Posts from 13th March 2002

13
Mar 02

Back from the brink of bankruptcy

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Back from the brink of bankruptcy, Pitchfork is on fine roll-your-eyes form with this review of a Def Jux sampler. “The beats on DJP2 are dark, jagged, and intriguing, and not a single one of them could in any way be deemed “danceable.”” – thank goodness for that eh readers! What would we do without it?

Broken Records

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Broken Records: nice idea, if necessarily a bit mournful.

All twenty-four

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All twenty-four of this year’s Eurovision Song Contest entries up on this site, in .mp3 form (go to individual country pages). Go Latvia go!

Alacran

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Alacran: the review below was written by new NYLPM team member Arien Rasmijn, who is Dutch and normally writes stuff here. He likes a lot of the things we don’t – IDM, modern indie rock – so he should mix things up a bit. Welcome Arien! Meanwhile, Badger thinks I’ve gone mad. To him I say: “PARTY PARTY HARD HARD” – OK, no, I don’t say that. I’m no fan of the work-hard-play-hard ethic either particularly since I do neither myself, but at times it has made for some mighty fun music and this is one of them. A Cliff’s Notes version of Brain Donor? Maybe (only heard one BD song), but Cliff’s Notes means ‘simplified’, and in a rock context simplicity is everything right now.

On ILM, Fritz just described WK as “how Beavis and Butthead wanted Springsteen to sound” which is perfect – thanks Fritz!

The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion ‚Äì ‘She Said’

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Ah, the classic, woeful tale of a werewolf on the run. Villagers with pitchforks and dogs on his tail, the taste of a strange woman’s blood on his fangs’He was too damned to stick to the only girl who would love him so she let him go and alarmed the townfolk to keep him away. He cried, panted, rolled on her livingroom floor like only he could, desperately pleading with her to come with him, but by then she had gotten too afraid of him to even consider it. All she could do was give him a headstart for the southern border.
Now he’s running through the swamp, probably within minutes of catching that silver bullet, and all he can think about are the last words she muttered as she shut the door behind him: ‘I would’ve given you my neck too, you sonofabitch…’

The song packs a good, compact punch and Spencer’s panting and wailing has rarely been this spot on. The ProTools are gone too, thankfully. Maybe now we can finally sweep up the pretty vamps from the NY streets and put some real b.o. back into The Rock. My money’s on the werewolf.

ANDREW WK – “Party Hard”

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ANDREW WK – “Party Hard”

PARTY PARTY HARD HARD PARTY HARD HARD PARTY PARTY HARD PARTY HARD PARTY PARTY HARD HARD HARD PARTY HARTY PARTY PARTY PARD PARD HARD PARD ARTY PARTY HARTY HARD PARTY ARTY HARD ARD PARTY

– when you repeat a word or a sound in your head enough it suddenly clicks into strangeness. The syllables dance and break down and you start asking yourself why does this mean what it means and does it mean anything anyway? So there, if you fancy looking for the hard art in the party’s heart, is where you might start.
“You work! All day! (YOU WORK!)” (This is true and it’s nice to hear a song which addresses it)
– That Duel! entry took ages to write because I think, on this evidence, that Andrew WK is brilliant.
– Maura says: “it’s like helen love with the guitars amped up 300000%”. If true this would be a good reason not to like Andrew WK.
– Besides they aren’t really guitars, surely?
– Because I need a beer.
– Death to true metal.

KYLIE MINOGUE — Can’t Get You Out of My Head

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KYLIE MINOGUE — Can’t Get You Out of My Head

It’s an obsession. The way her body jerks around when she dances, like a broken robot, like the beat’s forcing her to move more than she wants. The look in her eyes, as inviting and dangerous as the hypnotic allure of a vampire’s shocking red lips and heaving bosom when you’re nothing more than a simple man of simple means trying to sell some real estate. And that beat, crusing down the autobahn, through the tunnels, punctuated by the pulse of the lights and passing cars, and back out into a noonday sun, shattering the windshield, so bright your teeth start to ache. When she sighs ‘Won’t you stay?’ I think of Sting crooning ‘I’ll be watching you,’ except Sting would never let himself sound so desperate and confused. (And he only wishes he could sound so alive.) When she sighs ‘Set me free,’ I’m not sure if she’s willing to taste freedom. I don’t know whether she’s aching for what she once held or suffering under the weight of an unrequited passion. I don’t think she knows, either. I don’t think she cares.