What's that in my ear?

It's an earwig. It's an ear of corn. It's an inner ear infection.

No, it's none of the above, it's just simply a list of which albums I've been listening to recently, along with some randomly strewn together words that somehow, by divine grammatical coincidence, coincide with a picture of the CD and the central themes of the music contained therein. Really, none of this was planned, it's all, like I said, random strings of words guided by divine coincidence to make some semblance of sense. Funny how entropy works that way.


The Standard: Albatross

Nobody knows who the Standard is. Do you? I didn't think so. Even the members of the Standard, until a few days ago when they all received checks from their label Yep Roc, didn't know they were in the band. It's funny how four guys who had no idea they were talented musicians could come up with such an amazing album. Emotional wailing, fine licks, clickety-clackity drums, synthesizers with more robo-drive than the Terminator and Teddy Ruxbin combined...this album is a must for anybody who claims to be interested in where music is headed. The Standard, unwittingly, has proved that rock-n-roll is not just about anger and drugs and sex, it's also about crying like you just ordered a slurpee and the only available flavor was sorrow-berry.
Rating: Truffle-quality. Weeping truffle.


Loose Fur: Born Again in the U.S.A.

For the title of this album simultaneously being an obvious shout-out to Bruce Springsteen and an attack on the religious right, it's interesting how there's no mentioning of either of these annoyances on any of the disc's ten tracks (though there are plenty of religious attacks, just not directly on crazy, Bible-thumping, blue-in-face street preachers). That's right, I said it. Bruce Sprinsgteen is annoying. And he can't sing. And he hasn't washed his blue jeans since the Streets of Philadelphia video.

When you get Jeff Tweed and Glen Kotche from Wilco and put them in a yellow submarine with Jim O'Rourke from Jim O'Rourke and, most recently, Sonic Youth, what comes out sounds like aural pablum but is really much deeper, deeper than Traci Lords' throat. So far this album is not quite as invigorating as their self-titled EP, but the whistle riff on The Ruling Class and the mathematics of Thou Shalt Wilt hav already left a (post)-impression on me.
Rating: Not quite on the level Lacan's Symbolic Order but equal to Foucault's "The Order of Things"


No Use for a Name: Keep Them Confused

As some punks age the holes in their face get stretched, their tattoos fade, their teeth fall out, and yet they don't shut up. They talk louder even though they have nothing left to say. Johnny Rotten, aka Johnny Lydon, aka Mr. Never-had-any-talent-to-begin-with is a perfect example of how some punks, and all wrinkly rock stars for that matter, should retire permanently, from work, life, from everything. Euthanize the rockers over 60 who think they're still sexy, icons. Icons, like bread, get moldy if left in the sun too long.

No Use for a Name have aged well. Their newest album Keep them Confused is, unlike their other albums, political. I think the main point here is social commentary, and while songs like Apparition and It's Tragic ("How can millions be so stupid...this country is not what you know.") do a great job describing the current Capitol Hill climate, the title of the album itself is the shrewdest sentiment: How does the Bush administration keep getting away with all the bullshit they pull? By never backing down and never stopping. Every time they get in trouble they out-do themselves with an even more outrageous stunt. (Transcription of Bush's inner monolgue: "If they think I fucked up with the war, wait until they see these prison photos. Then I tell the Americans I've been spying on them for years, and after that I'll have Dick shoot somebody. And before they know what hit 'em, I'll sell our ports to the Arabs! Their heads will be spinning like a carousel!") And instead of punishing the Bush administration for all this malfeasance, we just scratch our heads and say, "How do they keep getting away with everything?" Well, they keep getting away with it because we're too busy scratching out heads. So long as they keep us confused we'll never stop being stupefied. And until we wake up our own stupefaction will keep us too flustered to revolt.
Rating: Seven red, white and blue mohawks


What I'm Not Listening to

The Flaming Lips: At War With the Mystics

The Flaming Lips have apparently been spitting so much they put out the fire. And this new album, AWWTM, is a lot of spit and dribble. We're talking sleep-with-your-mouth-open, River Ganges drooling.

Apparently the members of the Flaming Lips forgot that they're a psychedelic band and just like you don't take political advice from the stark raving lunatic who wonders down Main Street mumbling to himself because he dropped 40 hits of acid in the '80s, nobody wants to hear America's favorite modern psychedelic band dropping notes about the president and Hollywood irony and abuses of global power. Hey Lips! We liked it better when you were singing about vaseline as a condiment and the futuristic robot wars. Stop being so realistic, it's depressing. You're making this a very, very bad trip.
Rating: Flaming pile of dog doo


Magic Head says: "When determining which candidate to cast your vote for, it's imperative to cogitate on the idiosyncratic differences of the individual party members rather than your simple and limited blanket ideological stereotypes. Gauge the algebraic strength of your vote on whether you believe each candidates' responses to polemic issues and the legislation they are likely to ratify will tilt the political scales in your favour not only during the incumbent's elected term, but also in the years that follow."