Tag: #Import 2025-04-25 15:23

the new romance

‘What the hell does that mean, “Pretty girls make graves”? Has the traditional means of digging holes in the ground ceased?

This name has been troublesome for a while now, and after giving it an on-and-off year of thought, the only semi-logical answer is a sexual one.

Follow the logic for a second here. Pretty girls are viewed, on many occasions, as sexual objects. Whether a person has intercourse with a pretty girl or does the deed solo-style pretty girls are, well, the motivation behind sending countless microscopic sailors to their early graves. Therefore, pretty girls make graves.

This thought has obviously occupied way too much time. Somebody help. WHAT DOES THEIR NAME MEAN?

It’s rumored to come from a line in either Jack Kerouac’s “The Dharma Bums” or a song by the Smiths, but I’m not buying it. That solution is too simple.

A band’s name should not be that troubling. Fortunately, the music causes much less of a problem. PGMG’s sophomore effort, “The New Romance,” has all the intensity of a fling and the passion of a long-lasting relationship without its severity. It’s a summertime tryst: airy, promising and brief.

Coming in at about an action-packed three-quarters of an hour, this record is not only poignantly laconic but also feisty. The band obviously had no intention of giving in to the curse of sophomore slump without a fight. Good news, they won! The advantages were always on their side, though. The deck was stacked with ex-members of Murder City Devils and Kill Sadie, supported by the re-burgeoning Seattle scene.

There is no sign of slacking at all on this record. The band doesn’t appear to have let the critical acclaim of their freshman offering, “Good Health,” go to their heads. They have built upon their previous work and grown from there. They are damned hard workers, putting a great deal of effort into every transition, chorus, pause and fill. No stone was left unturned and no hole was left unfilled. From start to finish, “The New Romance” is an enthralling joyride that does not stop for red lights. It floors the gas pedal and goes.

Pretty Girls, despite all the superfluous torment your name may cause to those who attempt to decipher its meaning, you deserve all the praise you get.

A hard(core) work ethic

‘There’s something incredibly earnest about the old-school New York punk scene.

The generation of post-hardcore bands, like the Underdogs, the Judges, and the Gorilla Biscuits, prided themselves on their ethics and their message as well as the music they played. Glassjaw, who is playing at the upcoming Warped Tour, considers themselves to be at the tail end of that generation. It’s a fair and accurate description.

They are passionate Long Island boys whose work ethic extends far beyond the band’s output.

“Everybody’s gotta get T-shirts,” began guitarist Justin Beck on a break from his job. “There ain’t no money in rock ‘n’ roll, so you do this from 8 a.m. to 10 p.m.”

Beck is said to be the funniest and most outgoing member of the band. Our interview time proved these statements to be true, but incomplete. In addition, he is extremely down-to-earth and levelheaded. He is a sage musician whose worldly experience, gained both from touring and real-life experiences, are points on which he prides himself.

“You either get a job or you be a lazy bum. I’m a big fat geek and I don’t party much. So, what else would you do?”

Work 14 hours a day, apparently.

Glassjaw is riding high off of their well-received last release, “Worship and Tribute,” and the support from their new label, Warner Brothers. With so much going for them, they probably don’t have to have jobs to support themselves right now. It doesn’t appear that Beck works to build up a worldly fortune, though. He works because it keeps him productive and down-to-earth.

In addition to his job, he also maintains the band’s website and does graphic design as well as working on numerous other odds and ends throughout the year. He proves to be a good example for all of the band members who are in control of both their lives and the future of the band.

Beck does not tell the typical tale of being screwed over by a major label. It was actually an independent label that gave them a rough ride but also taught them how to navigate the direction of the band.

“At the end of the day, you’re the one driving the car, steering the wheel. It all depends on where you want to go with your band. You can limit or exploit yourself as much as you want.”

It was a rough road for a while, though, and Glassjaw may have felt like they lost the ability to control that car for a while.

“We were warned not to go to Roadrunner (their former label) and the question is, ‘What didn’t make us leave the label quicker?’ It was the worst experience being treated like a piece of shit. It almost brought us to the point of breaking up. In the music industry, the product you sell is human beings and they don’t give a shit about their product at all.”

Producer Ross Robinson, whom Beck refers to as “the band’s godfather,” bought the band out of their contract with Roadrunner. He may have also served as an inroad to the band’s Warner Bros. Records contract.

“Now we get treated like human beings and not just like a piece of plastic.”

It’s almost a fluke that all of this happened because the band did not even want to work with Robinson to begin with.

“(Robinson) was working with all of this nxefxbfxbd-metal shit. He worked with bands like Korn, Slipknot and Limp Bizkit and we thought, ‘What the hell is he going to do with us?’”

Little did Glassjaw know just how much he could do for them.

The band’s NY underground sound has now been blended with big-studio production for a result that is accessible all across the board. Even with this newfound accessibility, the band still stands by their old-school credos.

“We came from underground punk, hardcore and metal. It’s a pedigree of ethics, philosophies, and brain wave patterns that’s different than the new school of kids coming from the alternative generation.”

It’s not fame or fortune that matters to Glassjaw; it’s not even the style of music that you play. It’s why you are doing what you do.

“It’s fine if a band is playing Mickey Mouse music, if that’s what you want to be doing. It’s the bands that strive to get signed that I can’t associate with. I don’t understand that mindset. If you get signed, it’s no big deal but why start a band just to do that? That’s just not right.”

It is this seamless combination of old-school post-hardcore beliefs, musical abilities, and a hard-working mindset that makes Glassjaw the perfect choice for the commercially-sponsored and musically diverse Warped Tour this year.

team boo

‘There are no tricks up the sleeves of Kori Gardner and Jason Hammel. Their love for their music and each other is forthright and unabashed. What you see is what you get. They are a happy band turned happy spouses. Add in the assistance of John Vanderslice, Jim Eno, John Croslin and a handful of other musicians and you’ve got the bastard Partridge Family of the 21st Century.

You can’t imagine music sounding any happier than this. They’ve got an organ, drums, and the most unrestrained harmonies of which any band could possibly conceive. For the most part, the progressions lean towards poppy major chords.

Any of Kori’s intros could segue into a new theme song for “Cheers.” Jason’s off-tempo drumming gives the music its indie tinge. Together, with the assistance of their all-star caliber musical ensemble, all of the Mates of State songs are sing-alongs – once you get used to the cryptic lyrics and inside jokes.

“Team Boo,” the band’s third record, is another high-quality MoS release, packed with the band’s trademark drastic tempo and rhythm changes and ?berpoppy vocal harmonies. Kori’s left hand always knows what her right hand is doing. She fills in well for the missing bass parts in the band but also plays catchy leads with the higher organ parts.

The only valid criticism a fan of the band could come up with is that this record still lives in the shadow of “My Solo Project,” their first full-length release. “My Solo Project” defined the MoS sound and, while bordering on early Rainer Maria, minus the guitar, it was something wholly new and novel. “Team Boo” continues to do little to distinguish itself from that.

The new MoS songs are interesting and clever and entirely on par with their first effort. All they need to do now is to find that one trick to take them a level higher.

take a break

‘You’d figure by now the joke would’ve gotten old. It’s the same old punk covers of pop songs, the same old “Yeahs” being screamed at the end of songs, the same old heavily distorted power-chord progressions. After all, how long can this gimmick last?

A long time, apparently – over seven years to date. As long as there are songs in the extremities – tunes that made musicians’ careers either successful or a joke – these parasitic punks will always have something off of which to feed.

Made up of NOFX, Foo Fighters and Lagwagon members, the Gimme Gimmes are possibly the most effective post-modern musical satirists of all time. Whether donning bowling uniforms, bowties or gaudy plaid pants, they still bring the rock to oldies, country, and soulful pop.

On “Take A Break” they have set their sites on popular R&B songs of the past few decades. They take on R. Kelly, Boyz 2 Men, Prince (as done by Sinead O’Connor), Lionel Richie, Stevie Wonder and more. After showing these artists how their songs should have sounded to start off with, they leave you with the searing question. And that is: “What’s up now, bitch?”

The answer to that question is something you’ll have to figure out for yourself.

The highlights of this album include “Save the Best for Last,” “End of the Road,” “Natural Woman” and pretty much every other track on this album.

If taking a break from the serious nature of the music scene – which was the intent of creating this band – is what you are looking for then Me First is the way to go. At the very least, you are bound to laugh at the sheer absurdity of their songs.

Come for the gimmick, stay for the irony and satire.

when i pretend to fall

‘”When I Pretend to Fall” is a smarmy rock album that borders on falling into the singer/songwriter trap, a phrase that is quickly becoming both overdone and taboo.

Lead singer John Roderick has that loud and slightly left-of-center vocal style that, when layered on top of 10,000 Maniacs-type orchestration, makes The Long Winters’ music sound like something directly out of a recent rock opera. Think “Rent” without the super-annoying songs. Well, except for “Cinnamon,” the album’s fourth track. The leitmotif “Her skin is cinnamon” sticks in your head like the vision of a car crash; you’d do anything to get rid of it.

This album is an impressive work, akin to Melville’s “Billy Budd” or Joyce’s “Finnegan’s Wake.” It need not be experienced more than once. During that experience, though, there will be a tendency to play the name-dropping game. There are inevitable comparisons from clear across the musical spectrum.

At points, The Long Winters have a heavy Ben Folds Five feel to them. During some songs, there is a Greg Macpherson Band kind of folk-background-over-raspy-vocals aura about it. Throughout some points, Roderick’s voice can be filed under the influence of a young Michael Stipe, and John Popper at other points. At the album’s kickoff, “When I Pretend to Fall” sounds like part Jets to Brazil, par Karate but it quickly digresses from there. It becomes unctuous, silicon.

This is a record for college kids who pride themselves in the one-acts they’ve written and those who enjoy soundtracks to modern musicals. It might even be a guilty pleasure. The third track off the album, “Shapes,” certainly fits into that category.

The record’s highlight comes at the end. Now, that is not meant as the insult it’s usually taken as. Honestly, it’s not. The last four and a half minutes of this album are pure bliss. “Nora,” the album’s closer, has a musky odor about it. It’s raw and less superficial than other tracks. This song, where The Long Winters hit closest to their REM influence, is undoubtedly the album’s best track. It’s a nice surprise, a warm and comforting light at the end of a long stretch of tunnel.

worse for the wear

‘Maybe it’s sacrilege to say, but “Worse for the Wear” is undoubtedly the most solid piece of work put out by any member of The Getup Kids.

Matthew Pryor’s musical coequal, The New Amsterdams, is the flipside of the coin from his more noted endeavor, The Getup Kids. The music is a laid-back project in which nothing spews forth further than Pryor’s sincerity.

The New Amsterdams is a diamond, slowly condensing and compacting itself into a bare-bones band in the rough of the incestuous Midwestern indie rock scene. The project has grown up alongside many of the younger and late-blooming scenesters, exposing them to an offshoot – the folk roots of indie music. That is something for which Pryor should be commended.

Aside from providing this coincidental public service, his lyrics have the sharp bite of an aging cynic, too old to be a part of the scene but too dependent upon it to leave. It’s a trap that not only puts the musician in a tough spot, but it also surrounds that person with false friends and can turn art into a commercial business. In Pryor’s case, as with so many countless others, it can lead to drinking.

These are the topics brought to the forefront in some of the album’s best tracks, including “The Spoils of the Spoiled,” “Hover Near Fame,” and “All Our Vice.”

The most impressive quality is not what this record has to say or how the music sounds. Rather, it is the fact that it flows naturally. At no point during any of the multiple listens of which this record is worthy will you find any reason to question anything you hear. It is captivating, enthralling, and thoroughly evokes empathy from the listener.

It’s hard to feel bad for someone who has suffered as much success as Pryor, and this record succeeds in that task.

http://www.kissonline.com/kasket

‘The men behind the long tongues and makeup just won’t give it up, will they?

Yeah, yeah, we get it. You want to rock and roll all night and so on. We all do. It’s not what they want to do that’s an issue, though. It’s how they’re going about it. First of all, registering your band name as a trademark is taking it one step beyond the line. Creating a casket for your fans is just going way too far.

Hello, people? There is a KISS(r) Kasket. No, you’re not reading that wrong. It’s the God’s honest truth and possibly one of the most disturbing things I’ve heard this year, next to every word that has come out of Michael Savage’s mouth that is.

Take a look at this excerpt from the “Kasket’s” description:

“In addition, ‘KISS(r) Kasket’ can also be used as a Giant KISS(r) Cooler, enabling fans and their friends to enjoy ice-cold sodas and beer served directly from the ice-filled, completely waterproof ‘KISS(r) Kasket.’ The ‘KISS(r) Kasket.’ is autographed and signed.”

In addition? IN ADDITION? Are people really partying out of a fucking Kasket? I sincerely hope that KISS fans aren’t taking the phrase “in addition” literally. A corpse and a case of beer should not be mixed in the same casket. Thank God it’s waterproof, though. Geez, heaven forbid you have a leaky casket six feet underground.

What is the difference between “autographed” and “signed?” Whatever, at least those signatures should really up the value of your dead stoner cousin’s corpse.

I would love to meet the person, and there most likely is one, that bought this horrible reflection on humanity. For every one step forward that civilization makes, KISS is there to take it two steps back.

They serve a purpose, though. Without people like them, we’d have nothing to write about.

http://www.eeggs.com

‘As any techie and faithful geek knows, an Easter Egg can be much more interesting than pastel paints and loose change. An Easter Egg, in addition to somehow serving as an iconic symbol of Christ rising from the dead, is also a piece of information hidden within a work. This work can range from a computer program to a book to a DVD.

Think back to the first time you played Contra on Nintendo. When you found out what came to be known as the “Konami Code,” it shed a whole new light on the game. There was more than met the eye. Uncovering the truth about Eggs can be addictive. It may have you searching your movie collection vigorously, or hitting random key combinations on your computer in a vane attempt to find these little treasures.

As a result, Web enthusiasts have picked up on the public’s desire to unlock these secrets. Many websites now serve as instructional databases, providing the viewer with countless tips and techniques on how to find Easter Eggs. Eeggs.com is a good example of such a database. It has a collected around 6500 tricks on what secrets may be lurking around in your books, artworks, and computer. In addition, Eeggs.com has created a companion website, http://www.slipups.com, which unearths the truth of overlooked mistakes in movies, books, and speeches. One can assume W makes more than his fair share of appearances on this site.

If this does not sate your curiosity, the wealth of information does not end on this site. There are plenty of sites dedicated to discovering Easter Eggs for particular sites. For instance, http://www.homestarrunner.net shows you all of the cheats and secrets behind Homestarrunner.com. As we mentioned in our previous review of Homestarrunner.com, Homestar says “Homestarrunner.net… it’s dot com.”

Other sites, such as http://dvd.ign.com/eggs.html, discuss only the hidden features in DVDs.

For the most well-rounded source of information in a variety of mediums, though, The Easter Egg Archive is our top choice.

open hearts and clear minds

‘File under generic. See also: pointless, waste of: time, energy, money, effort.

First things first, just because it’s faster, that doesn’t mean it’s better. Take Pennywise for example. If you listen to any old Bad Religion vinyl recorded at 33 rpm (generally speaking, the older the better, and “Suffer” is top of the list) and play it at 45 rpm. The result would be quite comparable to the sounds of Pennywise. It sounds awkward, rushed, and forced. There’s no need for it. Of course, if the intent is to show off your masculinity, then you might as well drop your drawers and take advantage of the cover art photography. Instead, this album’s cover is packed with the run of the mill hardcore singer, in the pit, reaching out and singing to his undying legions of hardcore fans.

On the surface, the music on this album is like that of H2O’s “Thicker than Water”. There is not much deeper then that, though. Therein lies the problem.

One quick look at the lyrics will show you that this is a bunch of straightedge kids in it for the scene. “When the kids are united?” It’s the world the likes of Kevin Seconds and Ray Cappo preached so fervently that the message became immune to the masses once the fans started turning the ripe old age of twenty-something.

Of course, there are valuable lessons that can be learned from songs with social justice underpinnings but that message is much more succinct and infinitely clearer in most old folk songs. People like Phil Ochs and Woodie Guthrie were well-educated activists who had an intellectual and informed message to spread. They were not just blindly screaming “Don’t kill animals because that is bad,” because they remember hearing Propagandhi sing “Meat is still murder. Dairy is still rape” In this case, the intent is there but there is no semblance of information from educated informers.

Shy of the straight-from-the-depths-of-hell roaring scream, which can be effective if done well or in moderation (ie. Boy Sets Fire, Coalesce, Refused) The First Step seems to be your typical post-emo, screamo, metal, straightedge punk whatever band in a successive lineage of groups whose names sound like they would make great short stories for Shirley Jackson’s readers (ie. The Casket Lottery, Dillinger Escape Plan, Further Seems Forever).

In summation, this album sends out a generic message from a generic band playing generic music to an indistinguishable see of generic faced fans draped in black from head to toe with XXX tattoos and too small tees.

http://www.angrynakedpat.com/network/icf

‘Within this Web site you will discover everything that is wrong with American culture, the youth of today and the negative effects of technology.

It is very, very sad seeing this waste of a childhood take place in Windows Movie format right before your eyes. Watch as young Andy sits in front of his computer and raps about Parappa the Rappa, a video game character – one of the few pop culture references he can accurately make. Then, watch him sit in front of his computer and profanely sing about intercourse between friends.

The child is pale, obese and sickly-looking. It is sad. Of course, we are not mocking obesity, but rather the fact that his surroundings and what seems like a lack of ability to make it through the front door has contributed to it.

What is this kid doing in his bedroom with every piece of computer, recording and gaming equipment that a techie geek can dream of? Someone needs to intervene and lock him out of his house – or shut the electricity off.

For those of you who may think this chubby, pasty face looks familiar, Andy Milonakis first gained popularity with the assistance of sites like Ifilm.com. His “hit” “The Superbowl Is Gay” features an unkempt Andy, who strums a partially detuned guitar and chants that everything from the Super Bowl to water to the sky is “gay.”

It’s a train wreck.

At the end of this so-called song, Milonakis makes the claim that he is not gay. Well, buddy, in a world where everyone and everything else is gay, you are going to have a very, very lonely life.

In all honesty, this site is depressing. A lot of time and effort has obviously gone into it – but to what end? What future is this poor child going to have?

A lot of people are promoting this site, and Milonakis has even had a few television guest spots. With each endorsement, the behavior is reinforced and this child will continue to deteriorate.

Somebody take this kid hiking, or at least make him walk to McDonald’s.