My hat's off to you, Philadelphia. No sooner does Portland throw down the gauntlet then, lo and behold, you respond with the sort of spring-loaded resiliency usually only displayed by the roast beef at Nick's, reclaiming your band-robbing supremacy courtesy of unwitting accomplice Ambulette. That's four bands in less than two months, and some real momentum on which to build heading into the busy summer concert schedule. I'm not sure if this is exactly the sort of title that the city has been thirsting for, although you have to admit that we could sure throw one hell of a noisy parade on Broad Street if we round up all those stolen instruments. Going forward, it will interesting to see how visiting bands (and our odds) adjust. Do they step up and challenge us with more heavily-armoured vehicles, decoy vans, and wallets with chains? Or do they cut bait and hit the road as soon as their shows are over, racing up I95, cups of Wawa coffee and the promise of secure New York hotel parking lots spurring them on through the wee hours of the AM? Like a pitcher facing a seriosly roided-up dude at home plate, any musician facing down Philly on their itinerary is stuck in very tight spot.

Get word to the dj: tell 'em Staten Island's in the house, put that record on replay. Tonight, Ghostface Killah hits the TLA like your sister. Elsewhere, Thrilladelphia's givin' you The Swims and their Prison Jazz cohorts at The M Room, and Future Tips at the Khyber (TMF).

Friday night, The Situation pimp their shiny new self-titled debut record which has been out for all of, like, ten days now over at North Star (TMF). Just the anticipation alone has given us a text book case of the vapours.

The Thrilla just won't be denied Saturday. Over at the M Room, you not only get the hip-hop steez of Yah Mos Def, you also get to rock out to the already legendary Eyeball Skeleton. We're talkin' some seriously hardcore twee shit right here. You just know that when their dad isn't around, 8-year old JJ and 10-year old Charlie totally roll up some fat "smokey turtles" and talk about how Boy Least Likely To is a total pussy. Then they go and bang Smoosh (TMF).

In the wake of SkinnySlim's watershed piece on Tuesday, rappers continue to take it in the ass. But don't worry, 'cause it's all Gravy, baby.

C'mon, Heathrow! How is Snoop Dogg supposed to take care of his biznizzle if you won't let him in the lizounge? (Serious side note: check out how NME's shifty editing of the story re-frames the police quotes and leaves out the issue of lounge entry entirely. Something smells fish-n-chippy to me...)

Tiny Mix Tapes says what everybody except Pitchfork has been thinking all along: MIA wasn't so great.

Ashlee Simpson is makes a joke, kicks herself.

There's new a Phoenix track to be heard. "Rally" is currently streaming over at the band's MySpace page, and it's blowing my mind.

I'm gonna say this once, Portland, so listen up and listen good.

Do not fuck with us.

Do we look like Canadians to you? Do you think Philly is just gonna sit back and let you co-opt our thing?! The Duke Spirit was here. They were ours for the fleecing, make no mistake about it. And we sure as fuck didn't issue them a get-out-of-jail free card just so a bunch of sorry-ass, wannabe-Californian hippie dipshits could cash in on our generosity two weeks later.

I already despised your city for giving birth to The Decemberists, but now it's way more personal. If you send those jangly assholes back to Philly any time soon, rest assured, they're gonna get robbed six ways from shitty tunes about chimney sweeps. Believe the beef, Portlosers.

Snoop Dogg: Rap Mogul, Pop-Warner Football Coach, Novelist. Truly, the renaissance man is not an extinct species.

There's a lot of hip-hop blogs out there, but nobody does it quite like Thugged Out Bitch.

Elsewhere in blogs, belated happy 2nd birthday to No Frontin'. In a world of increasingly whack bloggas, dude keeps it realer than Lohan ass.


"Calvin Klein model Jenny Shimizu enjoyed an on-off relationship with Jolie for several years – but has kept her ‘booty call’ relationship with pop superstar Madonna a secret...until now."

Tons of previously unreleased Libertines tracks stored on Pete Doherty's computer have leaked onto the net. Of particular interest are "The Delaney", a song recorded for but ultimately cut from the second album, as well as the four-song Nomis demo recorded in 2002, prior to their debut album Up The Bracket. Links to dozens of other more obscure (and less listenable) cuts can be found on Libs/Babyshambles message boards like this one.

Geez Slim, and I suppose next you're gonna tell me that somebody out there is ripping off Gang Of Four. I don't think the two sound all that similar. To be honest, there are some other Philly bands that come to mind who sound like they've been studying their LT way more than the Spintos. All the same, there's probably a simple explanation. Perhaps both bands just happen to include former members of Individual Fruit Pie.

"But 'Buster," you say, "it's Saturday! How can you still post a track called the Friday Freakout in good conscience?!" Easily. Being the baddest boys in the blogosphere means we not only play by our own rules, it means sometimes we have to break 'em, and to hell with the consequences. Does Pedro Martinez, one of the most dominant pitchers of all time, stop to question the little angel on his shoulder before he hurls a baseball 90 mph at the head of a batter who's crowding the plate? Does Donald Trump stop to consider the feelings of people before firing them on national television in front of millions after openly questioning their intelligence and personal character? Of course not. No wonder the two are buddies. Now, I'm not threatening your good name or your physical well-being. I'm just a wee bit late with this post. Should I feel guilty about that? Maybe, but the point is I don't. And even The Zutons will tell you, once in a while, that's allllllright!

Tonight, the 3rd Annual Thrilladelphia Music Festival (henceforth referred to as TMF) kicks off with a secret show at Surreal Sound Studios. 7PM, $5 admission, $15 open bar. Live performances from four local bands with superb character and upbringing. One of them rhymes with "Sail Hocial". For the rest, you'll have to go here and RSVP. Study up beforehand with loads of Philly band mp3s at Some Velvet Blog.

Saturday, there's a lite rock bruncheon waiting for you in the Broad Street Tower Records at 2PM, where Trouble Everyday will be totally playing Philly for the very last time until the next one (TMF). But don't spoil your appetite, 'cause you've got a rich, satisfying evening ahead of you at Making Time. The return to Transit will be accompanied by the usual free PBR/Sparks action from 9-11. At midnight, you get New York's Favourite Sons.

Sunday night is actually pretty bumpin'. You've got Cold War Kids at The Fire doin' their Walkmen-cum-Jack White thing. There's also new Pitchfork crush Islands over at the church basement, playing with 'Stamps-endorsed Atlantans Snowden. And of course, Julian & Co. at the Electric Factory, in what will certainly be a show to remember. If not, rest assured, I'll be writing The Strokes a letter.

Look out, unsuspecting canucks! Australia is hornin' in on your territory, big time. They've already showed tremendous moxie by flaunting their international Hockey superiority (granted, Pakistan's goal-tending has always been questionable, but still...). Plus, they're twice the Uranium producer you are. But the wave of tremendously promising indie rock bands pouring forth over the Great Barrier Reef may be the most direct assault yet on Canada's cultural cachet. While I know I'm late to the bandwagon, Zeppelin Jr. Wolfmother has been seriosuly growing on me. Meanwhile, if their new material on MySpace is any indication, then The Grates are about to replace Bunky and the Friedberger siblings as everyone's favorite quirky-spazzy-cutesy-crazy thang. Finally, Howling Bells are quickly distinguishing themselves from the rest of the nu-blondie movement (The Twenty Twos, Havana Guns, The Long Blondes, et all) with a haunting debut album (now previewing here) that works both Sonic Youth and Slowdive into its audio walkabout, but still packs in more than enough melodic pop polish for a recent O.C. inclusion. Seems like it's just a matter of time before aboriginees in Habs jerseys start speaking French and selling us cheap perscription drugs. Oh, whatever will Canada didgerido?

Okay, so it's no longer a matter of if a band's gear will be stolen when they come to Philly. As Rosie Thomas has most recently shown us, it's only a matter of when. West Coasters, people in kilts - Philadelphia will take stuff from all comers. So let's make this a bit more interesting, shall we? Much more than a music blog, you may now consider BadmintonStamps your official Slim Hopkins of band theivery. Which touring act do you think will get their shit stolen next? And just how much are you willing to bet on it? Here are the early lines already on our books for some upcoming Philly shows, along with a few expert insights. If you want action on somebody who's not listed, just let us know in the comments, and our number crunchers will set it up all under-the-table like. Place your bets, folks, but remember: you DO NOT want to owe BadmintonStamps money...

4/23, Cold War Kids, 10-1: Hmm...a young left coast band playing at The Fire. Give these guys a van (and then steal it), and they're Film School.

4/27, Ghostface Killah, 25-1: Philly steps up its game, makes a trunk of those 24 karat dolls disappear from the TLA lot.

5/7, Phoenix, 12-1: C'mon, you're telling me nobody in this city is gonna wanna fuck over the French?

5/23, Lee Perry, 9-1: The Upsetter goes apeshit when his stash goes missing from the supposedly "green" room at World Cafe Live. But that's what he gets for cancelling on me back in February, goddamit.

5/24, Film School, 7-2: Who says lightning can't strike twice? The ultimate hard-luck story gets mainstream coverage, briefly distracts the city from Phillies' 12-36 record.

6/2, Wolfmother, 15-1: Like the well-crafted boomerangs of their homeland, these Aussies return to tempt fate and pawn shops in a city they escaped from cleanly earlier this month.

6/11, Cat Power, 100-1: Those aren't the odds of a theft. They're the odds that the show doesn't get cancelled.

A woefully under-stocked open bar and delays due to band travel snags still couldn't keep last night's free show from rocking off the majority of socks in the building. Walkmen ran through a set of great new songs, including "Louisiana" and the epic "Lost In Boston", and made it pretty clear that they're gonna be hot hot shit again in '06, while the globe-trotting Duke Spirit showed why they may very well outdraw their tourmates at the Electric Factory by the time June rolls around. Corporate sponsor Honda set up a carnival-like scene in the outside courtyard to promote their new Fit. The centerpiece of the installation was a shrinky dink station, where people could color in various cargo items (golf clubs, an upright bass, llamas) and then watch the pre-heated toaster oven work its thermodynamic magic, thereby illustrating the car's surprising storage capacity. And while a crew of Rick Moranis impersonators might have kept the display on message even more effectively, the cute yellow jacket-clad girls operating the table convinced me just fine. That said, when will there ever be a better time to post this tight-cornering muscle car of a Friday Freakout from my Yo La Tengo pit crew? Never, that's when. And since we like to pack more into each post than you expect, here's another shrinky-freak from the evening's heroes.

Tonight, everything's free and easy over at Starlight Ballroom. Walkmen, The Duke Spirit, Dave P, and a "select" open bar. Heeby hipsters, don't forget to open up a free can of Sparks for Elijah! Also, The Yarrows are up to some curious hijinks over at the Khyber. Kobuki theater and/or sock puppets may be involved.

Friday night, we shit you not, Hoobastank will be at the North Star, free. Sometimes these jokes just write themselves. Compared to that, a band of gypsies at the Troc seems pretty unremarkable. Gogol Bordello steals your stuff for just $15 bucks.

Saturday and Sunday, the TLA is supplyin' a double dose of grrrl power. Regina Spektor gets you riled up with her in-yr-face attitude one night, and Ladytron breaks it down the next, along with help from the new-look French Kicks.

Also, tickets on sale this Friday at 10 AM for Cat Power at The Electric Factory, as well as TLA shows with Wolfmother and former Television frontman Tom Verlaine.

A quick perusal of user reviews for Nick's Roast Beef on Citysearch reveals the following insights...

Crowded: yes
Trendy: no
Romantic: no
Good for after work: yes
Good dancing: no
Good social scene: yes
Good happy hour: yes

Allow out-of-towners Arab Strap to add one more obvious, but still very important item...

Good place to leave wallet with $6,000 unattended: no

Hey, at least didn't leave their tour van at Nick's. Touring acts take heed: performing in Philly has its price.

It used to be that TV shows did music their own way. None of this fancy, bandwagon-hopping, soundtrack-compiling OC nonsense, no siree. A composer would sit down and grind out a gripping, catchy, hummable theme song and a few bars of segue music, and by golly that was all the soundtrack you needed. I have no problem with modern shows garnering attention for their background music, but the trend does seem to leave certain shows at an unfair disadvantage. While Gilmore Girls or Entourage have the freedom to boost their 18-35 appeal by including all the Constantines or Jay-Z clips they want, what's a show like HBO's wild west drama Deadwood to do? The answer may have arrived just in time for the third season. I'm not proposing anything too radical. All I'd do is replace the opening theme with this barn burner of a Friday Freakout from Carl Barat's new, post-Libertines vehicle Dirty Pretty Things. Granted, from a historical perspective, the song doesn't scream Wild Bill so much as it does Franz Ferdinand. Then again, is Remy Zero actually what the kids are listening to these days in Smallville? Or, for that matter, anywhere?

And just for good measure, here's one more song that would probably fit just fine in the show's closing credits.

Look at us! We'll host a band!!! Tonight, Philly welcomes Art Brut to the church basement for a long-awaited and certain rocking. So you're telling me that the Phillies can sell out a game, but there's still tickets to this show? Lordy!

Holy Led Zeppelin! Australia's Wolfmother hits the North Star this Saturday, kicking off a full-scale lupine invasion. Wolf Parade join in the assault next Tuesday at the TLA. Meanwhile, Phillies pitcher Randy Wolfe prepares for minor-league rehab assignment at the M Room.

If it's not Scottish, it's crap! Arab Strap (whose latest album cover includes a drawing of a wolf...) soundtrack your Sunday night at the Khyber. If the music gets too sad and depressing, just try to picture something funny, like Charlie Manuel wearing a kilt. On second thought, that might make things worse...

The following originally appeared on Jeffrey Baum's Central Village blog last week. It is presented here in its unintentionaly and thoroughly comedic entirety, without modification, but with our deepest sympathy for Jeff's parents.

Confession time! I read Pitchfork every single day before I go to work. The album reviews usually go up around 9:00, right before I leave in the morning. The first order of business is to check my Gmail (usually the overnight delivery consists of Thrillist, a band blast or six and some Asian spam that evaded the filter.) Next I skim through my Kinja real quick for the night-owl bloggers (Paige Six, for example, seems to only post between 1 and 5am, which is why we love her.) After showering and getting dressed, I go on Pitchfork to check their album reviews. This morning I saw Voxtrot up there. Not the featured review, but above the fold. A good sign. I had been waiting for this for a very long time.

7.8/8.2. It's really tough to beat that. The review is overwhelmingly positive, stating the only flaw is the "tepid" track Wrecking Force on the first EP, which the reviewer even admits that "There's nothing terribly wrong with it; it's just not as spectacularly right as the other nine songs rounding out Voxtrot's recorded work." The second EP is better than the first, and the review recognizes that they are improving. That's a good sign. I'm excited and proud for these guys, tho the importance of these reviews seems softened in comparison to the amount of success they've gained otherwise. The two shows at Mercury Lounge were sold out well before this came out. But nonetheless, it's a seal of approval, like it or not. I'm happy to see it.

Talk all the shit you'd like about the fork, but this is a huge hurdle to clear for any indie band. You fall in love with a band, watch them grow and gain attention, and you just expect it to all blow up in your face when something like this comes along. I've seen it happen many times before. Most recently this week, in fact, with the latest Two Gallants record. But Voxtrot is too good. By now, everybody knows this.

The post is titled "The Start Of Something". If he stays true to form, the end of that something is about three months away, max.

If you're in Philly or New York and like both rock and roll, then get on your nearest e-mail-sending device and RSVP pronto for a free show with Walkmen & The Duke Spirit. Deets for the Philly show next Thursday are right here, while the 411 for the NYC concert on April 20th is way over here. Both shows, sponsored by Honda, also feature Making Time's Dave P on the decks, so expect some cocainemidsizesedanjams sprinkled in for good measure.

In space, nobody can hear you scream. Consequently, in space, nobody can hear you give birth. This may be one of several awful reasons why alien-worshipper Tom Cruise is demanding his wife Katie Holmes deliver their (read: her) baby silently. Still, you can't say the guy's not meeting her half way. Word has it he's commissioned an adult-size, specially designed pacifier for Katie to bite down on during labor. This will undoubtedly make it easier for her to keep quiet when the baby explodes out of her abdomen. The adult pacifier will be one half of a matching set, along with a smaller, baby-sized version which will hopefully prevent the newborn from performing a traditional vaudeville song-and-dance routine after delivery. No word yet on how anybody plans to shut up Tom Cruise.

One of the biggest environmental face-offs is going down in Canada this month, as celebrity protesters call on the nation's government to end the culling of baby seals. The Canadian goverment claims the seal hunt is an important tradition, one which provides a boost to the economy, creates jobs for its citizens, and helps regulate the seal population. Paul McCartney has responded with a suggestion that eco-tourism could generate the same income, while Morrisey makes the tried-and-true seal hunt/concentration camp argument, and says the seal population can handle itself just fine. Boy, a few baby animals get hurt, and suddenly everybody's a marine biologist. You'd think America would be cool letting people get drunk, club some baby animals, and call it an honest day's work, but the U.S. has actually taken the opposite position on the issue. There's already a ban on the importation of all seal products (though that ban isn't enforced very strictly). And now, Philadelphia is granting amnesty to seals that have made a run for it. Experts predict that a gray seal living in the Delaware River will "remain in the area as long as people leave him alone and the food supply remains." Which, really, describes the outlook of most any Philadelphian.