Radiohead released a new album last week. I know this because everybody in the world has been masturbating over it ever since. Apparently it’s a big deal that a band decided to offer an album on their website with the option to download it for free. I guess if I recorded something this bad I might feel compelled to give it away for free online too. At it’s best, In Rainbows is “meh” glitch-pop from a band that sounds bored with itself. I stopped after six tracks and deleted the album from my computer. No one can convince me that this crap is worth a second listen. What I don’t understand is why everyone is so amazed that a popular band could release an album without a label. To laud Radiohead for this would be like lauding a retarded kid for not tying his shoelaces together. Furthermore, no one seems to care that they’re still planning on releasing a regular CD version. They basically fleeced a million people into paying to hear some demos. Wait, maybe they are geniuses…
This one pretty much writes itself. My favorite nauseatingly pathetic softy Soupjam Stevens is speaking at a literary event in Brooklyn next month. My money (there isn’t much of it) says he’ll copy the same speech somebody else has already used for years, but he’ll gay it up a bit with some superfluous “quirky” bells and whistles, and everyone will cheer and call it best literary event of the year.
The Flaming Lips are planning a Halloween Parade in Oklahoma City. I’m sure lots of people will show up. In Oklahoma City. For The Flaming Lips. A band that hasn’t released anything worth listening to in…forever. Sure, I own The Soft Bulletin and Zaireeka, but that doesn’t mean I listen to them. I just keep ‘em around because cute girls usually stop to mention they know who the Flaming Lips are when they’re flipping through my record collection.
Thurston Moore (Make mine a Thurston LESS, please!) has officially hit bottom. When a teenage girl with an eating disorder finally suffers a heart attack or vomits up her stomach, they stick her in rehab. When an underground rock icon finally consents to open for the world’s worst excuse for a musician, he needs to be stuck in some kind of indie rehab. Nevertheless, Mr. Moore will be performing at Radio City Music Hall with that Bright Eyes mongoloid next month. And you know what? I guess I’m alright with this. They deserve each other. The guy whose music hasn’t mattered in over a decade, who recently inked a deal with Starbucks to distribute his music (Azzerad should remove the SY chapter from “Our Band Could Be Your Life” for that), paired up with the doe-eyed Dylan-wannabe goon. I sense a poisonous cloud of douchebaggery will descend over Manhattan next month. I’m glad I won’t be around then.
They’re releasing the Nirvana Unplugged thing on DVD. And just in time, too. I was starting to get really bored hearing Nirvana songs in every mega-corporate TV commercial, seeing news stories about Nirvana dolls and lunchboxes, and hearing about Nirvana biopics and documentaries. I think I’m finally ready for a new Nirvana product.
It looks like I have some competition as I strive to become the greatest blogger in the history of the world (since the inception of the blog). Billy “The Velvet Fog” Corgan posted a blog entry on his band’s website last week. I couldn’t get past the sheer wordiness of it. Something about him thinking he’s still relevant enough to tell us exactly how he feels about stuff, and that God tries to talk to him but he doesn’t listen. Here’s a bit of advice, Billy-boy: Go away. Every time you open your mouth, you are not only doing your reputation irreparable harm, you’re killing mine as well. Ever since you weaseled your way back into the public eye, I’ve had to vehemently deny ever enjoying your music. How do you think that makes me feel? I lost, like, six years of my adolescence obsessing over your band, and now I feel like a fucking douchebag whenever anybody mentions something tangentially related to you. Disappear, guy. Please. For the both of us.
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