youtube plans to make the video available or if this was a live-broadcast only kind of deal. Either way, lots of fun for my ears.
Showing posts with label indie rock. Show all posts
Showing posts with label indie rock. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Thursday, October 7, 2010
whoa, man
It's been a long time since I blogged. After residing here for almost 2 months, here's my impressions of the ATL.
Driving
You can call what they do in Atlanta driving same as you can say a virus reproduces sexually: only by destroying the meaning of the words. But they do have one thing in common. Coming into contact with either is hazardous to your health.
Music Scene
I like the bands Atlanta attracts. Just this week LCD Soundsystem with Sleigh Bells, the National with Owen Pallett, and the xx with Zola Jesus came through. Last Friday Deerhunter had their cd release party here. Godspeed You! Black Emperor added nearby Athens as one of the dozen or so US tour dates they've had in years. But what I don't like is the quality of people those shows attract. If I had to describe it in one word, I'd say the scene here isn't chill like Austin. The venues themselves are great but I wish they made you check your douchebags at the door.
Food
Being a poor law student, I can't afford to sample all the local fare. Still no Atlanta BBQ but I hear Fat Matt's ribs are delish. I've also heard great things about the breakfast / brunch at Flying Biscuit. A few fellow 1Ls and I have started an unofficial burger club to ferret out the best burger in Atlanta. After only two meetings, the consent so far is Vortex but we have a number of places yet to be tried. We've also got a Friday afternoon ritual at a local hole-in-the-wall which shall remain nameless so as not to attract a crowd. Suffice it to say, it's yummy. BYOB, too, and an afternoon beer, great food, and cool company is always the best way to wrap up another week in law school.
On an unrelated note, I finally finished reading Murakami's "Norwegian Wood". Remarkable book. I'm a growing fan of the post-war Japanese writers. This has cleared my pleasure reading calendar for Richard Bernstein's "The East, the West, and Sex" and my expected harsh criticism thereof. Let's see if I can deliver something on a more consisten schedule this time.
Driving
You can call what they do in Atlanta driving same as you can say a virus reproduces sexually: only by destroying the meaning of the words. But they do have one thing in common. Coming into contact with either is hazardous to your health.
Music Scene
I like the bands Atlanta attracts. Just this week LCD Soundsystem with Sleigh Bells, the National with Owen Pallett, and the xx with Zola Jesus came through. Last Friday Deerhunter had their cd release party here. Godspeed You! Black Emperor added nearby Athens as one of the dozen or so US tour dates they've had in years. But what I don't like is the quality of people those shows attract. If I had to describe it in one word, I'd say the scene here isn't chill like Austin. The venues themselves are great but I wish they made you check your douchebags at the door.
Food
Being a poor law student, I can't afford to sample all the local fare. Still no Atlanta BBQ but I hear Fat Matt's ribs are delish. I've also heard great things about the breakfast / brunch at Flying Biscuit. A few fellow 1Ls and I have started an unofficial burger club to ferret out the best burger in Atlanta. After only two meetings, the consent so far is Vortex but we have a number of places yet to be tried. We've also got a Friday afternoon ritual at a local hole-in-the-wall which shall remain nameless so as not to attract a crowd. Suffice it to say, it's yummy. BYOB, too, and an afternoon beer, great food, and cool company is always the best way to wrap up another week in law school.
On an unrelated note, I finally finished reading Murakami's "Norwegian Wood". Remarkable book. I'm a growing fan of the post-war Japanese writers. This has cleared my pleasure reading calendar for Richard Bernstein's "The East, the West, and Sex" and my expected harsh criticism thereof. Let's see if I can deliver something on a more consisten schedule this time.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Barbarella
NOTE: A few words from an unfinished comment about Barbarella. Maybe I'll come back to say more because it's my favorite dance club in Austin (Elysium is a distant second).
From the ashes of Austin's most infamous night club has arisen two new additions to the Red River / 6th street scene. Spiro's had the dubious distinction of the most police calls for any night spot in Austin but was shut down [insert details].
Barbarella, billing itself as Austin's premier video dance club, tries to invoke the campy 70s sexy sci-fi atmosphere of its Jane Fonda namesake with the light and video displays which distinguish the dance floor.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Barbarella, billing itself as Austin's premier video dance club, tries to invoke the campy 70s sexy sci-fi atmosphere of its Jane Fonda namesake with the light and video displays which distinguish the dance floor.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Thursday, January 14, 2010
The Good, the Bad, and the Mind-blowing
The good:
The Dirty Projectors released their 7" Ascending Melody for free via download this week. 20 people who download it will also be randomly selected to receive the vinyl. These tracks were laid down during the Bitte Orca sessions but didn't make the final cut.
http://www.dirtyprojectors.net/
The bad:
Pat Robertson is a horse's ass. The man can't help but insert his foot into his mouth whenever he flaps his lips to speak about tragedy. It's like he's got steel toes and a magnet in his palate. This week the radical evangelical cleric blamed the earthquake in Haiti on an apocryphal pact supposedly entered into over 200 years ago with Satan in a voodoo ceremony, freeing the island of French control in return for 200 years of servitude to the prince of darkness. He is referencing the Boukman ceremony that Dutty Boukman is alleged to have held at Bois Caiman in 1791 which sparked the revolt that culminated in Haiti's independence, (By the way, said lease would have expired in 1991, Pat.) Fault lines have nothing to do with it, just God grinding an axe with women, children, and men wholly unresponsible for an act that happened long before they were born and many scholars doubt even really took place. Congratulations 700 Club, it only took you 14 days to prove you're still a bunch of jerks in 2010.
Robertson is well known for his laughable predictions that always, always, always turn out false. The man's clearly not a prophet. Maybe God's telling you to shut your trap, Pat. Obviously embarrassment and chagrin should've had stilled your cruel tongue long ago. WWJD? I'm pretty sure he'd cancel the 700 Club.
Not one to let the jerk spotlight shine anywhere but on his jerk-itude, right-wing propagandha meister and blatant racist (remembe he got canned for declaring Donovan McNabb a no-talent hack bolstered by affirmative action) Rush Limbaugh described Haiti as a "made to order" disaster for Obama. He said the relief effort would be used to "burnish" the Obama image among the "light-skinned and dark-skinned black community in this country." What, you mean not waiting and watching people drown and "loot" and suffer after a major natural disaster before you send in the emergency relief workers might be a popular move? Who'da thunk it? Well...
You know what? I think people of all colors worldwide are applauding Obama's no-hesitation response to the tragedy in Haiti. The viral efforts to raise money through twitter and facebook have been outstanding. But you know what jolly ol' Dittohead says about giving to charity? DON'T. He encouraged his listeners not to contribute a dime to relief efforts in Haiti because American "tax dollars" fully fund our relief efforts.
Gotta hand it to you, Limbaugh. I didn't think anybody could be more insensitive about the Haitian earthquake than Pat Robertson but you took the cake. So much so that professional conservative meanie Pat Buchanan, no big fan of all things liberal and progressive, publicy chastised your comments as "cynical" and "insensitive." When Buchanan calls you out for being heartless, you know you're a stone-cold bastard.
The Mind-blowing:
A couple of U.K. scientists sent out about 4,000 surveys to British women age 22-83 (average age 55) and got back about 1,800 responses concerning their self-reported sexual experiences. Upon analysing the women's answer to the question if they believe they have "the" g spot and report of achieveing orgasm through intercourse, these scientists declared the g spot a "myth" in the pages of the Journal of Sexual Medicine this month.
Setting aside the methodoligal problems (surveys versus anatomical analysis? really?), I've got to applaud this team for continuing unabatedly and enthusiastically the 2000+ year tradition of murky (male) science which obscures, covers up, distorts, stigmatizes and pathologizes female sexual pleasure and female desire. Pick up Rachel Maines' The Technology of Orgasm: "Hysteria," the Vibrator, and Women's Sexual Satisfaction for an excellent history of this tradition.
Here's my take away. Ultrasounds, heat imaging scans, "hands on" lab tests (that's a joke; really, read the Maines' book) can only reveal so much about female sexuality with their scientific and anatomy-centric approaches. The question we as a soceity should ask ourselves is why do we care if there's "really" a g spot or not? What difference does it make? If you or a lover can press a spot one-third of the way up the front of your vaginal wall and induce cataclysmic, volcanic, earth-shattering, mind-blowing, leg-shaking, sheet-shredding, screaming-at-the-top-of-your-lungs pleasure, does it really matter whether a bunch of research scientists in a London lab think there's a unique anatomical structure to which this "response" can be reduced? I think the answer is pretty clear. And if you're not built with an ecstasy button in said place, does that mean the g spot is just a myth? Who really cares? I think Petra Boynton's advice is particularly salient on this topic.
The Dirty Projectors released their 7" Ascending Melody for free via download this week. 20 people who download it will also be randomly selected to receive the vinyl. These tracks were laid down during the Bitte Orca sessions but didn't make the final cut.
http://www.dirtyprojectors.net/
The bad:
Pat Robertson is a horse's ass. The man can't help but insert his foot into his mouth whenever he flaps his lips to speak about tragedy. It's like he's got steel toes and a magnet in his palate. This week the radical evangelical cleric blamed the earthquake in Haiti on an apocryphal pact supposedly entered into over 200 years ago with Satan in a voodoo ceremony, freeing the island of French control in return for 200 years of servitude to the prince of darkness. He is referencing the Boukman ceremony that Dutty Boukman is alleged to have held at Bois Caiman in 1791 which sparked the revolt that culminated in Haiti's independence, (By the way, said lease would have expired in 1991, Pat.) Fault lines have nothing to do with it, just God grinding an axe with women, children, and men wholly unresponsible for an act that happened long before they were born and many scholars doubt even really took place. Congratulations 700 Club, it only took you 14 days to prove you're still a bunch of jerks in 2010.
Robertson is well known for his laughable predictions that always, always, always turn out false. The man's clearly not a prophet. Maybe God's telling you to shut your trap, Pat. Obviously embarrassment and chagrin should've had stilled your cruel tongue long ago. WWJD? I'm pretty sure he'd cancel the 700 Club.
Not one to let the jerk spotlight shine anywhere but on his jerk-itude, right-wing propagandha meister and blatant racist (remembe he got canned for declaring Donovan McNabb a no-talent hack bolstered by affirmative action) Rush Limbaugh described Haiti as a "made to order" disaster for Obama. He said the relief effort would be used to "burnish" the Obama image among the "light-skinned and dark-skinned black community in this country." What, you mean not waiting and watching people drown and "loot" and suffer after a major natural disaster before you send in the emergency relief workers might be a popular move? Who'da thunk it? Well...
You know what? I think people of all colors worldwide are applauding Obama's no-hesitation response to the tragedy in Haiti. The viral efforts to raise money through twitter and facebook have been outstanding. But you know what jolly ol' Dittohead says about giving to charity? DON'T. He encouraged his listeners not to contribute a dime to relief efforts in Haiti because American "tax dollars" fully fund our relief efforts.
Gotta hand it to you, Limbaugh. I didn't think anybody could be more insensitive about the Haitian earthquake than Pat Robertson but you took the cake. So much so that professional conservative meanie Pat Buchanan, no big fan of all things liberal and progressive, publicy chastised your comments as "cynical" and "insensitive." When Buchanan calls you out for being heartless, you know you're a stone-cold bastard.
The Mind-blowing:
A couple of U.K. scientists sent out about 4,000 surveys to British women age 22-83 (average age 55) and got back about 1,800 responses concerning their self-reported sexual experiences. Upon analysing the women's answer to the question if they believe they have "the" g spot and report of achieveing orgasm through intercourse, these scientists declared the g spot a "myth" in the pages of the Journal of Sexual Medicine this month.
Setting aside the methodoligal problems (surveys versus anatomical analysis? really?), I've got to applaud this team for continuing unabatedly and enthusiastically the 2000+ year tradition of murky (male) science which obscures, covers up, distorts, stigmatizes and pathologizes female sexual pleasure and female desire. Pick up Rachel Maines' The Technology of Orgasm: "Hysteria," the Vibrator, and Women's Sexual Satisfaction for an excellent history of this tradition.
Here's my take away. Ultrasounds, heat imaging scans, "hands on" lab tests (that's a joke; really, read the Maines' book) can only reveal so much about female sexuality with their scientific and anatomy-centric approaches. The question we as a soceity should ask ourselves is why do we care if there's "really" a g spot or not? What difference does it make? If you or a lover can press a spot one-third of the way up the front of your vaginal wall and induce cataclysmic, volcanic, earth-shattering, mind-blowing, leg-shaking, sheet-shredding, screaming-at-the-top-of-your-lungs pleasure, does it really matter whether a bunch of research scientists in a London lab think there's a unique anatomical structure to which this "response" can be reduced? I think the answer is pretty clear. And if you're not built with an ecstasy button in said place, does that mean the g spot is just a myth? Who really cares? I think Petra Boynton's advice is particularly salient on this topic.
But for women, how much does it matter whether the G-spot exists? While I’m usually keen to advocate that we follow what science has to tell us, in this case the presence or absence of a G-spot has caused confusion and anxiety, and perhaps we might be better served by exploring what feels good.
It’s generally accepted that some women enjoy vaginal stimulation by finger, penis, or sex toy. Just as it’s understood that some women are turned on by clitoral, anal, breast, or other stimulation. We’re often encouraged by women’s magazines and self-help markets to focus on specific areas (G-spots, clitoris, or anal penetration), so we miss the excitement that can be experienced from exploring the whole body and combinations of erogenous zones—for example, enjoying vaginal penetration alongside clitoral stimulation. Rather than arguing over G-spots, perhaps the best thing science can responsibly do is remind women to explore all opportunities for pleasure.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Youth In Revolt
O Michael Cera. You play the same awkward, lovesick nerd in every movie and yet you still somehow manage to keep it fresh. Youth In Revolt (based on the novels of C. D. Payne) isn't a fantastic movie but it is quite fun and entertaining. Like previous Cera big screen forays, Miguel Arteta's Youth In Revolt wears its indie rock hipster cred firmly on the sleeve of its vintage t-shirt with ironic iron-on decal.
Nerdy teenager Nick Twisp longs to lose his virginity but all the signifiers of his hipper than hip tastes (Fellini films, Frank Sinatra records, vintage shirts and too short pants) keep tripping him up with the girls from his Oakland high school. When his mother's (Designing Women's Jean Smart) current live-in boyfriend Jerry (Zach Galifianakis) crosses a trio of sailors with a shady used car deal, the family packs it up to stay in a conservative Christian trailer park in Ukiah until things blow over. Here Nick meets the flirtatious, bright and pretty francophile Sheeni Saunders (played by newcomer Portia Doubleday) whose tastes and knowledge of film and music rival his own. Unsurprisingly, Nick falls madly in lust and love.
The hitch comes when Jerry, with Estelle Twisp, Nick, and a dilapidated trailer in tow, returns to Oakland. The two young lovers plot their reunion through a series of what-if's: Nick's unemployed, sex-addicted, status-loving father George (Steve Buscemi) gets a job in Ukiah and Nick somehow manages to convince his mom Estelle, who depends on the child support to eat, to let him live with George. "You have to be bad," Sheeni counsels Nick. And so is born Francois Dillinger.
Nick's supplemental personality Francois, a hybrid of Sheeni's avowed longing for a bad boy French lover and Nick's own distorted vision of what the cool guy should be, provides Cera a novel angle from which to showcase his stammer-y, rabbit-in-the-headlights chops. Francois (complete with bad boy moustache) encourages Nick to do all kinds of things, from blowing up downtown Berkeley to uttering such ridiculous lines as "I want to tickle your belly button... from the inside," in an escalating bid to finally bed Sheeni.
Youth in Revolt is helped out immensely by a strong, funny supporting cast. The aforementioned Jean Smart, Steve Buscemi, and Zach Galifianakis are all amusingly repulsive as the flawed adults in Nick's life. Ray Liotta is menacing and grotesque as Officer Lance Wescott, Estelle's new live-in boyfriend after he consoles her upon delivering news of Jerry's death by heart attack and then never leaves. The one truly supportive adult presence in Nick's life is Mr. Ferguson played spot-on by veteran funny guy Fred Willard. His rescue of Nick and Vijay (Adhir Kalyan, last seen by yours truly playing assistant Timmy to David Spade on the unfunny CBS sit-com Rules of Engagement) after a 200 mile road trip to see Sheeni at boarding school, resulting in Vijay getting some from Sheeni's avowedly loose roommate and Nick stopped just short of finally getting the tip in with the aid of Francois' smooth talk, is a truly knee slapping, laugh out loud moment. Justin Long also induces a few laughs as Sheeni's older brother Paul, a cool guy drug user with oracular powers who helps Nick while stealing George's comely young girlfriend (Ari Graynor).
As I said before, Youth In Revolt traffics in all the same conceits we've grown accustom to in a Michael Cera film. The soundtrack is crowded with indie and hipster-approved tracks, the wardrobes were obtained by laboriously scouring through vintage re-sale shops, and the youth deliver lines full of adult spunk and wit. Unlike say Juno, which suffered from wise beyond her years cracks from Ellen Page seeming at times forced, Youth In Revolt is inspired by Nick's love of Italian masterpieces by Fellini et al and Sheeni's devotion to French cinema and Belmondo. The dialogue is steeped in important, deep, and passionate thoughts as imagined by hormonal, lower-middle class teens who turn their noses up at anything made after 1977.
Youth In Revolt is charming and quirky if familiar territory. But there's a reason you keep that old ugly sweater and ask mom to make her meatloaf every time you go home. Michael Cera has carved out a niche as a character actor playing the same nervous, mumbly, lovelorn underdog. I loved him on Arrested Development and you can be sure I'll see Scott Pilgrim vs. The World. Fans of the genre will surely be pleased. We're not seeing anything new from Michael Cera ('cept the 'stache) but, then again, there's nothing necessarily wrong with that.
Nerdy teenager Nick Twisp longs to lose his virginity but all the signifiers of his hipper than hip tastes (Fellini films, Frank Sinatra records, vintage shirts and too short pants) keep tripping him up with the girls from his Oakland high school. When his mother's (Designing Women's Jean Smart) current live-in boyfriend Jerry (Zach Galifianakis) crosses a trio of sailors with a shady used car deal, the family packs it up to stay in a conservative Christian trailer park in Ukiah until things blow over. Here Nick meets the flirtatious, bright and pretty francophile Sheeni Saunders (played by newcomer Portia Doubleday) whose tastes and knowledge of film and music rival his own. Unsurprisingly, Nick falls madly in lust and love.
The hitch comes when Jerry, with Estelle Twisp, Nick, and a dilapidated trailer in tow, returns to Oakland. The two young lovers plot their reunion through a series of what-if's: Nick's unemployed, sex-addicted, status-loving father George (Steve Buscemi) gets a job in Ukiah and Nick somehow manages to convince his mom Estelle, who depends on the child support to eat, to let him live with George. "You have to be bad," Sheeni counsels Nick. And so is born Francois Dillinger.
Nick's supplemental personality Francois, a hybrid of Sheeni's avowed longing for a bad boy French lover and Nick's own distorted vision of what the cool guy should be, provides Cera a novel angle from which to showcase his stammer-y, rabbit-in-the-headlights chops. Francois (complete with bad boy moustache) encourages Nick to do all kinds of things, from blowing up downtown Berkeley to uttering such ridiculous lines as "I want to tickle your belly button... from the inside," in an escalating bid to finally bed Sheeni.
Youth in Revolt is helped out immensely by a strong, funny supporting cast. The aforementioned Jean Smart, Steve Buscemi, and Zach Galifianakis are all amusingly repulsive as the flawed adults in Nick's life. Ray Liotta is menacing and grotesque as Officer Lance Wescott, Estelle's new live-in boyfriend after he consoles her upon delivering news of Jerry's death by heart attack and then never leaves. The one truly supportive adult presence in Nick's life is Mr. Ferguson played spot-on by veteran funny guy Fred Willard. His rescue of Nick and Vijay (Adhir Kalyan, last seen by yours truly playing assistant Timmy to David Spade on the unfunny CBS sit-com Rules of Engagement) after a 200 mile road trip to see Sheeni at boarding school, resulting in Vijay getting some from Sheeni's avowedly loose roommate and Nick stopped just short of finally getting the tip in with the aid of Francois' smooth talk, is a truly knee slapping, laugh out loud moment. Justin Long also induces a few laughs as Sheeni's older brother Paul, a cool guy drug user with oracular powers who helps Nick while stealing George's comely young girlfriend (Ari Graynor).
As I said before, Youth In Revolt traffics in all the same conceits we've grown accustom to in a Michael Cera film. The soundtrack is crowded with indie and hipster-approved tracks, the wardrobes were obtained by laboriously scouring through vintage re-sale shops, and the youth deliver lines full of adult spunk and wit. Unlike say Juno, which suffered from wise beyond her years cracks from Ellen Page seeming at times forced, Youth In Revolt is inspired by Nick's love of Italian masterpieces by Fellini et al and Sheeni's devotion to French cinema and Belmondo. The dialogue is steeped in important, deep, and passionate thoughts as imagined by hormonal, lower-middle class teens who turn their noses up at anything made after 1977.
Youth In Revolt is charming and quirky if familiar territory. But there's a reason you keep that old ugly sweater and ask mom to make her meatloaf every time you go home. Michael Cera has carved out a niche as a character actor playing the same nervous, mumbly, lovelorn underdog. I loved him on Arrested Development and you can be sure I'll see Scott Pilgrim vs. The World. Fans of the genre will surely be pleased. We're not seeing anything new from Michael Cera ('cept the 'stache) but, then again, there's nothing necessarily wrong with that.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Who the f**k is Pinback?
Greetings! This blog is addressed to all of you who use Pandora. Have you been blitzed in the last week or so by Pinback tracks on your indie rock stations? They have turned up in heavy rotation on 3 of my stations (the xx, the pains of being pure at heart, the temper trap). I haven't thumbs up'd any track because they aren't godawful but leave me more or less meh. I'm curious if Pandora is staging a micro-marketing campaign to hype these guys ahead of their announced forthcoming album due in 2010 on Temporary Residence Ltd.
I'm not exactly sure I would be opposed to such targeting at this point. However, I am getting a little annoyed with the frequency with which these guys are popping up in my rotations. I'm tempted to hit thumbs down next time just to get some relief. A Pinback track has come around every 4 to 5 songs it seems.
So let me know surfers! Are you experiencing a Pinback forcefeed? Do you know if Pandora inks these kinds of promotion deals with record labels? It would be something awful if Pandora became just another Clear Channel chasing revenue in the name of profitability and at the expense of listeners.
Add:
I am not shilling for either Pinback or Temporary Residence Ltd. Or Pandora for that matter.
I'm not exactly sure I would be opposed to such targeting at this point. However, I am getting a little annoyed with the frequency with which these guys are popping up in my rotations. I'm tempted to hit thumbs down next time just to get some relief. A Pinback track has come around every 4 to 5 songs it seems.
So let me know surfers! Are you experiencing a Pinback forcefeed? Do you know if Pandora inks these kinds of promotion deals with record labels? It would be something awful if Pandora became just another Clear Channel chasing revenue in the name of profitability and at the expense of listeners.
Add:
I am not shilling for either Pinback or Temporary Residence Ltd. Or Pandora for that matter.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Worst. Song. Ever.
I first became aware of Owl City's "Fireflies" when it shot to the top of the itunes download list earlier this month. I say "became aware" because I did not listen to said song at that time. I didn't actually hear to it until my twitpal @madeinkowloon blip'd it my way a few weeks ago. I know this review is coming a little late, both in terms of when I heard the song and after the song hit its peak popularity, but I just want to add that it's a TERRIBLE SONG. Just plain bad.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aI4JLa0hbUw
The song is straight up theft of The Postal Service sound. But it's like Owl City took all that was creative, innovative, and cool about the Dntel-Jimmy Tamborello & Ben Gibbard collaboration, dumped it in an acid bath of top 40 pop mediocrity, and let the resulting Frankenstein monstrosity loose on the radio to murder, ahem, bring indie electropop forward for mass consumption.
Honestly, the music isn't too awful, being snatched unfinished and incomplete as it were from Jimmy's harddrive. But that *IS* the problem with it. Whereas the Postal Service tracks were each carefully crafted, complex, and full of interesting sounds and hooks, "Fireflies" feels like gimmicky hack electronica. It's not egregiously bad, just forgettable and uninteresting.
And then you get to the words. OMFG, the lyrics to this song are the suck. Seriously, it sounds like they were written by committee of third graders. I'm not categorically opposed to songs about fireflies (re: Magentic Fields "100,000 Fireflies") but this song is entomology fail. I couldn't imagine a more blatant example of a tween panty-dropper without Stephanie Meyer's name attached to it. They are cheesy, lame, and oh so cliche.
However, I wouldn'y say that "Fireflies" is the worst song ever. That prize is reserved for this little "gem":
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eSMEVuRjz-I
Until next time...
P.S. You can follow me on blip.fm as dj katosmullet to hear what music I *do* like.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aI4JLa0hbUw
The song is straight up theft of The Postal Service sound. But it's like Owl City took all that was creative, innovative, and cool about the Dntel-Jimmy Tamborello & Ben Gibbard collaboration, dumped it in an acid bath of top 40 pop mediocrity, and let the resulting Frankenstein monstrosity loose on the radio to murder, ahem, bring indie electropop forward for mass consumption.
Honestly, the music isn't too awful, being snatched unfinished and incomplete as it were from Jimmy's harddrive. But that *IS* the problem with it. Whereas the Postal Service tracks were each carefully crafted, complex, and full of interesting sounds and hooks, "Fireflies" feels like gimmicky hack electronica. It's not egregiously bad, just forgettable and uninteresting.
And then you get to the words. OMFG, the lyrics to this song are the suck. Seriously, it sounds like they were written by committee of third graders. I'm not categorically opposed to songs about fireflies (re: Magentic Fields "100,000 Fireflies") but this song is entomology fail. I couldn't imagine a more blatant example of a tween panty-dropper without Stephanie Meyer's name attached to it. They are cheesy, lame, and oh so cliche.
However, I wouldn'y say that "Fireflies" is the worst song ever. That prize is reserved for this little "gem":
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eSMEVuRjz-I
Until next time...
P.S. You can follow me on blip.fm as dj katosmullet to hear what music I *do* like.
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