Well that's embarrassing

This is a good reason why musicians should write their own music and not leave it to the producer (in this case, OneRepublic's Ryan Tedder).

EXHIBIT A:



EXHIBIT B:




I rest my case.

RX Bandits- "Mandala"

NOTE: I made it my goal to have reviews out before an album was/is released, however, I've decided to make an exception for this band. Cheers to breaking the rules...

For ska bands trying to make it in the 1990s, Southern California was a good place to be. The third wave ska revival found a niche in Orange County, where bands like Sublime, No Doubt, Save Ferris, The Aquabats, Reel Big Fish and the Mighty Mighty Bosstones made it big seemingly overnight. Now here's my question: ever heard of the RX Bandits? There are a sad few who actually have. Though they formed in the OC in 1995 after humble beginnings in Seal Beach, RXB never quite hit the bigtime like the aforementioned bands. Maybe it was their obscure indie label. Maybe they enetered the forray on the tail-end of the revival, a mere afterthought to the movement. But I can tell you it was NOT because of a lack of talent.

One week ago, RXB released it's 7th album (8th, if you include the Live from Bonnaroo sampler up on iTunes), entitled Mandala. This album proves the first time the Bandits have worked with a four-piece sound; Chris Sheets, the band's steadfast trombone player, left partway through the album's production. Mandala represents a significant step away from their ska origins towards more progressive rock. Horns play a much less significant role in this album in comparison to previous albums; the heavily-accented offbeat remains but has also been toned down a bit. The keyboard plays a highly prolific part, sprinkled thorughout in a Doors-like fashion. Simply put, the sound is more controlled, more adult. The ebb and flow of the music manages to be explosively reigned in, a barreling, oncoming train of sizeable proportions that never seems to derail.

This may be RXB's heaviest production yet. It's loud and it means business from the first to the last chords. The lurching, lunging feel of “Hope Is A Butterfly, No Net Its Captor, She Beats Her Wings And Softly Sings Of Summer Scent And Childrens Laughter (Virus Of Silence)” with tempo changes and sweeps that would make diehard metal-heads proud, is a rollicking good time. Guitars furiously strum to keep up with the rapidly-evolving rhythms, and this song gives RXB an excellent canvass to show off their fondness for elaborate sweeps and solos. “Breakfast Cat” hits the ground running, opening with some tricky riffs and never slowing down once after that. Musically, after Matt Embree has sung his peace, it dissolves into a sensory progression of guitar solos drifting into the ether. The album manages to be both cerebral and grounded, balancing solid rock with emotive ambience.

Perhaps the most beautiful song of all, “Mientras La Veo Soñar” is a highly progressive track that begins in electro territory and settles into a percussion-fueled bilingual poetry jam. With lyrics like, "I know/ lavender and oak leaves/ kisses often sleep on the belly/ like the records dragon fly/ time was sparrowed through the sky/ I know creatures in the gander light/ when up to the heart/ a kiss goodnight," I was pretty much in love. This album is living testament to the beauty of evolution, evidence that with time, all things improve. Congrats RXB, a job well done.

Rating-4.3 stars out of 5

Highlight Tracks- "Mientras La Veo Soñar," "March of the Caterpillar," "Hope Is A Butterfly, No Net Its Captor, She Beats Her Wings And Softly Sings Of Summer Scent And Childrens Laughter (Virus Of Silence)"

Giiiiiirrrrlllllll Taaaaallllkkkkkkk

When Squirt does a promotion for Habitat for Humanity that requires just one empty can of soda in order to see Girl Talk perform, you don't really ask questions. You just go to the store and buy some Squirt, even if you don't like the taste of it. So last Friday night, I made sure to be at the Fox Theater in Pomona by 6, Squirt in hand, so I had a spot on the floor to see the great Gregg Gillis work his mash-up magic. And I was not disappointed...for the most part.

First the bad part. The venue itself is a piece of shit, and I hope someone who works there reads this and feels personally responsible. The acoustics, particularly for bands with vocalists (like the first two acts), are miserable; the sound gets five feet off the stage and then disappears into the ether, never to be seen or heard from again. All that remains is a convoluded mess of unpleasant noise. This was evidenced after the first act, Ceci Bastida, which sounded like it could have been good had it not sounded like the entire band was singing/playing into a cotton ball. They were followed by an even worse act, Brother Reade, a white man who ran around the stage rapping and screaming unintelligible things into the mike until the crowd literally started to boo him. Myself included. The only redeeming quality was electro-nerd Walter Meego, who spun sick beats throughout the disgustingly bad rhymes. And finally, they got off the stage, the clouds parted, and the audience began to sense Gillis lurking in the wings, ready to make his grand entrance.

It started with a chant. A soft, slow, crescendo of a chant, "Giiiiiiirrrrrllllll Taaaaallllllkkkkk...Giiiirrrrlllll Taaaalllllkkkkk." The stage was dark, the crowd was pushing, surging, swelling. The chant got faster and faster and faster, until the entire mass of people was yelling and swaying in one giant body, chomping at the bit to get a taste of the man that has mastered the art of the mash-up. And then he was there, a 27-year goofy white dude with a white tee, red sweats and unkempt hair, ready to get the party started.

In order to explain the ensuing two hours, I will try to convey the things that occured, the music that was played, and the general state of things as best as possible. Gillis is famous for his live performances because of the sheer volume of energy from the crowd. He crowd surfs and strips down to pants (and only pants) on a regular basis. Giant ballons full of confetti are thrown, leaf-blowers shoot toilet paper into the hoardes, massive inflatable shapes are tossed into the audience, allowing for ample amounts of play. Gillis also encourages people to get on-stage and dance, though this venue dissuaded that and therefore had to deal with copious amounts of rabid, drugged-up fans clawing/jumping/fighting their way to the stage. It was utter mayhem, a big sweaty crowd of dancing happy people pulsing to a montage of oldies, top 40, electonica, alternative, rap, and plenty of hip-hop. And perhaps the most poignant part of the evening was the consistent sampling of the late King of Pop, from the Jackson 5 to his later work; when the power temporarily went out, Gillis got things back on track again with "Don't Stp Till You Get Enough."

There were a couple of songs off Feed the Animals but the majority of the concert consisted of new mash-ups, which made it feel a bit like Christmas morning. The crowd was a bit too rowdy for my taste (let's just say I got hit in the head with a flying trash can, another fault of the worthless venue and their worthless security), but I'll be damned if that kept me from having one helluva time. It was a frenzy of energy and fantastic music. The bands I remember: The Bangles, Ludacris, Phoenix, Lil' Wayne, Kelly Clarkson, Journey, Lady Gaga, Beyonce, N.W.A., Vanilla Ice, Nine Inch Nails, Jay-Z, and probably hundreds of others. And when the night came to an end, the rhymes of Notorious B.I.G. faded into the piano line of Elton John's "Tiny Dancer" and Gillis jumped onto his platform to lead us all in a sway, while informing us that California is simply the best place to get a good crowd together for a good time. We know Gregg, we know.

Hold me closer tiny dancer, count the headlights on the highway, lay me down in sheets of linen, you had a busy day today...

In Honor of MCA

So I'm sure most have heard by now that Adam Yauch (a.k.a. MCA) of the world-famous trio of rapping Jews from New York (a.k.a. the Beastie Boys) has a cancerous tumor in his left salivary gland. I have good news and bad news...The good news is that it is neither life-threatening nor will it affect his vocal chords, meaning we will be enjoying the Boys for as long as they keep putting out music. The bad news is all upcoming appearances and the release of their 8th album, entitled Hot Sauce Committee, Pt. 1, have been postponed until further notice.

In honor of the Boys, I have concocted a playlist of my all-time top ten Beastie Boys songs. Yeah, no one's dying or dead, but do you really need any more of an excuse to listen to the catchiest white rappers of all time?

*BEASTIE BOYS PLAYLIST OF EPIC PROPORTIONS*

1.)"Fight for Your Right"

2.)"Sabotage"

3.)"Intergalactic"

4.)"No Sleep Till Brooklyn"

5.)"Girls"

6.)"Ch-Check It Out"

7.)"Body Movin"

8.)"She's Crafty"

9.)"So What'cha Want"

10.)"Hold It Now, Hit It"

Portugal. the Man- "The Satanic Satanist"

Wasilla, AK has produced two things of note in recent years: copious amounts of methamphetamine and Sarah Palin the prog rock sensation Portugal. the Man. They've been consistently putting out an album per year since 2006, crafting a voice that had its origins in post-hardcore and slowly evolved into an edgier, more experimental sound. With tomorrow's release of their latest, entitled The Satanic Satanist, PtM once again flaunts their ever-evolving sound.

How does one describe this album...upbeat, psychedelic, sensual...most importantly, nothing like anything PtM has produced before. Totally different and I can't emphasize that enough. This is not the sound of Waiter: You Vultures! and if you're expecting another song like "AKA M80 the Wolf," you will be sorely disappointed. Once upon a time, PtM and the Mars Volta had a very similar prog rock sound, but this album puts an end to all that.

The most distinctive elements of the band are all still there; John Gourley is still showing off his vocal talents by hitting the high notes with eerie grace, the twisted synth loops still hang heavy in the background, Jason Sechrist is still facilitating one helluva drumbeat, and there's still the lingering juxtaposition of melody and dissonance. And the lyrics are just as dark as they've been in the past ("Let You Down," the one track on the album reminiscent of the band's older sound, is a haunting example of the duplicity and mourning found in Gourley's words). Don't let the happy sound fool you, PtM is still telling unhappy stories.

Musically, The Satanic Satanist is a distinct throwback to the slow, sensual guitar styles of the '70s, and Gourley works the wah-wah like a pro. The bluesy intro to "Mornings" could make Jimmy Page swoon, and the swelling vibrations in "Do You" are evocative of Clapton in his Cream days. There were more than a few moments while listening to this in which I heard striking similariites to "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band." Layer the psychedelic guitar with one looming organ, more sampled loops and beats than ever before, various keyboards, a subtle bassline throughout, and Gourley's searing voice constantly piercing the psyche, and you have the recipe for a beautiful but heartbreakingly short (approx. 35 minutes long) album. This is a collection of songs that simply glows of care and craft, polished and effervescently poised to catapult Portugal. the Man into the fame they greatly deserve.

Rating-4.5 stars out of 5

Highlight Tracks- "Guns and Dogs," "People Say," "Everyone Is Golden"

Don't Do Drugs: An Equation

Alright kids, I'm gonna lay this out reallllll simple...

1 lame band (Panic at the Disco) + 1 exclamation point (Panic! at the Disco) + undisclosed amount of coke and groupies - 1 eyeliner-riddled bassist (Jon Walker) - 1 sniveling, snorting guitarist (Ryan Ross) = THE END OF PANIC! AT THE DISCO

Moral of the story...don't listen to angsty emo bands with absurd punctuation in their name.

Sniff sniff...

Andrew Bird, Ra Ra Riot and the Indie-Yuppie

GUEST WRITER- Derek Purdy, Upland, CA

A summer evening at the Greek harkens back to the days of toga-clad Hellenes, spilling the wine and shooting the shit while Dionysius mans the BBQ, roasting some goat…except the toga’d Greeks now wear top-sliders and fedoras and bourgeoisie beer and tuna rolls supplants mammal meat on a spit. Indeed the socio-evolution wagon train is still trucking and somewhere along the way, the Indie-Yuppie fell out the back. The Indie-Yuppies are restricted to Laemmle theaters and foreign films but are not above pot-induced screenings of “Pineapple Express” or other Rogan fare. The IY despise the Shins, but adore Arcade Fire. They scoff at Snow Patrol and go ape-shit for the Arctic Monkeys. They wear Tom’s shoes, homespun clothing, and humanitarian attire, but they hate people. The IY call LA their home, but claim a spiritual connection with NY, and plan to move there once their unemployment checks come through. The IY makes no sense, and it was only fitting that a concert exhibiting two IY-approved acts would be both a spiritual experience and as boring as hell.

First the boring part. On July 10th, rocking the Greek Amphitheatre, the phenomenal Andrew Bird was preceded by Syracuse natives, Ra Ra Riot, a band clearly riding the coat-tails of Bloc Party, The Wombats, The Submarines, Tokyo Police Club, and most recently Vampire Weekend: each the perfect dosage of prep and pop and each with a secured spot on Nick and Norah’s infinite playlist. Ra Ra was not so much riotous as it was repetitive. Every song was reminiscent of some non-descript Vampire tune that I heard at some non-descript house party where we ate hummus and debated Wes Anderson’s legitimacy as a writer and director (The IY are split: they love his films but are turned off by his popularity with the Philistines).

The questionable Riot played songs from their 2008 debut Rhumb Riot and the similarities to Vampire’s self-titled debut are stark. Riot singles “Dying is Fine” and “Can You Tell” are tame, however formidable doppelgangers to Vampire’s “A-Punk.” Lead singers Wes Miles and Ezra Koenig have an almost synonymous vocal timbre and style making it difficult to tell the two apart. Both claim a Western classical music and Afro-pop influence and both merely scratch the surface of these genres making it seem as though Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons” and a tribal drum display on Africa day at their respective college campuses was all it took to warrant them as an ‘influence.’ The one discernable throwback came from the Morrisey-inspired synthesizers and vocals, but, again, the repetitive nature of their song set rendered all influential ornamentation obsolete. Each and every song gelled together into one massive furniture music piece. Satie for the hipster: music written to be ignored.

Ra Ra was blah blah. However, when the lights again grew dim and Andrew Bird took the stage everything was made right. Here now was the prime example of Western Classical music not only influencing a modern artist, but being re-invented by a modern artist, for Mr. Bird is the master of the classical form deconstructed.

Take, for instance, his performance of “Nervous Tic Motion of the Head to the Left.” The piece begins with a single violin line: the formation of a basso continuo. He loops himself and begins working on the next line up. Harmonic lines are added and looped, and then he arrives at the melody and a fugal piece has been executed by one man on the spot. His Cantus Firmus, a nervous tic, is repeated, mutilated, morphed, and ornamented several times over, and this is all before the band comes in. By introducing every one of his songs one piece at a time via this auto-looping process, we get to see these great pieces deconstructed - raw materials stacked on top each other to create this wonderful architectural and symphonic wall of sound.

While Bird has proven his Baroque prowess in song construction, he also evinces mastery over Romantic styles as well, namely the Impromptu- the improvisatory form used by Chopin and Schumann in the Romantic period. These composers would compose pieces based on a melody in a completely improvisatory manner. Andrew Bird does no less in his live performances. Armchair Apocrypha’s ‘Dark Matter’ was a massive departure from album recording. New lyrics were added. Harmonic structures were warped. Instrumentation was rehashed. Bird painted a picture of ‘Dark Matter’s’ doppelganger for us and he titled it ‘Sweet Breads.’ This impromptu practice was utilized, to some extant, on the entire set and in doing so, he created a living work of art, never to be replicated or duplicated. Soaking in Bird’s beautiful music is truly a holistic and individual experience.

And maybe that’s why the Indie-Yuppies flocked to this venue and this concert. A people marked by baffling polarities, it is only fitting that they would pay to see both a knock-off and a one-of-a-kind in a single sitting. Perhaps Ra Ra’s mundane pop slop provided the perfect counter-balance to Bird’s virtuosic whistling and impeccable compositions. I don’t know, ask an Indie-Yuppie. Quick - before that employment comes through.

Mourning Michael Jackson

GUEST WRITER- Mallory Ortberg, Menlo Park, CA

Well, it’s happened. Michael Jackson has joined the ranks of deceased African American entertainers destined to spend eternity silk-screened on a million XXL T-shirts worn by a million obese high-schoolers, completing the black musical trinity established by Bob Marley and Tupac.

In the wake of Michael Jackson’s demise, America seems to have adopted the general posture assumed by Dave Chappelle, who, when asked about the entertainer’s dubious legacy, responded with, “The man wrote ‘Thriller.’ ‘Thriller.’” Whatever idiot hipster* said “The evil men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones” clearly never listened to Off the Wall.

There’s something going on here, and it’s more than the usual frenzy of relic-purchasing and hagiography-burnishing that surrounds the surprise death of any celebrity. Cast your mind back to, like, two weeks ago. Zac Efron was more culturally relevant than Michael Jackson, and in no way is that sentence ironic. People are already trying to retroactively reengineer Michael as the last vestige of monolithic pop culture, the Johnny Carson of fey man-boys. Don’t let them, guys!

Remember how no one outside of Texas knew who Selena was before a pre-famous Jennifer Lopez played her? Remember how you don’t actually know what she looked like when she was alive and not being played by Jennifer Lopez? Exactly. Remember back in June, when you thought about Michael Jackson pretty much never? Exactly. The only thing more tired than Michael Jackson at that point were jokes about Michael Jackson’s personal appearance and alleged sexual proclivities. Even making fun of the man was boring and outdated.

So, instead of ordering that commemorative issue of Time magazine about icons, why don’t you go rent High School Musical instead? Support the real heroes.

* Zooey Deschanel, I’m pretty sure.

August Burns Red- "Constellations"

GUEST WRITER- Daniel Tibbett, Westwood, CA

And the Lord God saith, “Let ye playith metal.” And it was good.

I love August Burns Red. There. I said it. I don’t care if fellow metal connoisseurs chastise me for falling deeply in love with a Christian band. I don’t care if they mock the constant hardcore breakdowns, the band’s super deep-v necks, or the heartfelt lyrics, like, “You're hurt, you're broken. That's alright, that makes us who we are.” Our love transcends such boundaries, and I am comfortable saying that I haven’t stopped listening to August Burns Red’s new album “Constellations” for over a week. But maybe I’m moving too fast – I know not everyone falls head over heels. Maybe I should start with the standby, stick-up-my-ass review technique and see if that affords me the language necessary to write a competent summary of this album.

Alright, deep breath. Here we go. On Tuesday, July 14, August Burns Red is set to release their third full length entitled “Constellations” (fourth, by some standards, but their first effort was little more than a shitty EP). Hailing from Lancaster, Pennsylvania, this five-piece’s last CD “Messengers” debuted in the mid-eighties on Billboard and their subsequent tour, with acts like Between the Buried and Me and As I Lay Dying, solidified their position as one of the most popular bands in metal. But don’t think that means they’re selling out.

After stopping off at home to write and record, August Burns Red…alright, this is getting boring. You get the picture. Metal band, popular, highly anticipated album, blah blah blah. Now comes the fun part: listening to “Constellations.” From the opening track, I knew there was going to be something special between me and this album. ‘Thirty and Seven’ launches into a typical ABR riff – harmonized guitars from JB Brubaker and Brent Rambler, galloping drumming thanks to Matt Greiner, passionate screaming from Jake Luhrs. At this point, it’s good, but nothing special. And then comes the breakdown. Jake screams “Your shame will remain” while the instruments lock into an off-tempo pattern, and JB takes over with a melodic line, and I smile and nod my head in time with the cymbals. And I know that it’s true love.

After the opening songs (‘White Washed’ has one of the most stereotypical-yet-still-amazing intros I’ve heard in years), August Burns Red shows their softer side with ‘Marianas Trench.’ The guitars are undistorted, the music full of chords and harmonies and all sorts of other pretty sounding things. Yes, I know, I’m very articulate. But seriously, this song is evidence of August Burns Red’s creativity and willingness to branch away from standards in metal. It also gives me the freedom to say, “See, they’re not angry all the time!” The last track I have to mention is ‘Rationalist,’ mainly because the riff at 1:30 demonstrates a not-too-often seen side of ABR: their guitar virtuosity. With a sweep picking line that’s ridiculously difficult, JB and Brent flex their guitar-playing nuts in ways that fans have never heard before. And it’s awesome! Ah, well, I know I said I was done talking about the songs, but the final track ‘Crusades’ is an excellent representation of this album. Full of heavy breakdowns, crawling bass lines, blasting drums, frenzied vocals, and beautiful guitars (distorted and clean), this song really has it all. I mean, what more can you want? You got the chuga-chug-chug guitars and the blidablodabloo shredding and bap-bap-boodalapap drums and the vocals all like, “I used to think I’d last forever!”

Yes. Yes, my friends. It is good. And if you want to understand just how good, go pick up the album. Honestly, it’s the best metal album of the year so far. After a few listens, you’ll be playing air guitar and singing along in gibberish, and everyone will think you’re weird, but it’s okay because you will always have August Burns Red.

RATING- 4.5 stars out of 5
HIGHLIGHT TRACKS- "White Washed," "Marianas Trench," "Rationalist"

Nosaj Thing- "Drift"

GUEST WRITER- Chris Hogue, Pasadena, CA

So are you ready to go on a journey? …A journey of the mind. Totally self guided. Where do you want to go? Pick a place… we’ll go there. We shall need surround sound headphones; a bowl… and the debut album by 24-year old producer Jason Cheung, aka Nosaj Thing. Press play. Hit that shit. Close your eyes. And go. Don’t forget to stop every once in awhile and take a breather, because it’s entirely possible that you will forget to breathe.

The haunting beauty produced by the third track, "Coat Of Arms," will certainly suck the air right out of you. This track is the epitome of tripped out panning. Pick your destination. Is it beautiful? Is it frightening? Where ever we are, we are certainly overwhelmed. Expect to feel both oppressed and freed at the same moment. "Arms" shall concurrently pull you down, lift you up, seduce you, and frighten you. Be prepared, for your world will rip in two, fold in upon itself, then be sucked into a vortex as reality dissolves around you. Take your Dramamine or risk feeding the fish, because there’s no other way to process all of these emotions aside from screaming, crying, or throwing up. And yes, it still satisfies in some remarkably inexplicable way.

Assuming you survive "Coat Of Arms," three tracks later you shall arrive at "Caves." This is clearly a subterranean dance party. The progressive beat matched with varying levels of build-up and break-off is enough to make even the most timid want to move some part of their body as if they’re being pushed and pulled by the current of an incoming tide. In contrast we move on to the juxtaposition that is "Light #2." With this track Cheung has found a way to give you the sensation of quickly and cleanly tiptoeing on stars while simultaneously floating gently in the night sky. Have we arrived at the Aurora Borealis yet? Again, where you end up is entirely up to you. Nosaj Thing has gifted us with the ability to go on a psychedelic journey in which our only limitation is our imagination. The question is, where will Nosaj Thing take you?

Rating- 3.9 stars out of 5
Highlight Tracks- "Coat of Arms," "Light #2"

CATCH NOSAJ THING HERE:
7/15/09-Low End Theory, make-up show
The Airliner, Los Angeles
7/23/09-More Voltage Tour w/Glitch Mob and Daddy Kev
Spin, San Diego
7/24/09- More Voltage Tour w/Glitch Mob and Daddy Kev
The Roxy, Hollywood

John Forté- "StyleFREE the EP"

For anyone who grew up in the '90s, the loosely-defined genre of hip-hop usually brings to mind one band, and one band only: The Fugees. To this day, The Score is considered a hip-hop classic, having sold over 18 million copies worldwide since its debut in February of 1996. Behind the scenes, producing and throwing in the occasional verse and heady drum beat, sat John Forté. An unlikely early member of the Refugee Camp, Forté was a born-and-raised Brooklynite who studied violin at the Phillips Exeter Academy in New Hampshire on a full-ride. As a classically-trained musician, he showed an aptitude for layering intelligent, provocative lyrics with fundamental elements of reggae, soul and dub; Forté also sang back-up for various singers, including Michael Jackson, Carly Simon, Herbie Hancock and Eric Clapton.

When the troubled Fugees disbanded in '97, it was Wyclef Jean who stepped in and produced Forté's paltry solo attempt, Poly Sci. The album flopped, but worse than that, he was convicted in 2000 of possession of $1.4 million in liquid cocaine with intent and conspiracy to distribute. Though he maintained his innocence throughout the trial, Forté was convicted, found guilty and sentenced to a minimum of 14 years in prison. He made another album while awaiting his sentence, iJohn, which proved less successful than even Poly Sci. And with that, one of the most promising hip-hop influences of the decade simply disappeared behind bars.

I first took an interest in John Forté when, on November 24, 2008, outgoing President George W. Bush made him one of his 14 pardons (thereby directly refuting Kanye West's claim that Bush didn't care about black people). Two weeks later, after 7 years in prison, he re-emerged into the world and immediately began writing. The result, StyleFREE the EP, will be released on Forté's website in 2 days and will hit iTunes around August.

StyleFREE is a melodic blend of soul and rock, highly reminiscent of his Fugees days. Accoustic guitars, a sprinkling of cellos and violins, the ever-present soulful electric guitar, as well as the constant swelling and receding of a dub beat make this album just as musically diverse and interesting as The Score. Forté alternates between a pleasant singing voice (sounds like: John Legend), and a calm, pensive rapping voice (sounds like: Andre 3000). The flow is smooth and calculated, never hostile. Even though the lyrics off this album are almost entirely derived from his time spent behind bars, Forté manages to avoid the anger and fury that diminished the power of his earlier albums. The result is a solid EP of rap/hip-hop that shows huge progress for an artist long-struggling to come into his own.

Rating- 3.5 stars out of 5

Highlight Tracks- "Nervous," "Play My Cards For Me"

If you're smart, you'll attend at least one of these

UPCOMING CONCERTS IN THE LA AREA, JULY '09

7/12/09- Ray LaMontagne & the Hollywood Bowl Orchestra, with Jenny Lewis and Blitzen Trapper
Hollywood Bowl, Hollywood

7/16/09- Jet
Key Club, Los Angeles

7/18/09- Azure Ray
Glass House, Pomona

7/22/09- Daedelus, with Free the Robots
The Airliner, Los Angeles

7/23/09- Rhys Darby
Henry Fonda, Hollywood

7/23/09- Phillip Glass & Film, with the LA Philharmonic (Michael Riesman, conductor)
Hollywood Bowl, Hollywood

7/24/09- Girl Talk
The Fox Theatre, Pomona

7/26/09- Grace Jones, with Of Montreal and Dengue Fever
Hollywood Bowl, Hollywood

7/27/09- Jarvis Cocker
The Wiltern, Los Angeles

7/27/09- The Mekons
The Echo, Los Angeles

7/28/09- Regina Spektor
El Rey, Los Angeles

7/31/09- Deerhoof
Echoplex, Los Angeles

Methinks it's a good summer for concerts...

The First.

Two weeks ago I opened up my mailbox to discover the latest Rolling Stone, sporting none other than the Jonas Brothers on the cover. This made two covers in one year for the talentless little shits Disney darlings. I was livid, to say the very least. Uttering profanities under my breath as I stomped back into the house, I wrote off every last desire I had to write for that magazine. I sat for the rest of the day lamenting the path of music journalism in recent years; pop icons dominate the pages of RS and Spin more often than bands of real substance. As someone who once dreamed of writing for these rags, I'm disappointed and strangely enough, a bit hurt. I feel personally insulted by constantly having to read about the Britneys and Mileys of the industry when there are bands out there who are revolutionizing music at this very moment. So for lack of better words, I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore.

Luckily anger makes great fuel for creative fire, so here I am, blog in hand. This blog is intended to be a space where true music junkies can reflect on the most current music from all genres. I listen to every genre imaginable and will therefore try to include every genre imaginable. Except for polka, I draw the line at polka. If you're a music snob, this won't be the place for you. I'm looking for music sponges, people who want to absorb any and all music; I want people who collect music just to soak it all in. If this sounds like you, welcome. I'll be posting bits and pieces as often as possible, and if any of it intrigues/inflames you, talk to me. Tell me about it. This a forum of sorts, an open dialogue among true afficionados. A place to counter the increasingly-absurd mainstream media. Don't let them tell you what's good, tell everyone else what's good.

Above all, let's sell our souls for some good old-fashioned rock 'n' roll...