Welcome to BadmintonStamps. We're Philabuster and SkinnySlim, representing Philly and NYC respectively. We are very good looking. Thanks.
November 3, 2008
The Pony Track's Drivin' Spicy
Comin' atcha first thing every Monday morning, it's The Pony Track, a super-fantastic short distance dedication to BadmintonStamps Collective founding member and internationally renown symbol for musical excellence Aaron "Pony"
Child. No fancy links, no clever write-ups, 'cause these awesome songs
don't need no splainin'. So c'mon, ride the pony!
When Geraldo Rivera Dies I Will Think Of Bob Dylan
First off I should note that the last two words in this post are the
same last two words in my very first post. I guess you could say that
the more things change the more they stay the same. Except I hate that
phrase, and it makes no sense. It's mad herbish when people say things
that are contradictions because they think they sound wise or Asian,
as if being wise or Asian is all that. Let me tell you, it's not.
Second off, I should note that the title of this post is true. Back in August
I rolled to a Dylan show in Prospect Park and he brought the
fire with like nineteen t's. The entire affair was aided by the fact
that I sat next to Geraldo Rivera's mustache, which was attached to
Geraldo Rivera himself. Look, this is how we do. We're
BadmintonStamps. Now for the rest of my life, whenever I think about
Geraldo Rivera I'm going to think about that moment I had getting high
with his mustache and listening to Dylan catch a groove and rock the
city. Thankfully whenever I think of Dylan I won't necessarily think
about Geraldo. It doesn't work both ways. But I digress. Now that
SkinnySlim is dead I wonder what will I think about when I look back
on my time with BadmintonStamps. I bet it'll be the memories of
writing a song,
asking famous people ridiculous
questions, rewriting history, putting on some shows, and
blowing all of our ad money on Radiohead and Jay-Z concerts and drugs
and booze and Jim's cheesesteaks. And of course I'm going to think
about my partner in crime, the unimpeachable Philabuster, now riding
solo. I gotta say we brought the fire with like ninety nine nineteen
t's. I realize some of you may still be a lil' bit slack jawed over
that whole "SkinnySlim is dead" thing. It may even be appropriate to
say, "SkinnySlim is dead, long live SkinnySlim", except, you know, the
whole Asian/wise contradiction bullshit we previously discussed. But
yes, this will be my last post for BadmintonStamps. The time has come,
what with the abhorrent lack of writing over the last several months
and the whole me gaining so much weight that people I meet now think
the name SkinnySlim is sarcastic. Plus, in this simple paragraph I have been
racist, wrong, mind blindingly funny, boughetto, cooler than you,
cooler than your grandfather who is cooler than you, cooler than my
grandfather who is cooler than your grandfather no doubt, long winded,
self indulgent, used the "blank with blank number of t's" phrase and
dropped too many commas. This basically covers everything I have ever
done for BadmintonStamps. So, what else is there to say except keep it
real and keep fucking. I leave you with seven songs that I love more
than titties, or at least seven songs that could rival titties.
Really, these are some of my favorites, and I love sharing them with
all of you. I thank you guys for wasting your time reading my musings.
It's meant the world to me, or at least it's meant that I could get
dope seats to see Radiohead and Jay-Z. And so, this is it. No joke.
In regards to the following item on MGMT which appeared in the July 25th weekend preview:
The live show has received some spotty reviews in its earlier iterations, but the dudes have had enough time to work out the kinks by now, so don't you even worry.
MGMT are, in fact, a truly horrific live act. One of the worst ever witnessed by this blogger. Worse then Fred Armisen. Deep and sincere apologies to anyone who was swayed into spending their hard-earned money or valuable time on this show as a result of the errant post.
Comin' atcha first thing every Monday morning, it's The Pony Track, a super-fantastic short distance dedication to BadmintonStamps Collective founding member and internationally renown symbol for musical excellence Aaron "Pony"
Child. No fancy links, no clever write-ups, 'cause these awesome songs
don't need no splainin'. So c'mon, ride the pony!
Start With A Concert, End With A Ball This Weekend In Philly
Friday night, you've got options aplenty. Celeburock duo She & Him are at the Trocadero, bringing the simple country song stylings of Zooey Deschanel to the masses. Cute stuff, though you'd be hard pressed to convince me this is genuine Friday night material. Could somebody please tape the show so I can watch it next Tuesday?
MGMT are back in town at the StaR5 Ballroom, featuring a wacky quotient much more appropriate for weekend fare. The live show has received some spotty reviews in its earlier iterations, but the dudes have had enough time to work out the kinks by now, so don't you even worry. Along for the ride is Kuroma, a new quietly quirky project from ex-Whigs front man turned MGMT supporting cast member Hank Sullivant.
And don't pretend like you forgot about Making Time. Tonight's go-around features live action from the UK's Friendly Fires (pic'd). "Updated version of Tom Vek" fits snugly enough for those who need a label going in. Probably not the greatest band in history, and you probably won't care when you're still dancing your ass off anyway.
Saturday night, Bleached Black at Medusa Lounge, solid as ever.
Bowlin' on a Sunday is THE way to prepare for the work week ahead. And when a certain gent by the name of Steven Bloodbath is soundtracking your 7-10 splits, there's really no reason not to head up and give the ol' axerockapple a toss . Do the North Bowl and don't ever look back.
Yes, I Know, They Believe In Aliens And Have Cultish Tendencies
I got a Scientologist's back. I don't have Scientology's back, cause
that shit is crazy, but if you're some herb that's into Scientology,
I'm not hating on you. What I'm saying is, lay off Tom Cruise and
Beck. I always hear people going around hating on Tom Cruise and Beck
because they are Scientologists. Admittedly Tom Cruise deserves some
hate. But not because he's a Scientologist. Hating people for their
religious beliefs is so last World War. And the last World War is,
frankly, played out. We've all seen a lifetime's worth of the holocaust
and "we're the most wondrous gang of ragtag yet brave young men that have
ever walked the earth" soldier flicks. But even beyond the passe
aspects, I'm just sick of this religious persecution, even for
something as wackadoodle and arguably sinister as Scientology. People
act like they're the religion it's okay to hate. Not the Jews.
Who blow people up. Or the Muslims. Who blow people up, sometimes even
just for drawing pictures of their God. Or the Catholics. Their
religious leaders raped communities full of little boys. And they also
blow people up, too, by the way. But that doesn't mean I'm going to
ostracize a Catholic individual because he's Catholic. No sir, I got
too much love in my heart. And that love in my heart stems from my
religion, Keeping It Realogy. I think all of those Scientologist
haters should take heed of the basic tenant of my heavenly religion:
don't hate the player, hate the game.
Coldplay Is Not A Ragtag Eighteenth-Century Militia
One blogger's opinion, but making insipid lifestyle music which mimics both the startling intellectual depth of Radiohead and the anthemic universal grandeur of U2 while failing to fully achieve either does not, in itself, constitute selling out. Allowing your label's stylists to clothe you as though you were extras in the the Cleveland Community Playhouse's latest run of Les Miserables, however, does very much so. And I'm by no means questioning the place of costumes in rock. It's awesome how Clinic always wear surgical masks, or how Man Man regularly don the indian face paints, or how Feist always dresses up as my sexy future baby momma. They're performers, after all. But suspension of disbelief can only go so far, as that restraining order from Feist's lawyers repeatedly reminds me. I mean, who's the genius that expects me to mistake these whining limey herbs for war-grizzled vets? My short list of things that would look more convincing in army garb includes Joey Fatone, my 75-year old grandmother, that dude in Deerhunter, a soft-serve ice cream machine, and several models of chia head. Not to mention, this dress has already been worn out, so to speak, by a band of Coldplay's countrymen: British Sea Power. Their subtle naval twist on the military get-up - as well as their inclination to rock the fuck out - makes for a seriously ballsy rock package. Coldplay may not be castrated yet, but the band of brothers is clearly devoid of seamen.
Comin' atcha first thing every Monday morning, it's The Pony Track, a super-fantastic short distance dedication to BadmintonStamps Collective founding member and internationally renown symbol for musical excellence Aaron "Pony"
Child. No fancy links, no clever write-ups, 'cause these awesome songs
don't need no splainin'. So c'mon, ride the pony!
You Can't Get On His System Cause His System Is The Solar
Earlier this month, Lil Wayne faced the hype machine and dropped the
ridiculously anticipated Carter III into your local Virgin Megastore
or iTunes outlet. It is a triumph, and if it isn't a masterpiece, it's
pretty damn close. Coming on like a combination of Usher, Sly Stone,
Prince, Jay-Z, Weird Al Yankovich, Radiohead and 50 Cent, Weezy is in
full control and as focused as he will ever be. First off, you know
we're in luck when Kayne drops three beats and doesn't utter a single word.
Then there's the album version of #1 hit "Lollipop". I'm stunned in a
Tim Russert death way at how good the album version of "Lollipop" is.
I called the radio version "Pink Floyd pop
music". It was hyperbole. Calling the album version Pink Floyd pop
music is just unnecessary flattery of Roger Waters. There's also a
Diddy imitiation. There's five legit pop hits. There's talk of Mr.
Clean with hair. And Orville Redenbacher. It's a rap album, so it's
not all perfect. "Tie My Hands", the Katrina song, features a strong
Weezy performance but is mauled by the trite singing of Alan Thicke's
son, who claims to work in the corner store and have problems,
problems. Instead of making me contemplate the tragedy of the
hurricane, it instead makes me contemplate physically hurting Alan
Thicke's son. This track, along with the overwrought, oversung, and
over pussy filled "Playing With Fire" are the only missteps. Unless
you classify the 9 minute "song" where Wayne goes off spoken rambling
word style on Al Sharpton as a misstep. I sure don't. But the
imperfections are in part why Carter III is such a success, especially
in the current stale, safe hip hop environment. Weezy goes for it so
hard, in so many different directions, that there's bound to be at
least one song you don't like. For me it's the Thicke song, for you it
might be the "I'm fucking a female police officer" song or the "I'm a
Martian" banger. But it's that ambition in sound, lyrics, and concept
that make great musical art and even better rock stars. Right now, at
this moment, there are very few artistic statements as strong and
satisfying as The Carter III and there is no bigger rock star than Lil
Wayne.
We'll dispense with the long-winded and fantastical excuse for the radio silence, and simply say that after three long years of slaving over a hot keyboard non-stop, the 'Samps boys wanted a blog vacation. There was no point trying to prepare you for our brief absence, since you would've still lost your shit in the end. Better to just rip off the band-aid, throw you in the deep end, and let you find your own way home. But we're back. And boy, did we have fun. SkinnySlim's adventures included no less than shooting a movie in New York City, climbing the Pyramids, and going on lion safari in Africa. Or maybe he just rented The Bucket List through Netflix. I honestly can't remember. For my part, I indulged in a number of pursuits, hobbies, trifles, and inanities from which those enchanting blog muses would otherwise typically divert me. In the coming days, I look forward to sharing the minutia of these events with you, our loyal readers and vicarious livers, as well as getting back to our regularly scheduled keeping of all things real.
Comin' atcha first thing every Monday morning, it's The Pony Track, a super-fantastic short distance dedication to BadmintonStamps Collective founding member and internationally renown symbol for musical excellence Aaron "Pony"
Child. No fancy links, no clever write-ups, 'cause these awesome songs
don't need no splainin'. So c'mon, ride the pony!
You know when you say, "Hey", and people respond, "Hey is for horses"? These people are assholes. They're also factually incorrect. Hey is an interjection used to attract attention or to express surprise, appreciation, wonder, or pleasure. Hay is that crap horses eat. So hey isn't for horses, it's for exclaiming. And furthermore, hey is much more commonly used than hay. So really it makes more sense that when people say, "I'm so hungry I could eat a pile of hay" to respond, "Hey is for attracting attention or expressing surprise, appreciation, wonder, or pleasure." Although that would be a pretty dick thing to do too.
If A Student Graduates In A Forest, Does Anybody Care?
When I graduated High School, I...wait, that's right, I never
graduated high school. That shit is for sellouts. As everybody from
Hillary Clinton to the corner bum (soon to be one in the same) will
tell you, getting an education is lame and means you are not a real
American. Also, apparently, being black means you're not a real American
and don't work hard. Which means that even though I never graduated high
school, I still can't be a real American. Which is fine, because like High
School and working hard, America is for sellouts. Now, if I had
graduated High School, it would have been quite the spectacle. First
of all, I would be the only person getting a diploma. Because no one
can share the stage with SkinnySlim. Well, no one except Philabuster,
and his parents made him sell out and get a high school diploma back
when he was in high school. There would also be a bunch of prestigious
special guests to honor me. I'm talking big time names, like the
governor of my state. No one in history would ever have a graduation
like that. Then I find out this dude from Montana was the only kid to graduate from his high
school, and the governor had nothing better to do than show up and give
a commencement speech? Damn, what a bunch of sellouts.
Comin' atcha first thing every Monday morning, it's The Pony Track, a super-fantastic short distance dedication to BadmintonStamps Collective founding member and internationally renown symbol for musical excellence Aaron "Pony"
Child. No fancy links, no clever write-ups, 'cause these awesome songs
don't need no splainin'. So c'mon, ride the pony!
Here's a quick look at the mp3s spinning on SkinnySlim's record player
this month.
Breeders - Mountain Battles
Mountain Battles sounds like a bruise. It's an effect achieved by the
Breeders unorthodox recording method, which consists of stealing ZZ
Top's instruments, using a subterranean desert cave as a studio, and
covering your speakers with Vaseline.
The Raconteurs - Consolers of the Lonely
How the fuck hell did this band get so good? Oh right, Jack White is
in them. I wasn't a big fan of the first record, but oh my sweetness.
It's beer and sweat juicy modern rock that may not reinvent the wheel,
but it sure as hellfire puts a hot shiny new rim on that wheel.
"Carolina Drama" may be White's finest moment, but you'll have to cop
the record to hear that one. Instead enjoy a typical strong cut below,
plus one that Tenacious D would slay nineteen dragons to have written.
Various Artists - Funky Nassau: The Compass Point Story 1980-1986
This is a superfantasticfunkalicious comp of songs recorded at Chris
Blackwell's Compass Point Studio. Features such ridiculous 80s jams
that even if you don't do cocaine, you'll think this shit is on point.
Lil Wayne - "Lollipop" (Remix)
Pink Floyd pop music. I've never heard the autotune used like us indeed.
Born Ruffians - Red, Yellow And Blue
This is a good new band. Thank you for being a good new band, Born
Ruffians. I hope your future releases will be even better than this
album, your charming and lovely debut.
We'd like to thank everybody who came out to the Barbary last Friday night for totally free music, booze, dancing, pretzels, and assorted other awesomeness. Epic doesn't even begin to start to prepare to describe, as you probably know. If you don't, the pictures tell the tale, and there's plenty of 'em thanks to SL Philly and Dan Murphy. Indeed, the photos illustrate concretely just a few of the reasons why there ain't no party like a Badminton party.
1) Stage Dancing - Hands in the air are all fine and well. But to truly rock the party, you need an environment where people can literally step their game up. Throw your hands in the air up there, my fine fellows. And revel in it. 2) Connexions - We won't know the full damage for another nine months, but there were at least 37 verifiable, brand new, never before thought of hookups that materialized straight out of the ether, and most were between really, really good looking people. 3) Twofers - Some showed up wearing a classic double-fisted look. Others went for the more provocative, fashion-forward stack. When the 'Stamps throws a party, the only thing that's out of style is moderation. 3a) Guts - Events with free booze can easily turn some people's unbound exuberance into a serious party-foul pitfall that complicates the lives of all in attendance. But we made it through a solid five hours without a single dreaded vomity corner or KO'd bathroom. We give some credit to the natural absorbency of soft pretzels and wide availability of public sidewalks, but the rest to our guests' iron wills and steadfast livers. 4) Sunglasses - At night? Nuts. Fuckin'nuts. 5) Balls - Thunderheist leading lady Isis was mad sick when she rolled into town, and she, along with the dudes from Black Ghosts and Time Machine, had been through a truly abysmal 24 hours of travel, but the entire entourage sacked up and performed with the sort of gusto and pizzaz most acts usually reserve for the next night's show in New York. You know exactly what I'm talking about.
Additional gratitude goes out to our pals at Vice and Colt 45 for helping pull the whole shebang together. For the rest of you, get some sleep, take your vitamins, and don't forget to stretch, 'cause we'll be doing it all over again on Friday, June 6th, with another spectacular (and Philly-centric!) line-up.
The dashing young lad with the very not-mop top at right is renowned condom arsonist and legendary "Fifth Beatle" Pete Best. He's playing the M Room this evening, which in a depressingly succinct way answers the question of "What ever happenned to that guy?" better than any tawdry, long-winded VH1 bio ever could. So is the recipient of rock's most infamous pink slip still bitter? Four decades later, he says no. Through gritted teeth, we imagine, but a long over-due pay day of several million dollars must take at least some of the edge off. To prove there are no hard feelings, he'll be performing a 90-minute set of his former employers' biggest hits. What's more, there's an opening set from 'Stamps faves The Major Leagues, kickstarters of the Templemania currently sweeping through your favorite rock club. Twist and shout your little keester off, but for goodness sake, please don't push your filthy Preludin here. Pete Best is fueled by Sparks.
I believe it was Churchill who said that when it comes to war, you
gotta have good weapons, better soldiers, and the best propaganda.
Either it was Churchill or I just made it up. But no matter, it's true
nonetheless. There is no better example of Churchill's point than the
famed Fried Egg Civil War of 1993. The fierce conflict pitted Over
Easy against its ideological nemesis, Over Hard. Propaganda was in
full effect. Over Easy fired the first salvo, releasing their wildly
popular slogan, "Life's Hard: Take It Easy." Over Hard hit back the
only way they could. Hard. They countered with the slogan, "Over Hard.
These Eggs Don't Run." Not to be outdone, Over Easy shot back with,
"Life's Hard: Why you want your eggs to be hard too? It's seems
excessive, to be frank." Needless to say, this slogan bombed harder
than the egg bombs Over Hard was pummeling the Over Easy home base
with. The combination of their stunning loss in the propaganda battle
and the constant barrage of hard eggs being thrown at them by other
hard eggs seemed damning. But Over Easy insisted it would not be over
that easy. They released one of the most stunning advertisements in
wartime history. Some called it slander. Others cited the old
Churchill idiom, "All is fair in love and war." The ad stated, "Over
Hard...Not as hard as you think they are." While still wordy, it was
the image that shook up the world. The ads showed a photograph of a
limp Over Hard fried egg gorging itself on Viagra and Cialis. Hard
insisted the photo was doctored. Easy claimed the only thing that was
doctored was Hard's hardness. Over Medium, which had sat out the war as a consciousness objector,
knew it was the only hope for bringing peace to the fried egg world. In a
passionate speech before the United Egg Council, Over Medium pleaded
with the two rivals to come together, lest they all be done in by the
new alliance of Scrambled and Poached that was threatening the entire
U.E.C. community. Thankfully both Over Easy and Over Hard listened to
reason and settled their differences, although the scars of their
infamous propaganda campaign will never truly heal.
Comin' atcha first thing every Monday morning, it's The Pony Track, a super-fantastic short distance dedication to BadmintonStamps Collective founding member and internationally renown symbol for musical excellence Aaron "Pony"
Child. No fancy links, no clever write-ups, 'cause these awesome songs
don't need no splainin'. So c'mon, ride the pony!
We've all been there. You're in the audience of indie rock concert X, standing on the fringe of that shifting no-man's land where the passive observers meet the movers, shakers, and jump-up-and-downers. You suck it up and deal with the occasional jostle, which you realize is fair trade-off for being so close to the stage. Then the moshing starts. You're too busy protecting your face to enjoy the show, and your arms are tired from shoving sweaty dudes back into other sweaty dudes. But how do you stop the moshy menace? I'll tell you how. Push a girl over. Now please understand that, on the whole, Philabuster is a man who treats a lady in strictly chivalrous fashion. I open her car door, point out broken glass on the sidewalk, and always share my largess, if you know what I mean. But the moshing situation demands that chivalry go right out window. Nobody will care if the shirtless goon in the middle of the throng falls and splits his skull open. To the contrary, all that does is feed the frenzy. But if the short redhead gal on the fringe of the pack - the one that's huddling with her two friends just trying to stay out of the way - trips and scrapes her elbow, everything comes to a dead stop. Previously silent bystanders begin to actively chastise the offender. Adjacent moshers reign it in. Often, even the band will take an interest, inquiring suggestively between songs whether everybody's ok down there. So, next time you're standing there, and an innocent girl gets thrust backwards toward you by the lurching crowd, resist your more gentlemanly impulses and let her drop like a sack of flour, safe in the knowledge that a greater good is being served. You'll both be enjoying the memories of a subsequently mosh-free concert long after her bruises have faded away.
BadmintonStamps Presents: Black Ghosts, Thunderheist, Dave P & Time Machine
Ever since we Pony Tracked "Some Way Through This" last year, we've been trying to get Black Ghosts to throw down proper in Phildadelphia. On Friday, May 9th, the trying will stop, and the freaking the fuck out will begin. BadmintonStamps is proud to announce the first of four totally free parties that is going to make your summer hotter, cheaper, and maltier than ever before. It's going down at The Barbary just two Fridays from now, and will feature the first-ever Philly performance by London's Black Ghosts, as well as a live set from Montreal's 8-bit ghetto blasters Thunderheist and disc jockery from Dave P and Time Machine. Besides the free show, you also get free Colt 45 from 9-11PM, and free soft pretzels all night long. The word crazygonuts was invented for situations like this, people. All you need to do is RSVP online, then show up at 9PM and do what comes naturally. It goes without saying that space will be limited, so the best advice we can give you right now is to RSVP at the site thusly linked (type "BadmintonStamps" in the box labeled "affiliation"). Once the party's full, it's full, so don't delay. To recap, that's...
Free music,
Free booze,
Free pretzels,
On a Friday night.
We'd say it's extraordinary, but honestly, this is just how we roll. See ya there, Philly.
It's been forty years since the social revolutions of 1968.
Anniversaries and commemorations are in full effect, celebrating the
free sex, free drugs, and free police beatings. One thing that wasn't
free in 1968 was the protest paraphanalia. Whether it be a black
wristband, a tie dyed American flag, or guns that shoot flowers, 1968
was the heyday of the protest industry. But today ain't like the good ol'
days when there were riots in the streets every day. Protest is a
perfect profit opportunity, but the industry went into decline in the
70s and hit a full-fledged recession ever since do-it-yourself
effigies came into fashion in 1980s Iran. Mom and pop protest shops
have been on death's door with no reprieve on the horizon. Enter that
ingenious little manufacturing machine known as China (editor's note:
badmintonstamps is banned in
China). The Chinese know that when you don't have a market, you create
one. So they decided they needed to drum up some protest. Now,
protesting is illegal in China, so they had to drum up protest outside
of the country. And what better way to create an international protest
phenomenon than by killing Tibetan monks. It's a simple plan. Murder
monks, let international protesters get riled up, make "free
Tibet" flags in your factories, watch the money pile up. That's right,
kiddos, the Chinese Government made your "Free Tibet" flag. Looks like
the joke's on you, hippie. That should teach you to stop caring about
dead monks, and teach all of us an important economic lesson.
Ticket Giveaway: Tokyo Police Club @ First Unitarian
We'd be excited enough just to have "Fuckin' Nuts" alums and generally rad dudes Tokyo Police Club back in town performing tonight at the church basement. But the pot has been massively sweetened by the fact they're touring in support of their debut LP Elephant Shell, easily one of the year's best albums so far, and a fixture in the Badminton HQ stereo for nearly a month on now. Like audio tapas, the record's eleven bite-sized morsels of rock are gone before you know it, but sport hooks big and bold enough to leave you more than satisfied. So, in the spirit of the album's brevity, we've got a pair of tickets to give away lightning round-style, to the very first person who e-mails contest@badmintonstamps.com with their name and the subject heading "IN DA CLUB". Bingo! Bango!
Comin' atcha first thing every Monday morning, it's The Pony Track, a super-fantastic short distance dedication to BadmintonStamps Collective founding member and internationally renown symbol for musical excellence Aaron "Pony"
Child. No fancy links, no clever write-ups, 'cause these awesome songs
don't need no splainin'. So c'mon, ride the pony!
The Girlfriend Track is song that SkinnySlim deems sexy for a lady to
feel. We're talking about songs where, if my girl said "Yo, turn this
up", I would be turned on.
I never mess with another man's woman, except of course if he's a Red
Sox fan. But that doesn't mean I can't fantasize. This moral law (the
not messing with another man's woman) is a Sam Malone creed. Sam
believes you can do whatever you want, to whomever and with whoever you
want, as long as it's consensual and it's not with another man's woman.
Ironically, on Cheers, Sam Malone was an ex-Red Sox, which means I
would mess with his women. Plus they were stupidly hot. Oh, did I
mention I'll mess with another man's woman if she's stupidly hot? But
that's fair. Trust me from experience that, if you date a stupidly hot woman,
you have to know that every man will try to make a move on her, even
if they're related to her. This is the cross to bear when you're with a stupidly hot woman, and stupidly hot women will judge you by how cool
and nonchalant you react to this onslaught of sleazy pass making. But
back to the taken women. There is something so delectably nasty sexy
about a woman in a committed relationship, wheeling around her baby
stroller or carrying groceries home for that evening's supper, who
gives me that longing, even pleading, smile as she passes by on the
street. I would never, but I want to always. Big Joe Turner feels what
I'm saying, and let's be honest, all those ladies with rings 'round
their fingers feel what Big Joe Turner and I are bringing.
Comin' atcha first thing every Monday morning, it's The Pony Track, a super-fantastic short distance dedication to BadmintonStamps Collective founding member and internationally renown symbol for musical excellence Aaron "Pony"
Child. No fancy links, no clever write-ups, 'cause these awesome songs
don't need no splainin'. So c'mon, ride the pony!
As our regular readers know, SkinnySlim is only in it for the money.
And nowadays, there's one word that's synonymous with money: prequels.
"Prequels," you ask, "what are those?" Yeah, I didn't know either.
Apparently a prequel is when there's a successful movie or book and
then someone writes a new, lamer story about what happened before the
movie or book began. "Oh, like a sequel!" Well, sort of. Except my
understanding is that a sequel tells the lamer story of what happens
after the movie or book ended, not what happened before it began.
Thusly, the story that happens after the movie or book begins or
before it ends is simply called the quel. But the beauty of prequels
is that you can just take an existing success and exploit it for your
own pocketbook/agenda. Some guy named George Lucas did this to those
kickass Star Wars movies, and he ended up making millions even though
he clearly had none of the talent of the guys who created the
originals. Now the truth is, the same thing applies with a sequel. See the
Beverly Hills Cop/Lethal Weapon films for evidence. But here's the
rub. They already made a sequel to the most successful story of all
time. It's called the New Testament. But they ain't ever made a
prequel. That's where SkinnySlim comes in. That's right, I'm
prequelling the Bible. What was this God character up to before the
whole Earth thing? Crazy shit, that's what. Dude was on a whole
different tip. Lots of dragons, lots of flying giraffes, lots of
erkimats. What are erkimats? Crazy shit, that's what. Crazy prequel
shit, in fact. See, with a prequel you can make up whatever nonsense
you want, as long as it ends at the beginning of the hit story you're
capitalizing on. I bet you didn't know God was into macrame before
Earth. He made a whole planet out macrame. He even made an erkimat out
of macrame. But in the end everything went dark. Very dark. And God
was confused and lost, mostly because it was so dark that he couldn't
find his way around. And then God created the heaven and the earth.
And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the
face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the
waters. And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. The end
Ignore the description on the Khyber calendar, 'cause all deacdes are fair game this evening. Awesome prizes abound for winners and losers, though the prizes for the winners are a little awesomer. And really, when you get to spend Monday night flashing your music trivia muscle like a peacock in heat, aren't we all winners?
Comin' atcha first thing every Monday morning, it's The Pony Track, a super-fantastic short distance dedication to BadmintonStamps Collective founding member and internationally renown symbol for musical excellence Aaron "Pony"
Child. No fancy links, no clever write-ups, 'cause these awesome songs
don't need no splainin'. So c'mon, ride the pony!
We can all agree that, for the most part, Sunday nights kinda suck. No good parties, not that you'd want to go anyway, what with the next day being Monday and all. You're tired, you're broke, and you've already seen this week's [insert HBO series here]. Sometimes it's even raining. The situation is, if we may be so bold, poopy. But April of 2008 is gonna change all that. Every Sunday night this month, our pals Greyhounds will be performing in residency at The Khyber, along with a rotating cast of other local faves, bringing that Philly rock good like a Philly band should. What's more, each one of the shows is TOTALLY FREE, so you can break the bank elsewhere, safe in the knowledge that a little rock and roll lovin' at weekend's close won't cost you a dime. We're talkin' E-Street energy, Jam moxie, Libertine recklessness - all, as they say, gratis. Expect fun times, cheap drinks, special surprises, and the thrill of living the Sunday night life you always thought was just beyond your grasp.
This week's residency kick-off features an undercard with The Neighborhood Choir and Major Leagues, two acts that the 'Stamps is so jazzed about, we're actually helping them release a split vinyl 7" later this year. Birth of a label, you ask? We like to think of it more as a progressive social movement, but we'll go with whatever fits. The Neighborhood Choir craft roomy shamble-rock that's as understated as it is catchy. The Major Leagues? They had us at "Montel Jordan". It's a stone-cold fox of a line-up, and there's no point in putting off your complete infatuation with all three of these bands any longer. Which is all a very roundabout way of saying: we'll see ya Sunday night.
Your Friday night is mercifully straightforward. Handsome Furs finally make up for last fall's Khyber cancellation with a show at North Star. For those not knowing, basically, the rock star half of Wolf Parade has ditched the loud whiny dude half in favor of a sexy lady who knows how to keep her mouth shut and drop beats half. Wholly awesome.
SATURDAY IS CRAZYGONUTS!!!
More specifically, for example, you've got Les Savy Fav's (pic'd) first Philly show since 2003 at the TLA. It's virtually impossible to describe what their shows are like, but just to make sure everybody knows what they're in for, think part Making Time, part Burning Man, and part Eyes Wide Shut. Seriously, I still have a mask from the last time I saw them. A mask!
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Earlier on Saturday, put on your "College" t-shirt and head over to the Human BBQ at Pi-Lam. No better way to kick off the day than a Brown Recluse Sings brunch, plus a smattering of other bands foreign and domestic.
Ok, back to nite time. If I didn't have tix for the Fav, I'd definitely fer sure be at Johnny Brenda's catching the French Kicks. Or at North Star for the long overdue return of sentimental 'Stamps faves Ambulance Ltd. Or puttin' the dance back in my pants at the April installment of Hurrah down at Medusa Lounge. Totally.
Oh shit, and Ladyfingers is back in town, too! The badass of bluegrass is bringing his punkabilly revival to the Old Swedes Church, of all places. And what's this? An after party at For Pete's Sake? With FREE BEER??? Yup, Philadephia Brewing Company is steppin' up their game and lubricating everyone who has the good sense to buy a ticket. People, this is officially not optional.
Sunday night super awesome rock info forthcoming...
I know what you're thinking. You checked Badminton last night before bed, but the site remained frustratingly stagnant since last Wednesday. When you return today, presto! Several more days' worth of posts have appeared, as if by magic. Actually, it's just another case of Google dishing out some good old everyday inspiration. Yesterday, they introduced Custom Time, a new Gmail feature that allows users to backdate e-mails they send to others, retroactively meeting deadlines and remembering birthdays that have long since passed. It didn't take long to conclude that we, too, could utilize this sort of temporal chicanery, and effectively cover up a week's worth of laziness with a few well-placed HTML brackets. And just like that, you've got plenty of hot fresh 'Stampsness for the perusing that you had somehow failed to notice until just now. Seriously, how'd you miss all that? Of course, the news that Custom Time Gmail was but a clever April Fools hoax came as something of a disappointment, and we briefly thought about taking the backdated posts down. But, when we stepped back just a bit, a larger picture emerged. We realized that we had accomplished the sort of fraud in earnest that even a company as powerful as Google could only offer in jest, and decided to leave the content untouched, testimony to our newfound mastery of time and e-space.
There's this website that's become very popular. It features
observations on what white people like. I believe that is in fact what
it's called. Little did I know that the guy who writes it is white.
Which is bullshit. It takes no balls to make observations about your
own race. However, it takes three balls to make observations about
another race. Which is what I've got. Three balls. So what do black
people like? Entry number one: Tyler Perry. Entry number two: Red
Lobster. Look, I got a million of these. This is my fucking hobby.
They trick out their railings. "What?" Yes, they trick out their
railings. Here's a photo my boy
took in Bed Stuy. That's right, I have a staff working on this. They
also like bad rock music. I've read countless interviews with
rappers where they're all like, "I bet you didn't know I like rock
music." Then they play either Linkin Park, Panic At The Disco, or John
Mayer. Black people, especially black rappers, are really into John
Mayer. How about R. Kelly? There are millions of people who love R.
Kelly. Me and the dude at the end of the Ignition Remix video are the
only white guys who love R. Kelly. There's also Pepsi, Barack Obama,
Nextels. You know, those "adult" walkie talkies. If I'm sitting next
to you on the bus, I'd much rather hear both ends of the conversation than just your side. It's considerate. In the end, like my
balls, the points here are three. One is that white dudes should give
it up already. Two is I spend way too much time thinking about black
people. And three, even with the Red Lobster and John Mayer, these
black people are on point and should be pretty damn proud.
Comin' atcha first thing every Monday morning, it's The Pony Track, a super-fantastic short distance dedication to BadmintonStamps Collective founding member and internationally renown symbol for musical excellence Aaron "Pony"
Child. No fancy links, no clever write-ups, 'cause these awesome songs
don't need no splainin'. So c'mon, ride the pony!
Say goodbye to The Tweeter Center, and hello to "The Sus". In these uncertain economic times, it's really comforting to see our nation's banks making such savvy investments.
Meanwhile, has anybody else noticed how Brooklyn Vegan has been sporting a mild obsessionhuge rubbery blog-on for Doylsetown, PA folksman Peasant over the last few weeks? Also, has anybody else tried to copywrite "huge rubbery blog-on"? No? Really?
Indiana label Secretly Canadian has struck a deal with Philly's War On Drugs. Their presence on the roster next to bands like Bodies Of Water and The Impossible Shapes should ensure the label's dominance in the "incredibly mediochre" niche market for at least the remainder of the decade.
Is "grof" Wilmingtonian for "jawn"? The answer may or may not lie buried under layers of silly string, diet cola, toilet paper, confetti, and deli mustard. The Spinto Band whet apetites for their forthcoming EP, Moonwink, with this slow-n-messy-motion music video for brand new song "Summer Grof".
At six o'clock this the morning EST, The World Champion Boston Red Sox began the defense of their title in World Champion form, winning an extra innings, come from behind twice, MLB season-opening affair in front of a sold-out Tokyo Dome crowd of 55,000 in Japan. Baseball's back, Manny's limber, and all's right with the world.
You may now go on about your regularly scheduled Tuesday.
Regular reader and Chronikill co-rapper Zerox One is
always complaining to me about how, unlike rappers, rockers don't ever
identify themselves in their songs. He's like, "I really need these
bands to be like, 'It's Stone Temple Pilots' somewhere in the song so
I know it's not Pearl Jam or whatever." Thankfully there are some rock
bands that have heeded your words. Well, they've mostly heeded your
words before you uttered them, but the point is that words were heeded
and band names dropped. Here's a select list of tunes where the
artists had the thoughtfulness to tell you who the hell they are.
Comin' atcha first thing every Monday morning, it's The Pony Track, a super-fantastic short distance dedication to BadmintonStamps Collective founding member and internationally renown symbol for musical excellence Aaron "Pony"
Child. No fancy links, no clever write-ups, 'cause these awesome songs
don't need no splainin'. So c'mon, ride the pony!
The New York State Executive Mansion has been home to state's Governors since 1875, and the revolving door of residents have always updated the mansion to suit their particular needs. Teddy Roosevelt added a gym because he was an exercise nut. Franklin Roosevelt added a pool because his gimpy polio body couldn't handle Teddy's old school workout machinery. Alfred E. Smith (pic'd), meanwhile, oversaw the construction of a zoo, alledgedly on account of his strong beastiality fetish. Now, David Paterson has joined this distinguished list. As the state's first blind governor, Paterson has overseen the outfitting of the house with a new, state-of-the-art Voice Identification System on all of the mansion's furnishings. As the contractor's compelling sales video clearly demonstrates, this handy upgrade will make sure that the new Governor doesn't accidentaly walk into a pull-up bar, fall into the pool, or fuck a peacock.
The Girlfriend Track is song that SkinnySlim deems sexy for a lady to
feel. We're talking about songs where, if my girl said "Yo, turn this
up", I would be turned on.
If you want to get down with SkinnySlim, there are certain tests you
must pass. These tests can be physical. I require someone skinny and
slim who is also strong enough to be my woman. These tests can be
intellectual. I require someone who is smart enough to know at least
the basics of history, science, and maths. These tests can be
demeaning. I will tightly cover your naked body in saran wrap and,
using a sharpie, circle any excess fat. Not that I mind excess fat,
it's just important for me to have a woman who will let me do
something that awful to them. Look, I'm a sick bastard. And I'm worth
it. But of all of my tests, my favorite has got to be the one of the
cinematic variety. See, there are five films that my girlfriend must
appreciate. If she doesn't like them, it's a complete deal breaker.
The films are: Tootsie, Lola, Trouble In Paradise, Days of Heaven, and
Spinal Tap. Of all of these glorious movies, the one that is the most
important for my lady to appreciate is the Tap. If you can't enjoy
Spinal Tap, then no matter how amazing you look or how smart you may
be, you ain't tapping this ass. Because the girl who can't appreciate
a song about big bottoms is the girl who's never going to get the
chance to appreciate me pointing out her big bottom while it's covered
in sharpie-marked saran wrap.
Comin' atcha first thing every Monday morning, it's The Pony Track, a super-fantastic short distance dedication to BadmintonStamps Collective founding member and internationally renown symbol for musical excellence Aaron "Pony"
Child. No fancy links, no clever write-ups, 'cause these awesome songs
don't need no splainin'. So c'mon, ride the pony!
Due to the chaos and clusterfuckishness of the Democratic primary
race, Michigan and Florida have been all over the news the last several weeks. Of course, this is not the first time
the two States have been linked. The following BadmintonStamps post,
which originally appeared in June of 2006, chronicles the contentious
relationship between these two peninsulas:
Whoever said, "Sticks and stones can break my bones but words won't
hurt me", never read about the Great Michigan/Florida War of 1835. The
brouhaha began when Governor
Stevens T. Mason changed Michigan's state motto to "If You Seek a Pleasant Peninsula, Look Around." This prompted
Florida, brimming with peninsula pride, to change their motto from
"The Fountain of Youth" to "Fuck Michigan". The State Legislature of
Michigan then proposed the new motto, "Michigan: An Erect Penis, As
Opposed to the Flaccid Penis Florida Has On." The resolution was
narrowly defeated after the Michigan Grammar Police convinced voters
that State mottoes cannot end in a preposition. But the dye was cast
and War was declared. The States' armies met in the neutral ground of
Tennessee. Not pleased at hosting the battle, Tennessee changed their
motto to "Peninsulas Are For Gays". This led the (then) nation-state
of Fire Island to declare war on Tennessee, deploying an army of flamboyantly clad soldiers to the South. Instead of fighting, these warriors
sauntered around the State, snapping their fingers dramatically while
whispering, "Fire", as if they were in a Bob Fosse musical (which, in
fact, many were). The surprising tactic caught all parties off guard,
a truce was declared, and peace between the North and South has
remained ever since.
Shocking. That's the only way to describe the contents of today's New York Times article introducing the world to MySpace whore/actual whore Ashley Alexandra Dupre. The big news, of course, has nothing to do with the biographical minutiae of Ashley's childhood or journey into hookerdom. What has the world - and especially the music world - abuzz is the Times' surprising and controversial stance on "boo", a slang term the article's authors boldly label "dated". The claim that "boo" is so five minutes ago riled the feathers of many current Top 40 artists who still regularly employ the term, especially Chris Brown, who goes so far as to rhyme it with itself prominently in the opening bars of his most recent hit. "It's the 'orange' of the 21st century," said an exasperated Brown. "Seriously, how else am I supposed to finish that couplet?" Pop star objections not withstanding, the gravity of the article's indictment is ultimately a damning burden, and plans are already in the works to officially retire the term alongside reliable but out-moded stalwarts "bling" and "jiggy".
I got a tattoo. Years in the contemplating, I finally went out and did
it. And as you all know, when SkinnySlim does something, he doesn't
fuck around. He goes full throttle. That's why I got an inner lip
tattoo. Actually, I got two inner lip tattoos. One has an arrow
pointing towards my throat, with the word "Food" below it. The other
has an arrow pointing away from my mouth with the word "Brilliance"
below it. Cause, you see, food goes in and brilliance comes out.
Problem is, the tattoo artist didn't share my skills with the
brilliance, and he reversed the order. So now I have "Brilliance"
pointing towards my mouth and "Food" pointing away from it. Which would mean
food would go out and brilliance would come in. Since I don't want to
spend the rest of my days eating my words and vomiting, I am in a bit
of a jam. At first I tried biting my lip like this dude,
but I've since resigned myself to the fact that I'm going to have to save up
for laser lip tatt removal. Until then, I think I've found another
temporary solution. All I can say, is thank god for these.
The Pony Track's Got A Big Chain Round It's Neck Like Off The Amistad
Comin' atcha first thing every Monday morning, it's The Pony Track, a super-fantastic short distance dedication to BadmintonStamps Collective founding member and internationally renown symbol for musical excellence Aaron "Pony"
Child. No fancy links, no clever write-ups, 'cause these awesome songs
don't need no splainin'. So c'mon, ride the pony!
How many gimmicks can the local music media coax out March Madness? As the owl in the Tootsie Pop commercial would say, "let's find out!" Up first, the Philly Rock Shootout, a battle-less battle of the bands sponsored by City Paper and Y-Rock. Question is, who was asleep at the switch for CityPaper during their "draft"? If you take a look at Y-Rock's half the bracket, it's pretty obvious they're winning it by a landslide . That said, 'Stamps would love a YMD cinderella story.
In other Y-Rockness, the station is inviting Penn students to be DJs for a day. Post your Shins marathon jokes in the comments.
The birth of beef? Philadanco complains about the crowd its cross-street neighbor, music venue Philafunk, is drawing to the 'hood. L&I; shows up at 11:55 last Friday night and orders the venue to cease operations, citing a litany of minor code violations such as insufficiently flame-retardant curtains and insufficiently slidey bathroom door locks. Not cited: insufficiently entertaining line-ups. So, yeah, this news doesn't really affect any of your plans.
TALK AB... Talk about a rare occurence! When the RVNG dudes are actually moved to the point of typing in lowercase, you know they're speaking from somewhere deep down in here. This time, they're waxing poetic-sentimental about a trippy white dude named Bobby Brown. We appreciate the sincerity. At BadmintonStamps, we get the same way whenever we start talking about a trippy black dude named Bobby Brown.
I do many things very well, and I do other things not at all. Example
of the former: dancing. Example of the latter: driving. Then there are
those things I do, but not particularly well. An example here would be
wrapping presents. A final category in the Things SkinnySlim
Does/Doesn't Do list would be things I do well, but not particularly
sexy. An example here would be cooking. I'm not a sexy cook. Sexy with
the lovemaking, sexy with the music selections, not sexy with the
food. Oh, I'll cook for you. I'll make you a little pasta with pesto
or a nice pork chop with rosemary. It's going to be clean, cooked
thoroughly, not poisonous, and, well, fine. But I don't give food
life. I don't infuse it with any, as they say in France, "jennooze say
kwa." Which is fine. Because you can't be sexy at everything. George
Clooney? He's not sexy at everything. Probably most things, but not
everything. And those damncrazy hot ladies he rolls with want him even more because of this. See,
those one or two non-sexy attributes give him, and me, a little bit of
something I like to call "adorability". Sexy all the time is
intimidating, inhuman. But a combination of sexy and adorable, well,
it's damn near unstoppable.
Philly's master of recordsShawn Ryan has teamed up with Philly's master of party flyersPeter Dragontail to form Philly's newest master of remixes, a project they're calling Superprince. No website or myspace presence yet. Just one extended afro-pop edit and a logo that we're pretty sure is just unambiguous enough to land them on The Purple One's to-sue list.
Last week, I put forth a well thought out and fundamentally sound argument for why
Jewish people should dress like Hitler with a day-glo moustache. The
piece ended with the sentance "So see you tomorrow Hitlers, and
remember, the salute is still offensive." Well, it seems that somewhere
along the path of me writing this sentiment on my Brother P-Touch and
it being sent through the interlocking messenger tubes known as the
Internet, the meaning got lost in translation. Because tomorrow (read: "the following
day") you (read: "The Jews") were not dressed as
Hitler (read: "Hitler"). Which was a bit of a fucking problem, Jews.
Cause I was dressed like Hitler, day-glo moustache and all. Which led
to a bit of an embarrasing situation, being that I was the only person
walking around New York dressed like Hitler in a day-glo moustache.
Look Jews, you guys are all lawyers. Do you see a disclaimer on this
site saying, "For entertainment purposes only"? No, you don't. The only
claim this site makes is that we are "The Blog That Makes You Cool."
Which is true. But only if you do what we say. And trust me, dressing
like Hitler with a day-glo moustache is cool. Or it can be, if more
than one of us does it. So shape up heebs; this is your, or should I
say our, last chance. Tomorrow. Hitler. Day-glo. Be there.
Comin' atcha first thing every Monday morning, it's The Pony Track, a super-fantastic short distance dedication to BadmintonStamps Collective founding member and internationally renown symbol for musical excellence Aaron "Pony"
Child. No fancy links, no clever write-ups, 'cause these awesome songs
don't need no splainin'. So c'mon, ride the pony!
So I had big plans for this Friday night. I was gonna get crunk like how I'm prone to do on Friday nights, head over to The Barbary, and catch a live set from The Yah Mos Def as they celebrate the release of their debut full-length album, which was released earlier this month. The album in question is pretty fucking awesome, truth be told. If you liked that Shocking Pinks record, but wished it were full of white-hot hip hop instead of repetitious indie whining, then welcome to paradise, stranger. Trouble is, I ain't in Philly. Nowhere close. So you can imagine the dilema. But I figure, there's no reason why the two guest list spots that would've been taken up by me and whoever I thought was cool/promiscuous enough to bring with me should go to waste. So shoot an e-mail with your proper name and the subject "FROM EAST FALLS TO THESE BALLS" to contest@badmintonstamps.com. One lucky winner gets themselves and a +1 through the door free of charge, as well as your very own copy of Excuse Me, This Is The Yah Mos Def to have, hold, and taunt others with. Do it like whoa.
It's truly amazing how young African Americans were able to co-opt the
N word, the most vile term used against them, and turn it into a term
of affection that only they can use. Talk about turning lemons into
lemonade and flipping the switch pretty damn hard. "Hey racist white
bastards, remember how you used to call us nigger? Well now you can't.
Only we can. And we'll do it when we're hanging out and having fun." I
really do believe it is one of the greatest things ever. That's why
half-jew SkinnySlim (hey, half-blacks can say the n word) is going to
do for looking like Hitler what blacks did for saying the N word. From
this day forth, only Jews can dress like Hitler. And Jews, you really
should dress like Hitler. I mean, screw that dude for real. Talk about
this guy's nightmare. I'm like, "Hey Hitler in 1939, not only will you
lose this war and commit suicide like a little bitch, but in the
future the very much alive Jewish race run around, cocky as hell, and
dress up like you. But no one else can do it. Germans, they can't
dress up like you. Only Jews." But Jews have to put a twist on the
Hitler look just like Blacks transformed nigger to nigga. That's why
the moustache is always gotta be a bright day-glo color. Why? Cause we
can, and no one can do anything about it. So see you tomorrow Hitlers,
and remember, the salute is still offensive.
The Pony Track Is Comin' At Your First Thing Tuesday Morning
Comin' atcha first thing every Monday morning, it's The Pony Track, a super-fantastic short distance dedication to BadmintonStamps Collective founding member and internationally renown symbol for musical excellence Aaron "Pony"
Child. No fancy links, no clever write-ups, 'cause these awesome songs
don't need no splainin'. So c'mon, ride the pony!
Rihanna sings "Umbrella" backed by Klaxons inside a huge laser pyramid. And I ask you, what's not to like?
The New Republic's got a blog, and our own SkinnySlim dropped some serious polititical science on it this past Monday. Check out his inspired juxtaposition of presidential hopefuls Clinton and Obama to rappers Cam'ron and Jay-Z. It's way more insightful than all these PC/Mac comparisons, and even trumps my own Swiffer/Swiffer Wet analogy.
Live Nation announces the return of Spoon to Philadelphia, demonstrates their poor understanding of the word "intimate".
Tonight, GANG go for gold in the Philly Sound Clash finals. They're up against five other acts, although as recipients of our official endorsement last month, they must be considered the prohibitive favorites. Head over to World Cafe Live for the free coronation.
Also tonight, Adam Arcuragi, who has the distinction of being pretty much the only "singer/songwriter dude" we ever talk about here on the 'Stamps, has a quaint little EP release party at the Ethical Society on Rittenhouse Square. $10 gets you entry AND a copy of Helmikuu, a 12" slab of vinyl whose connection to all this is, at present, still not entirely clear.
I was thinking about that guy from Blind Melon who died a whiles back.
I believe his name was Shannon Hoon. This guy was doomed from the
start. Why? Because of his name. Hoon. It rhymes too perfectly with
"soon". As in, "Shannon Hoon, gone too soon." Kid just didn't have a
chance. Of course the same "name fate" met Who drummer and Gone Too
Soon Club charter member Keith Moon. Sure, you say it was the drugs
that got 'em. But how do you explain the long lives of drug addict
rock stars "Built to Last" Slash and "Never Gonna Stop" Iggy Pop? You
don't, that's how. And if you think it's only the -oon names that'll
get you, think again. The Died Far Too Young is another club no one
wants to be a part of. Which does not bode well American Idol goofball
doofus William Hung. I'm
going to pray for you Willie-boy, so hang in there and make sure to
unplug the hair dryer before you start badly singing in the shower.
Comin' atcha first thing every Monday morning, it's The Pony Track, a super-fantastic short distance dedication to BadmintonStamps Collective founding member and internationally renown symbol for musical excellence Aaron "Pony"
Child. No fancy links, no clever write-ups, 'cause these awesome songs
don't need no splainin'. So c'mon, ride the pony!
For a lot of bands, remixes are kind of like value meals. Yeah, sometimes you just want the burger, but it's always nice to know you can add a shake if you feel like it. Take the latest single from London's The Crimea. It's a rambling, day-dreamy piece of pop ideal for lounging on the beach or working over a really good piece of chewing gum. Nothin' wrong with that. But what if, like me, you're talented enough (and crazy enough) to dance and chew gum at the same time? Your beat needs have suddenly changed, and there are lot of bands out there that simply won't accomadate you. Those of you who've tried to breakdance to Jose Gonzalez know what I'm talking about. But The Crimea are nothing if not courteous, and if you want a tune that's boogie-minded, they're gonna give you more options than a choose-your-own adventure book. The Beatcave Remix of "Loop A Loop", a BadmintonStamps exclusive, is just one of ten different versions the band has made available through blogs they've personally selected. We're thrilled to be participating in the roll-out, and encourage everyone to supersize their computer's Crimea folder for just a few clicks more.
It's difficult for SkinnySlim to treat those around me with respect,
because I am so much better than everyone else. This is especially
true with anyone who works in the service industry. Take, for example,
bathroom attendants. If I'm going to give a guy a buck to watch me
piss, I'm going to make him work for it. Last night, as I dined on
mutton and more mutton, I had to relieve myself. I went into the
bathroom, did my deed, and then insisted the bathroom attendant shake
off any excess urine from my penis. What the hell else is he there
for, to pump out cheap moisturizer cream? The one exception in the
service industry is bartenders. You gotta show these guys and girls
some love. That's why I always try to keep the bartender in mind when
I pick songs on the jukebox. I know they hear the same goddamn seven
songs over and over again, and they are probably in no mood to listen
to "Sweet Home Alabama" or "You Shook Me All Night Long" again. So I
make sure to go for the album tracks, the non-cliched tunes
(like the two great ones below). Because while I normally don't mind
pissing off, or on, those who serve me, bartenders are too risky to mess with. Sure, waiters can spit in my food and cab drivers can
take me the long way, but bartenders can mix me a weak drink. In the
face of such a horror, I must bite my lip and try to give 'em what they
want.