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Dancing About World Peace is Like Singing About Architecture

Just when we thought our national nightmare was over, he returns. Before you accuse me of being a Negative Nigel, let's break down in real time why this man and his videos are so very reprehensible:

1. Please don't think that an upper-middle-class American encouraging some Iraqis to dance on cue is going to bring about love and harmony throughout the globe. There has never been world peace, there never will be world peace, and sloppy foot work to a fifth-rate Enya impersonator isn't going to change that.

2. Let's be realistic, here: this dude Matt didn't exactly get warring factions to come together in the interest of pacifist living. He didn't convince a gun-toting Israeli to spin into a waltz with an oppressed Palestinian. No, he simply set up his fucking camera, posted (I assume) notices around the village that he wanted extras to dance with him on a particular date and, presto! His job was done. Any idiot can get other idiots to mug for a camera.  This is why so-called reality television is so abundant.

3. His choice of music makes me want to pull out my own eyeballs, slice my head off slowly with a butter knife and then drive a 10-ft razor blade through each kneecap.  Many commentators on YouTube would toss about the word "inspirational".  I would, instead, describe this recording as "crazy-making".

4. Supporters of this man's work argue that this video is a reminder that, basically, everyone the world over is all the same and we should respect the beliefs and cultures of everyone else.  You need a fucking sappy video to tell you that??  That's just fucking Human Fucking Rights 101, baby.

5. The tot on his shoulders at the very end--who I assume to be his own offspring--is going to need decades of therapy when he grows up to find himself to be a part of this debacle.

On the plus side, it is admittedly pretty cool to get a seal to flap its appendages with you, I'll give him that.  Perhaps, in the end, Matt's legacy will be to bridge the opposition we face with our feathered and furry friends throughout the planet.

Cut Your Hair (and Your Losses)

If you needed further convincing on just how reprehensible Iron & Wine frontman Samuel Beam really is, take a moment to let your eardrums get raped by this. Iron & Wine's hemp seed granola persona has been inching ever closer to the early-70's era of shaggy hair and even shaggier music tastes, but now he's crossed a very long-haired, lice-infested line. Little Feat is one of those bands which we should be thankful has bit the dust--our lives are more enriched now that they're no longer on the charts and only brought up in conversation by Over Sixties who still think Lowell George was some sort of music icon. But with the legion of Iron & Wine fans growing each year, I worry that we'll soon be seeing a Little Feat resurgence thanks to this faux-folkie who resembles Jesus Christ but with none of the sex appeal. Are you going to tell me that all these years Beam has been secretly harboring a love of this funky-bluesy-funk/blues? Where does this slippery slope end? Will he next release a one-off single covering Firefall? Is he going to spearhead a tribute album to Barefoot Jerry? Is the next step a collaborative folk-cycle album with Gilbert O'Sullivan? For pete's sake, Sam, let the lunacy end.

Grand Theft Audio

Thanks to the new 25th Anniversary reissue of the 1986 Grammy-winning hit album Graceland, when you listen to this early version of All Around The World Or The Myth Of Fingerprints, you can almost hear the exact moment when Paul Simon steals this Los Lobos song right out from under them. Bonus joke: "Ever since the watermelon..."--what the fuck does that even fucking mean??

Run Away From the Blight

 

There are those who would tell you Alabama Shakes and Rubblebucket are two new bands into which you should be plugging your earbuds, but I am here to warn you, children, that these are freshly-shaved lies. The morally reprehensible Alabama Shakes sport the most generic, lame-ass bar-band sound you could ever muster, tailor-made/readymade for Bonnaroo burnouts;  Rubblebucket are the polar opposite, pushing so far at appearing quirky, you can only respond by patting them on the head and pointing them towards the cut-out bin which they'll soon be inhabiting. The hype machine surrounding these yawn-inducing embarrassments must be avoided above all else. These are dangerous times to be a music lover, and we need to protect each other from all this lethal danger to our tastes.

Sleepy-Time Music for Sleepy-Life People

On the pie chart in my head, snooze-inducing bearded bard Bon Iver is as compelling a listen as swallowing a bottle of Lunesta.  But now that we have to take him seriously after winning the 2012 Grammy for Best New Artist, the obvious questions becomes whether or not his career will mirror that of past New Artist winners?  Out of the professional options below, pick the one he will least likely embark upon:

1. Will become, like The Swingle Singers, the source of a stupefying Trivial Pursuit question.
2. Will go blind, like José Feliciano, from congenital glaucoma but get to enjoy image-enhancing sunglasses with untapped coolness factor.
3. Will give the gift of sperm to a famous lesbian, the same way David Crosby did.
4. Will be profiled in an underground film by Todd Haynes after dying of chemical imbalances associated with anorexia nervosa.
5. Like Milli Vanilli, will be revealed to lip-synching at every performance
6. Like The Beatles, he will become the best-selling artist in history, with estimated sales of over one billion units, influencing countless genres of music the world over.

The correct answer is: g) Bon Iver who?

Darling Indie Band Dies of Quirk Poisoning

By Disco:Very
Published: September 8, 2011

The Portland, Oregon indie band Jared Mees and The Grown Children have been found dead, local authorities say, due to poisoning from repeated doses of quirkiness.

Their compositions often consisted of mostly wacky, non-rock instruments (trumpet, plastic egg maracas, a girl percussionist who also sings backup while using hand signals to act out the lyrics, a band member's dog howling in unison on one of the songs, etc) as well as unending amounts of wordless ba-da-ba-da-ba-da choruses.

The quirk factor which so rapidly took their lives first infected them when the band's whimsical name was invented, and the killer cuteness only increased exponentially when the title of their debut CD Only Good Thoughts Can Stay, was christened. This quaint the-sun-will-come-out-tomorrow CD title was the first indication that the deadly quirkiness was spreading much faster than initially thought.

Their condition worsened with each charming live show and music video involving daffy hats and vintage eyewear. Friends and family of Jared Mees and The Grown Children knew it would only be a matter of time before the band was crushed under the weight of its own cleverness.

The final nail in the coffin was their decision (sadly all-too-common from most of today's indie outfits) to create a trailer for their latest album.

Because the band has influenced nobody nor made any lasting impact on today's popular culture, music lovers around the world, upon hearing the news of the band's demise, reportedly gave a collective shrug.

They are survived by Wes Anderson and Paste Magazine.

Disco:Very Reviews an Amos Lee Concert in Limerick Form

There once was a Lee named Amos
His faux-folk schtick made him famous
His concert in our town
Made us all scowl and frown
His songs are shit--can you blame us?

Calexico was dullish backing band
Main ingredient: music quite bland
Slow beats and strum-a, strum-a
Makes for show of total bumm-a
Can't this type of stuff be banned?

At times, band numbered thirteen
Including pointless tambourine
Too many musicians
Urges one to petition
To replace them all with machines

Drummer looked like senior citizen
Makes for pathetic depiction
His balding grey head
Made him look almost dead
To play for whole show he needs insulin

Guitarist's dress code elicited "Why???"
Due to skinny jeans and skinnier tie
Looked just like a bloke
Who would play for The Strokes
Or Joe Jackson or Eye to Eye

One song was about "Our Troops"
It made me take mental poops
Flag waving refrain
Brought tears to my brain
Thought: "The level to which this man stoops!"

Audience was mostly white meat
Had trouble clapping to the beat
Lee wants to be Black
But true soul he does lack
His street cred a total conceit

Shelter Schmelter

The only question one can ask after viewing this eye-rolling/face palm inducing video: why didn't they get that dorky spaz-dancing-equals-world-peace guy to be in it?

A-R-I-Z-O-N-A Is My State, Arizona Let Me Say I Think You're Great!

Now that Arizona has successfully banned Hispanics from rudely assuming they, too, can breathe the White Man's oxygen, I--a proud native Arizonan--now feel safer to enjoy patronizing our abundance of Mexican food restaurants without having to actually be around all those Mexicans. And on that same topic, a stern word of caution to underground lofi-funksters Javelin should they ignore the worldwide band boycott and choose to perform in The Grand Canyon State: I recommend only playing songs from your David Byrne-approved new album instead of certain tracks off your underground demos (since they contain what is almost certainly traces of what we Gringos call Spanish). As for the rest of you, stop stating our State government is at least as dumb as Georgia's. When it comes to The Championship of Passing Senseless Bills, everyone knows Arizona has them beat at this particular parlor game.

Elliott Smith Fans Declare Jihad Against Fans of Pink Floyd. I Smell a Sitcom!

A fading street mural which happened to be randomly photographed for the cover of mopey suicide-y singer/songwriter Elliott Smith's hilariously overrated 2000 album Figure 8 was "tagged" earlier this week by low-wage lackees hired by 84-year-old Pink Floyd kingpin Roger Waters to virally promote yet another tour of the flogged-dead-horse mainstay The Wall.

The viral marketing utilized by Waters and his publicists involves high-profile/big-budget underground guerilla-styled postings promoting the upcoming tour through the use of crudely prited stickers, scripted in an excessively ornate, barely decipherable typeface.

Although the marketing campaign is being seen throughout the greater Los Angeles area, when it left its mark on the hallowed ground that is this anonymous mural on Sunset Boulevard, fans of Smith's work were outraged. "Elliott Smith literally painted this mural literally with his own blood!", screamed Smith follower Glewanda Furklemier. "You can see his tortured soul in each random curve and swirl. Why doesn't Barack Obama do something about this instead of wasting time on that silly oil spill?"

When it was pointed out to Ms. Furklemier that Mr. Smith did not, in fact, actually paint the mural, and that, instead, the photographer hired by his record company merely posed Smith against already-existing street art, Ms. Furklemier replied, "It doesn't matter who painted it. Pink Floyd is going to pay for this, mark my words. There will be a bloodbath of epic proportions, and we will choke the rivers with their dead!"

Ironically, the success of both Pink Floyd and Elliott Smith have relied almost exclusively on compositions involving depressed whining about emotional isolation, but this irony has been lost amid the uproar.

Asked to comment by phone, Roger Water's response--given while counting huge wads of cash--was, "Elliott who?"

The Joanna Newsom Drinking Game

The newest masterpiece by Joanna Newsom is about to hit stores. As you bask in its unicorn-ey goodness, have some fun and take a drink whenever she uses the following bullshit-meter-breaking words or phrases:

Svetlana

A seagull weeps

Sage

I'm oozing surprise

Yoke

Chim-Choo-Ree

Ursala

Two-by-two (re-loo-re-loo)

Inflammatory writ

Seahorse

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Gasplessly

I am big-boned and fey

Dragons

Exhume your pinecone

An Obvious Set-Up, Followed By Laughter You Will Be Powerless to Stop. Plus, Bono is a Putz.

For once, I am in complete agreement with Bono. All anyone need do is look at the way China has successfully curbed its citizens from enjoying freedom of information. If torturing is good enough for Americans to inflict on suspected Al Queda operatives, why not do the same for those who provide free music to the general public? I am so committed to this very notion that I have attached a taser machine to my testicles in a show of support. This expensive contraption is designed to activate any time I should dare to share music files with my adoring public.

On a lighter note, I've just discovered a new band named UV Race whose music has been non-stop on my headphones. Here are a few of my favorite tracks:

Gore Orphanage

[OH MY GOD!!! MY GONADS!! MY PRECIOUS DELICATE GONADS!!!]

All the Things I Do

[DEAR GOD, MAKE IT STOP!!! MAKE THE PAIN STOP!!!]

The UV Know

[HELP ME, BONO!! HELP ME WITH THE PAIN!!! MY BALLS ARE ON FIRE!!! CAN'T YOU WRITE A SONG OR A FUCKING OPERA ABOUT THE PAIN AND MAKE IT GO AWAY???]

Meet Me Under the Clocks

[AAAAAAUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!! I'LL NEVER BE ABLE TO SHARE QUALITY TIME WITH MY TESTICLES AGAIN!!!]

My First Five Reactions to Seeing the Statue of Ronald Reagan Dedicated Earlier Today at the U.S. Capitol

1. Amazing! They were able to perfectly capture an action-figure likeness of his complete indifference to the AIDS crisis.

2. In order to more closely resemble how he looked during his tenure as President, shouldn’t the statue show him lying down taking a nap?

3. I’m so delighted to see that somebody finally found a use for all that money he made from the Iran-Contra arms deal.

4. I’m a little confused: is this a bronze statue or is he still in that prolonged coma?

5. If only they’d made this statue during his Presidency, it could have provided John Hinckley some good shooting practice.

It's All In Your Mind, Jenna Elfman

It stands to reason that the not-at-all-psychotic religion Scientology needs more money now that they'll be spending millions fighting fraud in a French courtroom. It's a shame potential celeb contributors who might be able to assist financially are either dead (Sonny Bono, Isaac Hayes) or their careers are (Karen Black, Edgar Winter). What's a murderous secretive cult to do? Thank goodness Beck stepped up to the plate (or the altar or the severed goat's head or whatever the fuck they use in their weird-ass Scientology services) to reissue his mostly-acoustic 1994 opus One Foot in the Grave. While it might not net the big bucks Tom Cruise brought them on...uh, Lions for Lambs (cough), there should be enough owners of the original release who'd want to shell out $16 clams for the 16 additional outtakes (including Feather In Your Cap, Mattress, Whiskey Can Can and It's All In Your Mind) which round out this collection. But it's not like Mr. Hansen isn't trying to do his part in keeping the Good Ship Scientology from sinking--heck, if his acting job as the ice cream scooper nerd in that new Verizon commercial is any indication, he's going to be padding the Scientology coffers for a long time to come! [Update: The Verizon commercial has been removed so this last joke is now lost to history, but trust me--the dude looked exactly like Beck.]

An Open Letter To Matt Price of Paste Magazine, Who Wrote an Open Letter Almost Exactly Like My Own Previous Open Letter From Two Years Ago

How I envy you. In a remarkable show of journalistic chutzpah, you have discovered a quick and painless way to slam-dunk your latest article into your editor's deadline basket by simply mirroring the concept you stumbled upon in one of my earlier postings from almost two years ago. Matt Price, you are nothing if not resourceful (and sneaky). I also applaud Paste Magazine--read by rock culture fans across the globe for meticulous articles on all things Iron & Wine--for being lucky enough to land the rare music writer who happens to enjoy both Wilco and The Arcade Fire. I urge you to check my blog often, Matt Price. I'm sure you'll find more than a few of my psychotic rants which can easily be tempered into advertiser-friendly articles upon which your own name may safely reside.

My One Sentence Review of Slumdog Millionaire (Note to Fox Searchlight: Please Make Checks Payable to Disco:Very)

If you only see one movie this year involving a man kissing a woman’s disfiguring scar as a means of magically erasing a lifetime of being sexually enslaved by cartoonish thugs who seem to have stepped out of a story from a Disney film, then see Slumdog Millionaire!

Going to See Revolutionary Road During the Superbowl: A Play in Three Acts

Prologue: An empty movie theatre. Four 50-something women enter the theatre as the lights dim for the feature presentation. Three of the women take their seats; the fourth women is overheard announcing to her friends that "she prefers to stand during the beginning of a movie."

Several previews are played, along with commercials, announcements urging the audience to shut off all electronic devices, etc. Eventually, the movie begins. The fourth women continues standing through the first 10 minutes of it.

Act One

[The scene is a mid-1950's upper-middle class suburb in Connecticut.]

Leonardo DiCaprio: My name is Frank Wheeler. I am named thusly because I speak in a frank fashion and, like the wheel on a car, I roll along day after day without a thought as to where I am going.

Kate Winslet: My name is April Wheeler. Like the month after which I am named, I represent growth and renewal. It would be a shame if my blossoming were to be cut short before my petals had a chance to bloom.

Leonardo DiCaprio: Although I am newly-married with a family, living in a pristine upper-middle class home and working my way up the corporate ladder, I feel my life is stifled and my dreams unrealized.

Kate Winslet: Let's give in to your long-time aspirations and move our family to Paris. We will buck the patriarchal socio-economic system of the mid-50's by making you the house husband while I, the woman, trot off to work each morning.

Leonardo DiCaprio: This drastic new lifestyle will truly put us on...a revolutionary road.

Act Two

Kathy Bates: I am Helen Givings. I am thus named because I am very giving. Although I am merely the realtor who sold Frank and April their idyllic mid-50's dream house many years ago, I will be forcing my way into the story quite often, usually at a point when our newlyweds are in emotional disarray, which occurs about every 4 minutes.

[To Frank and April] I would like to make a bizarre demand and insist upon bringing along my emotionally disabled son John Givings to your next dinner party. Although he was just released from a mental hospital and is given to frequent outbursts of screaming and derisive comments, I can't possibly see what could go wrong with having him attend a fancy-dress dinner in your home.

[We now see a dinner party at Frank and April's pristine pastel-colored dining room.]

John Givings: [To Frank and April] Because I am a social retard and therefore not hindered by the same social constraints as you, I am uniquely qualified to give voice to the churning discord of your counterfeit relationship. By definition, I am insane, but by the standards of your violent and unsettling marriage, I might actually be the most sensible character in the entire movie because I dare to speak the truth which you conveniently sweep under the carpet of your idyllic mid-50's upper-middle class home.

[Skip ahead 90 minutes.]

Leonardo DiCarpio: April's blossoming has been cut short before her petals had a chance to bloom!

Act Three

[Disco:Very is seen on the theatre floor, vomiting.]

THE END

[Curtain]

Suffer the Little Children, and Forbid Them to Purchase The Joshua Tree, for It Blows Big Time and Is Crap

The Good News: Today, America swears in a new President and ushers in a spirited era of hope and national unity.
The Bad News: TV news stations force us to listen to (Pride) In the Name of Love over and over before each commercial break.

The Songs I Heard While Waiting to See the Dentist and the Painful Dental Procedure They Most Resemble

Song: Sunglasses at Night (Corey Hart)
Painful Dental Procedure: Extraction of wisdom teeth

Song: It's Still Rock & Roll to Me (Billy Joel)
Painful Dental Procedure: Root canal

Song: Our House (Madness)
Painful Dental Procedure: Dental crowns

Song: I Guess That's Why They Call It the Blues (Elton John)
Painful Dental Procedure: Gum surgery

Song: Evil Ways (Santana)
Painful Dental Procedure: Getting braces tightened

Song: Love Will Find a Way (Pablo Cruise)
Painful Dental Procedure: Death from anesthesia