Articles

Duuuuuuuuude. Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuude.  Top Girls was my SHIT a few years ago, then word on the internet street is the dude got all into life and forgot about those of us with his name tattooed on our taints.  THIS shit right here tho. "On & On" is the subtle creepin' beatin' of a dude who knows his music is the aforementioned taint between R&B and electro and it's not only super fucking fresh, there's a fucking bead of either sweat or sex dripping down the crease.  The steady throb of that bass-synth. The dusty layers of static coating every inch of each individual bleat of those pleasurable meets painful vocals. THE SIMPLE DING DING DING DING at 1:28 SKRAIGHT KILLLLLS MEEEEEEE, but dude, the sly Beverly Hills Cop shit at 2:42 has me gorilla faced and neck thrusting and it'...

Andrea Silva again? Jesus balls on a handcrafted bacarat table pinned to pinterest, tweeted on twitter, and for sale on etsy, this shit is fucking cool pillow chill.  When you come across a voice that's as milky and calming as a cup of warm milk before you start taking shot after shot of rumpleminz, you hold on to that fucking voice, and I'd like to publicly declare that I've decided to keep Andrea Silva. She's mine. "Down & Under" now proves that it's possible to be both accidentally disarming and violently relaxed with a tempo that never peaks past just barely awake, but a meter that's ripe for drowning in.  REMEMBER THIS WOMAN. But then again how the fuck can you forget spinning yourself in circles fresh out of the shower with a towel wrapped around your love handles until...

I remember it like it was yesterday.......well, because it was yesterday.....  As I dragged my cursor across my bookmarks toolbar on Chrome, I accidentally clicked into Hype Machine. I knew I clicked on something, but at the time I didn't know on what. In a short fit of unreasonable panic I clicked my mouse again, ended up in another tab, got a phone call, and turned the volume down.  After my phone call I turned the voume back up and this powerful and beautiful track was playing. I thought: Who the fuck was singing this song?  I thought: Why do my guts hurt? I thought: Why is it a frigid yet balmy 73 degrees in my under-shorts? I frantically cicked through the 15 browser tabs I had open on my browser. Playing on Hype Machine was Donna Missal and the track was 'Keep Lying'.  Wow. Just...

Dear Radical Face,  Goddamn you fucking asshole, I want to wrestle you to the ground and sit on you until you say you're fucking sorry for always making me feel.  I'm just kidding.  I want give you a huge bear hug. And then kick you in the dick because that's some shit I would do.  If your new teaser song, "Small Hands", is any indication of what we're to expect from your upcoming records (apparently all recorded and on their way down the LP birth canal), then I'm already bibbed-up and salivating. I'm slamming the silverware on the table, brobro. Pass the potatoes.  Love, Brando Radical Face is a knife. Sharp, painful, but effective. True. Radical Face's penchant for ultra-personal imagery, childhood innocence, alternatively celebrated and destroyed, and his biting sense of truth set to...

I'm not going to beat around the hedge. I'm a whore for Danger Mouse. He produced my favorite Black Keys album. There's fucking Gnarls Barkley. There's fucking Broken Bells. There's that Dark Night Of The Soul album with Sparklehorse. I could go on, but you get the idea. I'm also a whore for Sam Cohen....for his music, but also because his hair is always perectly sculpted and a couple of years ago Tim, the Syffal Papa Bear, sent me a video text of Sam yelling: 'HEY TOM.....Fuck You....WOOOOOoooo.'  I love Sam. And if you don't love Sam, it's because you haven't listened to his music. He used to put out albums under the moniker Yellowbirds, which sound like Roy Orbison on LSD. And now he's hanging out with Danger Mouse.  And when you blend those two together...you get an amazing track that...

(It feels overly American to start writing something with a single word that's as annoying as "like", but I don't know how else to start writing this thing.) Like. Music is more than incredibly important to me. Music is the only non-wife/kids thing I look forward to wholeheartedly. If I had to choose between my sight and my hearing, I'd thank you for blinding me. Being in the room with music is incredibly important to me. Whether it's being played, being spun, or being created directly the fuck in front of me, music is its own reward. I exhaustedly cherish and religiously genuflect at the mere thought of listening to music, but being there when it's unfolding live in front of me is it. Live music, when it's in front of you, is the ultimate exchange of energy and its inspiring capabilities...

Sometimes, all you want is a fucking chorus you can scream, a bass line you can play in the shower, and an air lead guitar you can bend over towards your toes and lick the fuck out of. I don't want to know the intentions behind the lyrics, I don't want to know what cabin the shit was recorded in, I don't want to know what sort of irritable bowels these lads in Rare Monk might have, JUST GIVE ME THE SONG BRO. I ONLY NEED THE FUCKING SONG. Thankfully Rare Monk don't ever really send in the fluffer to get things moving. Rare Monk are their own fluffer and their own fluffer is Rare Monk. These dudes don't start gradually or try to act sexy to get your blood pumping, they just put shit in their mouth and here I am singing their praises for singing their own songs of praise.  By no means am I...

What the fuck is happening to me? I intentionally wanted to hate this shit because the pitch email used the word "hooky" and I wanted to STAB THAT FUCKING WORD IN THE GUNT. Then Party Nails starts in with the 80s sass, all sittin on her bed kickin her white ankle bobby socks listening to her own jams on a pastel pink boombox.  AH FUCK, I'M SNAPPING AND MY ELBOWS ARE CONNECTED TO MY TORSO AND I'M MICHAEL STIPE-ING FROM THAT ONE R.E.M. VIDEO AND I'M EMBARASSED FOR YOU HAVING TO SEE THIS. AH FUCK. AND THAT GUITAR LICK, HOLY HOOKY. Shit. Shit I said it. I, I, I, I need you to leave. LEAVE. JUST LEAVE. LEAVE ME ALONE WITH "No Pressure", I'm fucking smitten, turned on, and damnit, you shouldn't see me like this.