Best New Music Week, Dose 1: The Fruit Bats

All this week, in honor of the kiddies going back to school, I'll be blogging about my favorite new albums for fall. Here's number 1, and the first of the bunch to be released.


1) Fruit Bats -- The Ruminant Band

Fruit Bats is the moniker of one Eric Johnson (also of the Shins), who writes delightfully twangy and upbeat pop songs, somewhere between lush chamber pop and toe-tapping alt-country. What started off as a dude with a tape machine in his bedroom quickly morphed into something bigger when Johnson gathered a band in 2000; in 2002, they signed with SubPop and the rest is history. Or rather, the rest has been whimsical, summery tunes that make you want to clap your hands and do a little dance.

Johnson in Santa Barbara, 2009.

The Ruminant Band, their most recent offering, is no different. These are beautiful, breezy, full-sounding songs with shimmering beats, emotive piano and complex, storied lyrics, that all together feel like summer, or a bbq outdoors. Individually of course, there's variety, from "My unusual friend"--a steady-rolling Beatles-esque radio ditty--to "Beautiful morning light," a gentle tune for morning time, before your coffee.

"Tegucigalpa" reminds me most of the Shins, thanks mostly to Johnson's wiry vocals and elastic melodies...

...and the title track is pretty great as well!

Fruit Bats hit Kung Fu Necktie on September 12 -- I can think of no better way to cherish the waning days of summer than with these playful, mellow tunes.

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Like this post? Stay tuned for more best new music all week long. Short Story returns on Monday.

Neighborhood Watch: THEY'RE BACK AGAIN!!!!

By "them" I mean "U Arts students" and by "again" I mean "printed leggings are still in style" (questionably), and so is leaning against the student center looking disaffected, smoking a cigarette. (Some things never change.) Don't these kids know that smoking can kill you? (Awww, hell, what am I kidding, it just looks cool.)

Anyway, in celebration of the new kiddies moving in, here's a back-to-school video for you:

If only waking up wasn't ALWAYS this hard for me...

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Neighborhood Watch: the YELP-o-sphere

This is just too hilarious not to share.

Yelp! -- for those not in the know-- is a online community, focused mainly in major U.S. cities, where users can rate, review, discuss and otherwise pick apart restaurants, shops, and other businesses in the area. The focus is on real ideas by real people -- as opposed to the PR-fueled bullcrap you find everywhere else in the media -- and users are encouraged to share personal experiences and insider tips about their favorite (and least favorite!) places in the city.

Not sure why this is one of the top Google image results for "Yelp"...but I kinda love that it is.

I joined Yelp probably 6 months ago (check out my profile here!) mostly as a time-waster for when the 9-to-5 gets dull (frequently) and have since sincerely enjoyed reading and posting reviews of some of my favorite spots, and doling out justice where justice is deserved.

for disgruntled business owners everywhere.

One such example? Forbidden Planet, the basement chic vintage shop, located next to Giafranco's in Old City. I wrote the following review of Forbidden Planet back in May, after a semi-disastrous visit:

"Forbidden Planet. Sounds racy! This tiny vintage shopped is tucked into a basement on North 3rd Street, next to a pizza place. There's always a mannequin wearing something weird and kinda upsetting out front, and a display of bizarre, one-of-a-kind accessories like giant brooches, lavish necklaces, and brilliantly colored, ornate gloves..

I work in Old City and walk around the area frequently and one day, me and two of my friends decided to stop in. It was midday on a Friday, and we were the only ones in there. The store is suuuuuuper cramped, and you have to carefully navigate your way through tiny aisles, filled with racks upon racks of GORGEOUS vintage dresses, and stacks of designer shoes and jewelry and purses -- everything absolutely beautiful, and in exquisite condition.

It was awesome, and a little bit overwhelming, seeing all the Manolo Blahniks and Yves Saint Laurents and Prada pumps lying about -- in front of our very own eyes. We must have looked REALLY starry-eyed though because the woman working greeted us with an icy glare on our way in, and then stood about 3 inches from us the entire time, acting like she was just "lounging" whenever we happened to be browsing, staring STRAIGHT AT US. As if one of us would have the EFFRONTERY to switch one of our Old Navy flip-flops for an MB and waltz right outta there without paying.

As soon as we got out of the store (and seriously, climbing up those stairs into the fresh air feels like you are being birthed) my friends and I looked at each other and said, "wow. that was weird."

By weird, we meant, rude and unnecessary. If you don't want people to browse in our store, don't open your doors and put tons of stuff sitting out on the sidewalk."

At the time, there were only 2 other reviews of this store posted -- both 5 star reviews. And I guess my critical review was getting the management down or something because last week -- 3 MONTHS after posting, I received the following message from a user "John C" who may or may not be affiliated with the store:

"Subject: Low Class Girl you are

Body: You need to be careful about the words you choose when you write. If you would boost your appearance and actually look like a lady and present your self with the proper use of the english language, you will find the service your receive to be different. When you walk throught the city with dirty flip flop feet, cheap dresses and straggly hair, you too would watch your product closely. You are a poor excuse for a writer and I hope you find a grooming school to better your appeararance and terrible judgements. Please do not return to our store!"

Yikes, right? But like...hilarious. Especially considering: 1.) this person does not know me; 2.) this person does not know I am a professional writer; 3.) English is usually spelled with a capital "E."

Anyway, I thought about writing back to this fellow, telling him that lambasting innocent customers is rude and bad for business, and that I'm actually a fashion writer who COULD, if I wanted to sink to his level, publish multiple articles on how this is the worst store in all of Philly. Instead, I sent the message on to the Yelp! moderator, who promptly deleted his account. Felt kinda like the goody two-shoes in school tattle-tailing on the boy copying her math test...but I suppose that's one way to do business.

Forbidden Planet...apparently, a 1956 sci-fi thriller. Both totally bizarro!

In the meantime, I'm planning a return trip to Forbidden Planet -- maybe I'll buy some warpaint, and really grease up my face -- or douse an old tee in egg batter and waltz right in. Will they promptly kick me out? What if I pair my eggy shirt with Diesel jeans and a designer handbag and wave my credit card around in the air? Do all of the above AND go barefoot? (Although that just seems unnecessarily unsanitary.) One thing's for certain: the outcome should be great. And I'm sure the Yelp! community will appreciate reading about it.

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Confessions of a fashion-addict.

I'm 24 years old, and I love playing dress-up. I do it pretty much every day. For me, getting dressed is never: black skirt, blue shirt, shoes -- it's always '80s country-clubber, on the way to a meeting with the tennis coach; or jungle-dweller, at a rock concert; or Mary-Kate Olsen, dressed as a man. One of my favorite ways to spend a week night is in front of my mirror -- closet open wide -- trying on dresses and skirts and belts and flats, and if i didn't have a job that forced me to look semi-presentable at all times, I'd probably be totally out there (and my boyfriend would probably totally dump me.)

MKO as a man?

I've had this affliction my whole life. When I was probably 5 or so, my friend Tara and I went through the inevitable facepaint phase. I had one of those books -- you know, with the paint palette on the bottom, and tons of photos? Tara always wanted something simple -- a star on her cheek, or perhaps a unicorn -- I always wanted the Bride of Frankenstein, or Cat Woman. I'd pair my facial masterpiece (the work of my mother, who was way better than she gave herself credit for) with a tattered dress, or full-on leotard and cat ears. (I don't hasten to mention here that I later went on to perform in the musical CATS on 2 separate occasions.)

Remember this bad boy?

Throughout elementary school, I was always very dedicated to any event that involved fashion and/or costuming -- I remember being really angry in 4th grade at Cameron Shariati, who beat me in the "wear green for St. Patrick's Day" competition. I had gone all out -- green turtleneck, green velvet skirt, green tights, keds with green laces, green headband with those giant bouncy shamrocks on it, green bangle bracelet, green shamrock painted on my cheek. Cameron had forgotten but -- in a last minute pinch -- had decided to wear his forest green Land's End backpack backwards across his chest. It was sheer genius really -- anyone who's ever seen a Survivor finale knows that the laidback dude with charisma always wins -- and I was sunk. I slunk off with my second place prize (a Shamrock pencil eraser, most likely) and probably cried.

Middle school was no different -- spirits days (like Pajama Day, or Clash Day, or Twin Day) made me giddy -- and don't even get me started on Halloween. Just last year (my 23rd Halloween, that is) I had 3 separate costumes. I justified it by telling myself I couldn't be seen in the same outfit twice.

Me, age 6 or so, inexplicably costumed, and about to devour cake. Some things never change.

I'd like to think my obsession with unique apparel never got me into trouble, but really, that's probably not the case. In high school, my fascination with hair dye, the color orange, and gigantic pants certainly didn't help me win friends...and over the years, I've attended many costume parties where peers have confessed they "couldn't tell" if I was wearing a costume or "regular clothes." My boss has told me that he thinks appropriate work attire is attire you don't notice, and it makes me sad, and a little defiant, to think that if I want to be a boss someday, I'll have to tone things down.

Biz Cas. The only thing I dislike more than khackis are bell-bottom khackis.

Right now however, I'm young and pretty, and I know it won't last forever...so I'll keep rocking the minidresses and cowboy boots for as long as it's not creepy -- provided, of course, that I don't violate the company dress code.

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It's been a languid week...

...and so here's a slow one from Viva Voce. Had the chance to check out these guys when I was in Seattle, and they were great!

And because we all love popular songs, here's a new one from Yo La Tengo, from their forthcoming album, Popular Songs.

I don't know the deal is with this video (they're playing with Times New Viking?) but it definitely captures the lo-fi, rock-in-the-basement aesthetic perfectly -- reminds me of high school, and digging through racks at Scottie's record store...if only YLT had stumbled in!

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Webisodes: Short Story Part 40

Bree Dawson, not surprisingly, was NOT happy to learn that Rachel Lubovitch would be staying with Thom. If there was one thing that made Bree feel uncomfortable it was ex-girlfriends -- especially Rachel, who she had already witnessed Thom turn to mush over.

And so, Sunday afternoon, instead of hanging around Thom's place like she usually did, Bree Dawson headed over to Marilyn's. Jesse Milkovich was back in town, and had already arranged a meeting with the so-called "gangsters" who were chastising Marilyn. They would meet out in the open, outside Marilyn's building around 4 -- to settle some terms and hopefully reach an agreement. Bree decided to join them. It would help to get her mind off Rachel and Thom, and looking out for her friends wasn't a bad idea either.

Google image result #1 for "out in the open." This product is called a "Tantra chair."

Reid and El-Rey Pinkin arrived at 4 o'clock on the dot, looking relatively un-freakish in jeans and tee-shirts. Reid Pinkin seemed noticeably nervous, but trying to stifle it; Jesse Milkovich was just anxious.

"So here's the deal," said Jesse, after terse introductions. "You guys want to do business with the Almighty King and Queen Nation. Understood. But not just anyone can do business with them. You lay off Marilyn here, I'll get you any quantity you want -- just this once -- for under the asking price." It was a reasonable request, and Jese Milkovich hoped to be done with it already. "What do you say?"

Reid Pinkin grunted. "Not enough," he replied. "We don't want quantity -- we want territory. The Nation's got half the borough all tied up. We want to sell on those lands -- at our prices."

Jesse Milkovich looked incredulous. "Well man, I'm not sure what to say to that. The Nation's pretty steadfast. They just don't go around giving out territory to every slow-witted small-time guy out there, no offense." He brushed his hand through his hair: studied nonchalance.

But Reid Pinkin ignored the snide remark and continued. "Look man, you got a connection. We don't. All we're asking is that you introduce us, see if maybe we can work together or something. Me and El-Rey here, we ain't bad guys."

Jesse shook his head. "I'm sorry dude, but I can't do that."

El-Rey Pinkin reached into his pocket. "I think you had better--" he started, reaching for his pocket pistol, but Reid Pinkin shushed him. "Put that away!" he ordered.

"Look here, Jesse," said Reid, turning back to his nemesis. "You make this work. Talk to your guy, tell him we're ok."

"I'm not going to go that," said Jesse. "Because there is no way it will work. The Nation frowns upon outsides. Even mentioning you guys would be a good way to get myself killed."

Reid Pinkin sneered. "Honestly," he said, swallowing back his pride, a nasty scowl painted on his face. "We really don't fucking care."

Google image result #1 for "We don't fucking care." From a blog called
Brooklyn Skeptic! Also, what's with all the bikinki photos on
the internet today? Srsly. WTF?

It was only 4:25 by the time their meeting with Reid and El-Rey ended, and rather than disperse and spend the rest of the afternoon in their respective apartments stewing, Jesse, Marilyn and Bree decided to pop into a local bar and stew collectively.

"We're totally fucked," said Marilyn, who saw apocalypse in everything, and even Jesse was desperately racking his brain for solutions. If he didn't kowtow to the gangsters' demands, what would they do? Jesse Milkovich could tell Reid and El-Rey were novices, and probably didn't intend to kill anyone -- unlike the Nation, who could annihilate him in a heartbeat. But how could he know for sure?

"Hey, look at this!" said Bree Dawson suddenly, interrupting his thoughts. She was flipping through the daily local, and had stopped on a story about a wanted con artist. "Is that Lulu?"

Jesse Milkovich glanced over and rolled his eyes. "What, is it some Asian chick? You know, all Asian people don't look the same, Bree."

Now it was Bree's turn to roll her eyes. "I know that, stupid judger!" she cried out. "But this really looks like her!"

She slid the paper down the bar towards Jesse, who stared at it in disbelief. "You know, it does kind of look like Lulu. But it couldn't be right?"

Kari Ferrell, aka the "Hipster Grifter." fo' realz. I wonder where she found her inspiration?

"Well, I don't know," said Bree, a growing smile illuminating her face. "It says here that Jia. W. Chen is wanted in the greater Tri-state area for conning 'dozens' of victims -- mostly guys in their 20's -- out of thousands of dollars. Hmm. Guys in their 20's? Plus, don't you find it suspicious that Lulu -- if that IS her real name -- all of a sudden packed up and headed east?" Bree Dawson had never liked Lulu in the first place, and was happy to hear she might actually be a criminal.

"Yeah right, I'm sure that's what happened" said Jesse, not wanting to admit that Bree's accusations made him feel slightly uneasy. What if Lulu WAS secretly a con artist? He glanced at the photo again. It did look a LOT like her...

"I think someone's dating a PSY-CHO," said Bree Dawson, standing up from her barstool, and draping her arms around Jesse's neck casually. Bree hadn't eaten lunch, and the one beer she had finished was already going straight to her head.

Marilyn looked up at Bree quizzically, but Jesse did nothing, and stared straight into Bree's eyes as he replied, "I'm not dating her right now though. She's in San Francisco, isn't she? And I'm right here."

"Yes you are," said Bree, and Jesse pulled her closer, and all the tension that had been building up for months and months now suddenly exploded, and in front of Marilyn, and the bartender, and the couple of people decorating the other end of the bar, the pair joined together and shared a deep, very tongue-y kiss...

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Like this post? Read the whole thing (so far) here.

Demographic Study: The Perpetual Optimist

In a world of falling stock prices, abundant lay-offs, cranky bosses and pissed-off employees, it can be difficult, at times, to keep a positive outlook. That is, of course, unless being cheery is your natural disposition. I present to you: the Perpetual Optimist.

How do they do it? I'm not sure. But for the P.O., life is always a bowl of cherries, no matter what sour lemons fate might bring their way. Dumped by the boyfriend? It's time to move on anyway. Skipped over for a big promotion? The boss is saving you for something else. Landlord raised the rent, and refuses to replace your leaky refrigerator? It's all just a challenge to see if you can deal with it. Which of course you can -- these setbacks are just minor roadblocks on the path to a bright and happy future.

smile: life's a blast!

Now being optimistic is certainly a great trait, and studies have shown that optimism leads to increased confidence, and better stress management. Ask a P.O. to help you plan a party, and you'll be guaranteed a blast -- catch a drink with them after work, and your spirits will soar. The P.O. is great at radiating sunshine, and under their gaze, you'll feel warm and happy too.

However, it doesn't take Wikipedia to tell you that over-confidence can be annoying, and there's nothing more frustrating than a P.O. crashing the shitshow when all you want to do is vent. Think the girl who screams "can't we all just get along" when you're protesting the Eagles signing Michael Vick outside the stadium -- or that one coworker who insists that working overtime without extra pay is "not so bad" and "all for the good of the company."

Why can't we all just get along?

"I'm sure he's learned his lesson," the P.O. might say of Vick -- or "the company really needs us." Because they're convinced that all is for the best, the P.O. sees good in everyone, even if they're truly the scum of the earth. And while this blind trust in others might lead to betrayal, the P.O. bounces back with irksome elasticity -- after all, "angry" is not in their vocabulary.

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Like this post? Read about other demographic types here.

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Rediscovering She & Him

She & Him is the duo of M. Ward and Zooey Deschanel, mellow music-maker and wide-eyed actress extraordinaire, respectively. Their debut album, Volume 1, hit stores a little over a year ago, and won acclaim from just about everyone with an opinion (and rightfully so!) Still, I'd somehow forgotten about it until just 6 days ago, when I chose the pair's sweet summery tunes as the soundtrack for my my late night flight back to Philly.


What a glorious summer album! Zooey Deschanel might not be much of an actress, but there's always been a sweetness about her, and here it shines through -- with simple, early pop and soul-tinged melodies (think the Ronettes, Smokey Robinson, Nina Simone, the Carter family), penned by Deschanel, and accented with slide guitar, tambourine, xylophone, and lots of vocal harmonies, supposedly inspired by Zooey's choir days. "Why do you let me stay here?" is the first single, and comes complete with a kitschy, sort of bizarre video:

This is music to help you cool down on a hot summer night, to fall asleep to or cuddle up to a loved one with. Their version of "You really got a hold on me" is absolutely heart-breaking and endearing -- here's a vid of a live performance:

As this 90 degree heat wave continues to rock Philly, you can bet I'll be spending nights in my apartment, fan turned to full speed, drinking lemonade and listening to She & Him.

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What I did on my summer vacation...

They say Seattle is cloudy. It's true. And if one thing breeds snark (and a sudden need to compost EVERYTHING) it's clouds. And a long-awaited vacay with two of my favorite snarklettes. Check us out:

freemont, by the water. totally candid.

Sassy. Under the Calder sculpture, at the art museum.
Cover of our first record.

This place had $5 hamburgers, and $3 craft beers. Enough to make us pose
retardedly, and pretend we're on Friends.
(If Friends were a bunch of alcies.)

Saturday afternoon, Dinosaur Jr. played a free show at Seattle Center.
Did I mention it was free? And also awesome. And free. (And awesome.)

Notice the crowd. there are no black people in Seattle.

Sunday, we drove up to Issaquah and hiked a mountain.
Surprisingly, my total lack of athleticism did not fail me.

On the top. Rachel, Taylor and I hanging in Sammy's shades.

Repping Human BBQ!!!!

Puget Sound: too cold for swimming. (But still pretty!)

Summer vacations don't usually require sweaters -- but I'm not complaining. Check out more photos -- and snarky repartee -- here.

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Webisodes: Short Story Part 39

Josh Stadt and Marcus Roy had been dating just under a month when Marcus decided, out of the blue, that he couldn't take it anymore.

"I thought I was crazy, but you're way crazier," he said Thursday evening, after stopping by Josh's place to pick up his Wigstock dvd. "I mean, I still think you're fucking hot and all...but I can't play this game. Not now. I'm sorry dude," and disappeared just as quickly as he had arrived.

The next afternoon, Josh poured his heart out to Marilyn, over High Lifes and sad tunes, from inside her Bushwick apartment. With the threat of intimacy long since out the way, the pair cuddled on the couch together, lamenting the trials of love, when all of a sudden, they heard a knock on the door.

"Not again!" said Marilyn, who had chosen not to think about the 2 gangsters threatening her life, and sent Josh to the door instead.

There was an awkward silence as he opened it to Reid and El-Rey Pinkin, back again and ready for business.

"Uhhh...hey man, we're here to talk to Marilyn," stuttered Reid.

"She's not here right now," said Josh, blocking the entrance so they couldn't see the Morrissey offspring sprawled out on the couch. "I think you better come back later."

Reid and El-Rey exchanged a wary glance.

"Uhhh...ok," said Reid finally. "But we need proof that she's willing to cooperate. Some sort of uhh, symbolic object or something." He glanced towards his feet.

"Yeah, ok," said Josh. "I hear you." He untied his puka shell necklace from his neck and placed it in Reid's hands. "There you go. Now get outta here."

Google image result #7 for "symbolic object." What does this symbolize? You tell me.

Jesse Milkovich had told Marilyn he didn' t know when he'd be returning, and that much was true. He was excited to explore the good life with Lulu, the effervescent beauty whose charisma and tenacity surpassed even his own.

Still, Jesse felt some sort of responsibility to Bree and Marilyn, and hated the thought of them being accosted by angry gangsters eager for his drug connection, especially since his own carelessness had led to its discovery in the first place. He knew Marilyn was in trouble, and time was of the essence...and so, just 8 days after arriving in San Francisco, Jesse Milkovich booked a flight back.

"Just gotta sort out some unfinished business," he told Lulu, who seemed unphased by his departure, and packed up his bags and headed eastward...

Unfinished business (being finished)

Sazz Tuttle's first AND second attempts to foil Ronald Harris had been unsuccessful -- and yet, the sassy troublemaker kept on trying. Third time's the charm, she told herself, and once again donned a large hat and glasses, and parked herself behind a garage dumpster just around the block from Harris's apartment.

Eye out for Rachel, eye out for Rachel, she repeated to herself, looking intently for her nemesis's curly-haired fiancee. I'll let her know what's up for real, she thought, silently planning how the conversation would go in her head, delighted and elated to be sending Ron his comeuppance.

But perhaps Sazz was a bit too focused on her fantasies, and not enough on grim reality, because she hardly noticed, hunkering down amidst old beer bottles and rotting vegetables, that footsteps were fast approaching. And it wasn't until Ronald Harris himself was right in front of her -- staring in disbelief -- that Sazz knew she had fucked up.

"Uhhh, hello?" she said, rising slowly, avoiding eye contact with the very angry man. "I'm just...throwing away some garbage," she lied.

But Harris said nothing and continued staring, eyes slowly becoming wider and wider, jaw clenched aggressively.

And then, without warning, he exploded.

"LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE YOU PSYCHOTIC BITCH!" screamed Harris. He picked up a 2-by-4 lying next to the dumpster and without pausing for a second, whipped around and smacked Sazz on the upside of the head.

"I TOLD YOU NEVER TO COME BACK HERE!!!" he yelled, tears streaming down his face like a madman, as he hit her over the head again and again.

"JUST LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!!!!" he screamed, over and over, until Sazz lay motionless on the ground in front of him, sunglasses shattered into a million places, lying haphazardly on the blacktop.

There's no use beating a dead horse...or a live human being.

"The Sandlot, this is Thom," said Thomas Sandleby picking up the phone Friday afternoon. The joint was busy, and Thom was helping out, stocking glasses and fielding calls as the bartenders rushed to make cocktails.

"Thom? It's Rachel." There was a pause. "Lubovitch."

"Rachel," said Thom. Talk about bad timing, he thought, and Why the hell would she be calling?

"Hey, sorry to bother you at work, but I have a kinda big favor to ask."

On the other end of the line, Rachel Lubovitch bit her lip. She hated asking Thom for a favor, but felt too embarrassed to call one of her classmates.

"Ok," said Thom, hesitantly. "What's up?"

"Well..." said Rachel. "This is kind of hard to talk about, but..." She trailed off.

"Yes?" said Thom. He wished she would just spit it out -- he was busy!

"Umm, so you know my finance I was telling you about, Ronald Harris?" She paused. "Well, it turns out he just beat up some girl really badly. Might have killed her even." She blinked back tears -- it killed her to say it out loud.

"Anyway, I'm kinda freaked out right now, and I don't really want to go home...I was wondering, for a night or two...is there anyway I could sleep on your couch?"

Had Thomas Sandleby thought about it for more than a second, he probably would have turned her down -- offered up Bree's couch, or Marilyn's couch, or suggested a hostel even -- but the bartender was gesturing for him to get off the phone, and the bar was loud and hard to hear, and he just wanted to be DONE with this already...

"Yeah ok, whatever," said Thom. "Just stop by here later and I'll get you set up."

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Like this post? Read the whole thing (so far) here.

Hanging in Seattle...

Back on Wednesday!

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Best New Music: Double-Dose of the Good Stuff

If you're reading this now (now = around the time of posting), I'm in Seattle, wading through mud puddles, drinking coffee, and getting a little more in touch with my inner Kurt Cobain (note the emphasis here on little.) Maybe I'll upload photos later if you're lucky, but for now, to get you through the weekend...here's a best new music double-dose.

For mid-morning, after brunch, or while lounging about on the couch: The Fiery Furnaces' I'm Going Away.


The Fiery Furnaces are one of those bands who have a totally unique, quirky, and instantly recognizable sound and this album rocks because unlike some of its predecessors, it doesn't make me want to shut it off 3 songs in. There's some real diversity here, from the saloon keys-meets-out-and-out guitar jams of "Drive to Dallas" to the soft, peaceful, almost ambient "The end is near" (who would have thought the FF would be so serene about death?)

The last track, the 6 1/2 minute "Take me around again" is one of my faves -- simple melodies, circus choruses and Eleanor Friedberger's famous talk-y vocals.

Here's a video for the single "Charmaine Champagne."

Even if you found the Furnaces dense and inaccessible in the past...give this a listen. This record seriously rulez!

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For 8 o'clock at night, getting pumped to go out, or that last hour of work: Jay Reatard's Watch Me Fall.


Ignore the frightening image on the cover -- this is garage punk at its finest, with catchy hooks, rousing vocals, brash, gritty guitar parts, and 32 minutes of head-banging rock that makes you really want to let loose and maybe smash something. But in a good way!

It's hard to pick a favorite track, since they all roll together in a raucous, cacophonous racket -- although P-fork insists "It Ain't Gonna Save Me" is especially good. (Just wait until August 18th when this bad boy is released for realz...they're gonna go crazy!)

Here's the video:

Awesome! I wish Jay Reatard would come crash my parties!

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Neighborhood Watch: The Blogosphere

Since probably 'round Fall 2006 or so (when I started interning at the now totally chic Philly STYLE), I've been an avid reader of Philebrity, the Pitchfork meets Gawker of the Philly scene (except you know, a little grungier). Nearly every day (or at least every day I'm stuck behind a computer) I load it up, skim through paragraph upon paragraph of witty (if I'm lucky) drivel and self-promotion, tucked between news of store openings and closings and restaurants and cocktails and all that.

Ye olde Philebs.

Philebrity and I have a love-hate relationship. Sure, there was that time they posted about Faceadelphia (oh yeah) and called Pilam the "East Coast punk rock toga party for well over two decades now" (true!) But then they also had that obnoxious "Penn students need not apply" line on their Intern posting (notice it's gone now) and have frequently referred to the Hold Steady, who I adore, as the "worst band in Philly" (despite them actually being from somewhere in the Midwest.) Plus, everyone knows that Joey Sweeney, snarky as he may be, is NOT the end-all-and-be-all of what's cool. (For example: bow ties? not cool. I've seen him rock this on many an occasion.)

NOT J. Sweeney.

Anyway, the truth of it is: Philebrity was annoying sometimes, but it was the only REAL source of Philly music news that I had. (stuff like CityPaper and Origivation Mag don't count, since they're inconsistent and don't come out every day.) Until now. And maybe it's shameless tooting of my own horn here (it's my mother-fucking blog after all) but I think the City O.B.L. finally has a legit competitor, in the form of P.com's very own Phrequency.com.

Home page.

What's that? I write for Phrequency.com? Why yes I do, and I'd go as far as to argue that the content and the photos are WAY superior to those on Philebrity. Consider, for example, coverage of the recent All Points West Festival in Northern NJ. Phrequency posted tons of photo galleries, not to mention an impressive act-by-act recap of all the shit that went down (check out the whole thing here.) Philebrity posted this. Sassy? Why yes, but is this all you can come up with? And jeez, even my amateur photos from the X-ponential Fest are better than these!

Vampire Weekend at APW. Photo (c) Tiffany Yoon for Phrequency.com.

Gogol Bordello, supposedly, at APW. By some Phileb intern.
How can you tell what is even happening in this photo?

News of Philly bands being signed or new venues opening up? Phrequency is just as likely to have the story first as Philebs. And I know Philebrity is not JUST focused on music, and I'll still turn here for news on It's Always Sunny cast sightings, and OMG, what's that new building in Chinatown updates, but when it comes to the music scene...it's nice to have a multiplicity of voices. And someone to argue that the Hold Steady doesn't suck.

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Robes to keep you warm

Robes are an up-and-coming Philly band who are one of the most promising young groups I've heard in a while. I've seen them live about a million times, mostly because they seem to score opening spots for just about every of-the-moment band out there, from Little Joy, to Headlights, to the Photon Band and more.

Robes live at Johnny Brenda's, July.
Photo Kate Bracaglia for Phrequency.com.

The reason? They're awesome. Think frenzied, blistering, beat-rific jams, passionate crooning and a smattering of New Order-y synth tracks that locate their tunes somewhere between rock, new wave, psych-pop and easy listening, with heartfelt lyrics to boot.

Here they are live on WXPN:

You can stream their most recent EP, Nothing Can Save US, for FREE on their website. Highly recommended for music fans of all types!

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