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I have no idea what to say. For those of us in our mid-30s, Zack de la Rocha's voice makes our bowels rattle. Dude makes my skin vibrate. Dude makes me want to scream until there's nothing left but a whistling whimper. This dude makes me lift weights like I'm saving the oppressed. This dude makes me think thoughts about the problems of people that my white skin normally allows me the pleasure to never have had to experience I can't review this song. I can only share what I think I've been waiting years for, I just can't remember there ever being a moment where I didn't hope this dude would help speak the thoughts I never thought I knew I needed to think. I will say this about "digging for windows", I punched the air on the fifth listen of this shit. Zack...

I fucking HAAAAAAAAATE In The Whale. Not like HATE hate, but like dude, I haaaaaaaaate In The Whale. These classy dames are always having fun, smiling brightly, learning from their mistakes (shitty penmanship, previous run ins with the authorities, left handedness), and not wearing pants on Sundays during the football season. As a Bears fan, I haven't been really interested in football because of our suckage, but dude I haaaaaaaaate In The Whale for always having the best time everywhere they go.  WHERE ARE THEY GOING THIS TIME?!?! FUCKING EVERYWHERE! LOOK AT THIS TOUR LIST!  In The Whale - Fall 2016 Tour 09/03 - Rollinsville, CO - RMNPS 09/10 - Englewood, CO - Fiddler's Green...

As cocktail umbrella season comes to a close, it's time to prepare our respective sex dungeons with seasonal incense, a good vacuuming, and an update of the all important sex playlist. KINDER just showed up with the sassiest sex song of the summer send off. "Stone Cold" makes a motherfucker wanna rub ice cubes all up on his nips and dip each big toe in a pumpkin spice latte and then thrust them hips all up in a northerly direction. Yes, we bought pie pumpkins in September, and YES, those are phallic shaped gourds on the bedside table, and YES, the lube has a faint hint of cinammon and mulling spices. It seems like this KINDER fellow is all about making me feel comfortable with all of the impending sex. And while the beat is helping me Michael...

OH, I'M SORRY.  IS MY WAVING ARM DANCING DISTRACTING YOU FROM YOUR OWN SENSE OF JOY THAT THIS SONG SHOOTS UP YOUR POOPER LIKE A HAPPY SQUIRTING BIDET? Did I just equate using a bidet to lisning to Trails and Ways? I did. I do. I'm into the butt stuff. "Happiness" is exactly what I needed today. It's all cloudy outside and I needed that inside sunshine that only a T&W track can elicit. I fucking love these assholes.  Like I said, butt stuff. I likes. 

Astronauts are the soundtrack of choice when determining which direction to turn when I come up on a fork in the road bro. There's this deeply rooted sense of contemplation, and then acceptance, and then immediate fucking regret in every song. It's almost like the performance of the song is its own redemption though. "Breakout" feels like the part of the movie where the decision has already been made, the blood is drying, but you're almost ready to walk back into the room without any ammunition. This shit feels like the finale in the movie of your own life where instead of a happy ending, you're on the receiving end of a magazine full of ammunition to the belly, and rather than bleeding out like Mr. Orange, you hobble to your feet and walk back in just to haunt...

I don't really wear fedoras. Nor do I wear collared shirts very often. But KINDER makes an unfashionable motherfucker like moi wanna tuck their shirt in and act like they polishin' cuff links that don't exist on this tank top with a drawring of a pig on it. "Light" sounds like I'm taking single steps, where one foot steps ahead but then I bring both feet together. I'm creepin' on beat, I'm nodding my head on the 2 and 4 while sporting a shiteatin' grin, I'm the guy you wanna punch because I'm so fucking smooth and in the fuckin' zone. I dig how this is R&B/pop, but the fretless bass acting like an automatic air freshener turns the class knob up past 11 for me bro. KINDER took this kegger and made it a dinner party, na mean?

Holy shit. It's INDIAN WELLS! Back in 2013 I was OBSESSED WITH THIS DUDE! (Seriously, read this from our old website) Indian Wells is the fucking king of building builds that end up being gradual bridges over uncharted waters onto lands we've yet to discover. Every fucking time I even THINK about listening to Indian Wells I get all contemplative and wish I was able to toss a tennis ball at the wall over and over and over and over as I lay on my bed at peace.  The pace of "Racquets" is intense, but in a way I could only describe as being a sort of soul massage because it doesn't lull you off to any where besides the present. But it's that chase scene type shit you needed to walk out of your office with conviction. It's the soundtrack to eating...

The vocals on Leagues' single "New Money" kick me square in the gunt.  Dude almost sounds like he's pleading with his own reflection in the mirror. Sure, it's similar to The Neighbourhood, but I get this awesome Win Butler and Astronautalis vocal voltron of intensity, inflection, and tone. I'm fucking smitten. While the tempo of the song seems uplifting, the vocal kicks you in the aforementioned gunt to bring you back to the reality that shit sucks sometimes. Thankfully the rasp and wail of this dude takes some of the edge off of all that potentially happy shit. I love hearing music that makes me film the music video in my head instantly. This is one of those. All I need is a fat fucking budget and some oreos and shit. 

Like several other rappers turned educators, OneWerd, is keeping the it hella live for the elbow patch set. I do challenge you to find another rapper in the teach rap genre that packs more rhymes per syllable. OneWerd also consistently runs a monthy hip hop gathering in the SOMA District in San Francisco called, Builders, throws one-off shows with underground heroes, releases projects that garner local acclaim from the weeklies, and drops singles with microphone magicians like Myka 9. And… and… AND this mother fucker holds down a real career.  He’s truly one of the good guys. And his whole existence makes me chortle heartily at the host of 30+ asshole rappers bitterly complaining about how the XXL Freshman got put on while asking who got...

The anxiety is real! I’ve been so fucking stressed out! Life has been jumping up and down on my balls for the last six months like my supple testicle skin was stretched out across a trampoline frame.  For those of you that don’t know, Minneapolis artist P.O.S. dealt with some life or death health issues. Requiring a liver transplant is no fucking joke. And to hear him come back from mad-dogging Mr. Muerte, to make music so confident and yet chill, makes me look at life happily trampolining on my testes like so fucking what.  Most of my struggles are of my own design. I eat like shit (though I’ve been trying to do better). My exercise regiment is the opposite of a regiment and more like irrelevant (though I’ve been trying to do better). My struggles with alcohol and drugs...