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.
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.
Rittenhouse hushes
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 all needed to take a couple years off, but it's been long enough
and SkinnySlim says it's now okay to listen to "Hey Ya!" again.
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 
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 
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.
">>>And lastly, continuing on with their rogue program of teaching the youngest people possible how to play some of the worst music ever made, The Paul Green School Of Rock will be joined on Feb. 16 by none other than Gibby Haynes of the Butthole Surfers, also at the Troc. As of press time, Philebrity was planning an emergency airdrop of Harry Nilsson, Teenage Fanclub and Sam Cooke records on the kids. It's so sad to see youth wasted like this."
Let me take you back to the year 2004. February had 29 days, LSU had 
Headliners for real.
You want to go to a sporting event with my dad. He has, over the
course of his sixty odd years, witnessed in person several of the most
famed games of all time. These include Don Larsen's perfect game, the
1970 Knick championship (aka the "
Times New Viking - 
I went to see this Broadway play last week called Rock And Roll. It's this sort of enjoyable, slight, and
cutesy baby boomer glorification disguised as political commentary written by Tom Stoppard.
Anyway, whatever. The theater it was showing in had this electronic
closed-captioning display scrolling just off of stage right (that's the left
side, non theater people). So while the actors were performing their
lines, this Achtung Baby-ish neon screen flashed their words at about
a ten second delay. Example transcript:
So Dave P, Adam Sparkles, and Plastic Little walk into a gay bar. No joke. Starting next week, the creators of such hipster havens as Making Time and [click.] will be bringing their cocainesexjams and sparklemotion to 
Funk/soul/rock and roll's
