Look at his face... What do you see? Well, I see the beautiful, male model-esque features of Gustav Ejstes aka the Swedish psych-rock sensation Dungen. If he is this beautiful on the interweb, imagine what this handsome Bohemian looks like in the flesh. Now is your chance to find out because thanks to our friend's at Kemado Record's we're giving away two pairs of tickets to the upcoming Dungen show in NYC. So buy yourself some Shower to Shower for the chafing and enter this contest to see the white hot mastermind behind last year's Pitchfork wettest dream. Here are the details ::

Dungen
w/ Witch and Nethers
LIVE! June 10, 2006
@ Irving Plaza
17 Irving Place
$18.50 adv/$20.00 dos

To enter the contest for a pair of tickets, simply send an email to contests [at] looserecord.com with Dungen in the subject. Make sure your full name is included in the body of the email. We will randomly pick out a winner and contact them for their measurements. Good luck!

More to come including why I was covered in cake and why some dude wanted to slap me with his penis. Maybe not to me, but he said that to Roxanne. Damn that man. For now, mark your fucking calendars:

"If Sunn0))) is the ZZ Top of experimental metal, with matching beards and Gibson Les Paul guitars, Boris might be the Kraftwerk, or the Ramones, or even the Jimi Hendrix Experience." - from this Sunday's New York Times Magazine, (I've never heard of this magazine).

Because you slobs need some culture. Go check out this photog Xibit. This comes courtesy of the Darn. His buddy Steven has mad skillz.

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Now let me get the AddVice (RIP) dick out of my ass and pimp Mr. Productshop's new skeeze. Here are the details ::

Product Shop NYC Presents
WHORES OF FASHION: The Rock N Roll Extravaganza
Premiere Party with a special DJ Performance by PEACHES!!!!
Host DJ's Devon Detrich, Jordan Silver, Pamela W
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Thursday, June 15th | 8PM Doors | 10PM DJ Sets
CLUB R&R | 416 West 14th Street, NYC
$15 Door | $10 Guestlist
RSVP: productshopnyc@gmail.com, devon.detrich@gmail.com
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Every Thursday evening this summer, WHORES OF FASHION will be throwing a zany all-night rock n' roll dance party. This crowd of so sexualized and fashionable folks get the difference between good music and shit disco. Get out from under that eighties techno crap and get dirty with your fellow fashion whores. It all starts on June 15th at R&R. Get on the list. Pass this on. Kick out the motherfuckin' jams....

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Oh, and some of you like that turd named Thom Yorke. Go listen to his lastest masturbation for free. Geek out with the proper company. Details ::

thom yorke the eraser listening party
thursday june 1 7-9 pm at midway 25 avenue b
please rsvp to theeraser_rsvp@yahoo.com

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And finally, Jerry Yeti has caught on to the latest trend... GUEST BLOGGING!!! That's right folks; first it was Villiage Indian, then Tom Yaps (who?) and now it is Jerry Yeti who did a Sasquatch review for Brooklyn Vegan, (our feature will be coming soon - right Sean). Worlds are colliding! I love you all!

Just in case you aren't going to Wolfmother ::

Deuce Deuce Presents... The first of many memorable nights

With performances by: Dead Meadow and Ezra Reich

DJ sets by: Deuce Deuce
And very special guest DJs: RATATAT

Free Sparks open bar starting at 1am!

SATURDAY, JUNE 3RD @ 10:30pm
@ Galapagos Art Space
70 North 6th Street bet Kent and Wythe
Williamsburg, Brooklyn
$10. 21 and over.

1. Observe and Describe
2. Formulate Hypothesis
3. Make Predictions
4. Experiment
5. Report

First of all, my sincere apologies go out to Christina and Maggie who've carried Ghostland Observatory on their shoulders since this time last year. They told me about the awesome. They warned me of the greatness. They advised me to check them out - I never did. My second apology goes to Cara and Ashley who tried to introduce me to the Ghostland jam "Sad Sad City" prior to their Mercury Lounge show - I was blinded by the Hockey Night and a hefty amount of vodka. My final apology goes straight to the band. Ghostland Observatory is full frontal dance punk goodness - just the way I like it. Beats that will break your neck. Vocals that walk the line between black eyed hardcore and the latest post-punk updates, (think Rapture or At the Drive In). Synthy piano solos that recall Beethoven at Bill and Ted's senior presentation. It's everything you need for a night of hand clapping and feet shuffling. Indie dance floors wax yourself in preparation - Ghostland Observatory is coming your way.

Stream a bunch of their songs from Trashy Moped Recordings.

So our backend system is being a prick this morning which means I've been reading some websites. Since you are surely foaming at the mouth in anticipation of The Walkmen's review of Mission Impossible III, I'll save you the click by posting it below. It kind of makes me want to spend the $12 bucks to go see it while we get pelted with rain over the long weekend.

Also, Mission Impossible 3 is a pretty good watch. The problem is that it's too fast-paced, and there's too many face transplants. I was like, "Who the...?" I mean, I didn't know who anyone was, and what in the hell was going on. I sure enjoyed it though. I mean, was Billy Crudup a "good guy" or a "bad guy"? And why all the switching from good to bad? I mean, there's just flip after flip until it's suddenly over. And why did Philip Seymour Hoffman shoot his head of security instead of Tom Cruise's wife? By the end I thought, "Now is this still Tom Cruise, or is his face about to melt off--and do I even give a flying f#ck if it does?" And what the f#ck happened to Ving Raimes? So they crossed the line with the face switching, but it still floated my boat.

Nothing like some mindless action. Did anyone else see this? Do share this sentiment? Let me know before I waste my cash. The point of this story is that you shouldn't fret if you got shut out of their SOLD OUT show tonight at Webster Hall. They will appear at Warsaw on June 30th. Mark your calendars, (but if you get to the show early a few tickets might be on sale - I'm not making any promises though). Also, their new album - A Hundred Miles Off - dropped yesterday. Go buy it - you love this band.

Oh - if you stole the gourd, please do give it back - that's not cool.

So Friday was a big day for me. I left work early to head out to Jigga's house to start a massive piece on my right side. Awhile back I pitched the idea to Jeff and he created a beautiful tattoo. On Friday we put in a solid 5 1/2 to 6 hours of ink work. It is the biggest tattoo I've gotten to date, but it definitely isn't the last. We still have a couple coloring sessions to rock, but at this point, the lining looks great. If you have any ideas for body work, let me know and I'll get you in touch with Jigga - he's top of the pops.

Speaking of Top of the Pops, I saw Art Brut last Thursday and they completely destroyed. They played at the Knit after a set by We Are Scientists that concluded with a choreographed routine by two Bruts and one Chalet to the song "Great Escape". That show was the perfect nightcap to an evening that included a trip to Southpaw to catch the larger part of a Big Sleep set. This solid night of rock kicked off with a solid dinner at Frank's with Jaclyn, Leda and Jason and it ended with a drunken ride home with Christen, Rory and Jean. A bunch of solid monkeys peppered the in-between.

So Friday I tried to go out after the painful session. I made it to the Mercury Lounge to hang with Beach and Holly who were in attendance for Land of Talk. Now maybe it's because they are Canadian, but holy shit this band appeared to be a bunch of prissy bitches. Here they are, playing the Mercury Lounge on a Friday night and every time there was a squeal or shriek of feedback they seemed to pout or make faces of disgust. Be a fucking rock band please! The boys seemed to be the particular bitches, but the female singer/guitarist Elizabeth Powell was so talented it overshadowed the cry baby tudes that only seemed to full my already pissy fire. Their songs were good, but not memorable. I'll give them another shot, provided there is an attitude adjustment. And no my Canadian friends - I don't think y'all are bitches.

Saturday was a shit show that started with breakfast margaritas and ended with bedtime vodka tonics. The filling of that drunken sandwich was a Yankee game at Yaps' house where we playfully argued who would get to post about it, (before blowing each other). Then Christie and I walked around the Lower East Side sipping margaritas while awaiting my little sister's arrival. Once she showed up, we cooked some fajitas and invited some folks over to waste their Saturday at our house. The crew included Kyle (he's always invited), Noah, Paris, Shannon, Danny, Sonya, Rory, Bill, Christen, Nic(olas) and maybe a couple others. The night consisted of our drunken Trivial Pursuit game and a bunch of Wolfmother. I passed out at 1am. People partied until 5:30am. I've got zero game.

Sunday was amazing. A group of work friends met at Red Lobster to take down the Ultimate Feast before heading to Dave and Busters to win a bunch of crappy prizes playing amazing arcade games. Everyone should plan their next birthday party there. It is so much fun. I highly recommend the six player trivia game. I quickly proved that I was the smartest drunk at the reputable establishment. The rest of the day was spent watching TV with the roommates, Shannon and my little sister. Good times.

Yesterday was nuts. Well, it was only nuts because of the Gnarls Barkley show at Webster Hall. Tons of big names came through like Jay-Z, Beyonce, James Blunt, David Byrne and Sean Combs. The all-star affair was a bit of a shitshow, but we powered through. The few songs I saw were disappointing because their sound guy had the levels down. I don't know if it was because of the taping (if I recall the System of the Down levels were low), but the stage production was hilarious. The band came out dressed up as a glam rock outfit to Europe's jam "Final Countdown" which you might remember from Gob Bluth's magic routine. They played all the jams in a quick hour long set. I saw the few songs necessary to make a snap judgment. My guess is the next time stop into town they will play Radio City and the shit will be bananas.

Last night was pretty great. Sports wise, we had two game 7's and Yankees-Red Sox. My basketball teams won, my baseball team lost. I don't know how the Brewers did because I fail to recognize their existence. After grilling in the backyard with the roommates (great work as always gayger), George and I headed down to the Beirut/Sunset Rubdown show at Mercury. The place was packed to the gills, especially for Beirut. I have never heard Mercury Lounge so quiet during an artist's set before. It was crazy. It was pointed out to me though, that I rarely see shows that merit such a quiet audience. Give me Wolfmother and Art Brut any day. As for the music, well, the kid is gonna be around for a long time. Still super shy and baby-faced, he reminds me vocally of Rufus Wainright. But the melodiesand talent are very obviously there. I know it's an easy criticism to make, but his set kindof sounded like one long song. But a very pretty long song.

Next up was Sunset Rubdown. I had not heard a single song before seeing Spencer & crew live, but I love Wolf Parade so I was pretty pumped. They opened with a sparse version of I'll believe in Anything, and then played for about an hour. I left very impressed. Lots of familiar faces were there, but I never did see Dana. That is because she was down front, trying to capture all of Spencer's sweat in a cup to put on her Wolf Parade souvenir stand. ewwwwww. As Lucy informed us that Dallas-San Antonio was in overtime, Sunset Rubdown wrapped up their satisfying set and I went home to fall asleep while watching the games. Pretty killer way to start the week.

I also caught the National on Sunday night, who absolutely destroyed it, with george, who destroyed me with tequilla shots. Fuck a full weekend recap, but it was spent riding my bike, seeing the Strokes play two Ramone's cover songs and having super late night danceparties on the backyard dancefloor. Good times all around. Just really fucking rad.

Last night my view on reality got an unwelcome shot in the arm. Think about it like a dead leg that some dickbag, offensive lineman gave you in the cafeteria back in those wonderful years called high school. You're just sitting there, minding your own business, eating your lunch of French fries and ranch dressing when all of a sudden some 260 gorilla comes up to you pushes out the table, slams the top of your thigh and walks away laughing while you roll on the floor in anguish. Then once you've composed yourself enough to join the rest of the world back at eye level, you climb to your chair only to have some shitstick from the wrestling team shove a bunch of Cheetos in your cigarette pocket and pat your chest until they are nearly powder. Did I mention they take your lunch as well? Those were the days. Funny thing is, I can't remember those assholes names, but I'm sure they are somewhere in central PA with a couple kids, a large car payment and a solid job at the mill. Shine on you functioning alcoholics.

That longwinded explanation of a painful event can only half sum up my thoughts regarding last night's spit take. There was a massive fuss about four songs into Elefant's set. I couldn't tell what was going on, but our head of security brought another beefed up dude inside, patted him down and ran him upstairs. A few moments later they ran back outside. It was only moments later that five security guards rushed in Lindsay Lohan and her four (very young and emaciated) person entourage. I've never seen the waters part so quickly. Think about like this:

Number of body guards for David Byrne :: 0
Number of body guards for Mike Myers :: 0
Number of body guards for David Bowie :: 0
Number of body guards for Lindsay Lohan :: 5

I don't know the logistics, but I think she used to dine at Diego's string bean factory. Someone told me that, but I refused to listen. More importantly, Sound Team opened last night's show. If you missed them, be sure to stop by Annex tonight for their 10:30pm set. Recommended if you like melodic, danceable rock much akin to a blended mix of The Walkmen and The National, but with vocals that are so gritty that you'll be picking gravel out of your palms post gig.

While Paul was busy stalking Prince Fielder and wondering when Ben Sheets is getting of the DL, I attended the Gun n' Roses show Monday Night at Hammerstein. Simply put, Axl was incredible. From the gigantic fireballs to the gigantic songs, the show was so epic that I didnt even mind the borrowing solos that gave axl time to catch his breath offstage. But don't take my word for it, after all, I go gay for eddie vedder. Instead read what my partner in crime, H-Wall had to say in her guest blog debut...

Monday, May 15th, 2006, I was witness to the revival of an iconic American craze. Hammerstein hosted Guns and Roses for what was a much anticipated, much criticized fire blowout of rock fantasy.

Having been raised banging heads with my sis to everything that was metal rock in the 80's and 90's, I was enraptured, to say the least, by Mr. Axl Rose. Say what you want about him, just don't say it in my house. The man is candy. With strawberry blonde corn rows, black shades, a black leather shirt and jeans on, he came out to "Welcome to the Jungle." Although his look has changed much since the skinny, teased blonde we watched slink off the bus and fondle LA hookers way back when, he still mastered the stage, and hypnotized his fans.

His insanity has not changed a pinch. The rumors get crazier and crazier and I eat them up like jawbreakers.

Back to the show. Yaps and myself were super pumped anyway, and so when Axl gave us "Live and Let Die" and "Knockin on Heaven's Door," our spirits were lifted like a coke whore discovering crack. Then, running up from the bathroom for "Sweet Child of Mine," I spilled some of my fresh beer on the steps in front of me, as well as on my face. Then, slipping on it, flung the rest of the beer all over the rest of my face, and my bandana. Yaps saw all of this. I told him he should pour the rest of his beer on his own face. He seriously considered this for about three seconds.

I didn't think they would play my #1 favorite tune "You Could Be Mine" and they did. I didn't think Axl's voice would sound as spellbinding as ever, and it did. I certainly did not think I would ever in my life see any of these songs live, and so falling in love with "Patience" and "November Rain" for the 80batrillionth time was the ultimate in how shocking rock n roll can be....when you need it the most.

The guitarist were OK. They were stoked to be up there, so that was fun to see, but in the middle of "November Rain" (while singing every single word with Axl) when Slash would have come in, my heart sank a little and Yaps and I made the face we make when shit ain't cool.

Sebastian Bach sang "My Michelle," which made me feel CRAZY. Dizzy came on to stroke the piano, which was truly beautiful. Axl's piano strokes were hardcore and the faces he makes are better then ever. Take that in for a moment. Better. Than. Ever.
I don't want to mention the new songs, since I didn't care for them that much, but I will say that there were some major hardcore fans in there who knew all the words and I thought that was badass.

The fact that Johnny Depp was there on the same night as us makes me really really happy. I can only hope he and Axl partied straight after.

Alas, Yaps and I did not hunt for Axl afterwards. And alas, I did not rush the stage or get arrested. BUT, in my heart, the music affected me in the way it always and forever has, in that it makes me feel like a criminal, like a ghost, like a tied up magician man, like a fiend on the run, with sweat in my hair and death in my boots. My edge, my drug, my everything wrong & dangerous, all that you can love about the terror in yourself, capped off with a gun and a rose, oh how I wish it was that night tonight....

So while looking at this flyer, your internal voice says, "Kick ass, now I have plans for Thursday night. Who should I call first?" Well, don't start with me, because I'll already be there. I mean who the fuck is the genius behind a bill like this? I would name him, but his hot air balloon size ego doesn't need any more fuel - I kid. But seriously, Sam Champion, The Big Sleep and The Comas all stuffed nicely on a neat little bill at Southpaw. Talk about making my fucking day. Unfortunately, work might pull me away before the main event, but I'll be there in spirit. If you aren't in attendance, you'll be sorry!

Speaking of The Comas, as I wondered around Williamsburg after getting my hair chopped, I came across the Grand Street block party they played, (ProductshopNYC has pictures). It was an interesting scene at the end of Grand. The hipster elite crowded the streets, but something felt missing - booze. There seemed to be zero entrepreneurs taking advantage of the beverage deprived folks. After a few songs - the first of which had major vocal issues - I hopped on a bus and headed home to get rid of that new haircut itch, (no, that doesn't mean beat off).

Later that evening Cara and Ashley joined Kyle and I for some intense pre gaming. The mood wasn't intense, but the amount of vodka we consumed as a "base" for the evening was somewhat out of control. Builder, Dilly and Rosatdon't joined us for an iPod session in the living room that took me back to the good old days of not having to bust out of the house at a moments notice. It was awesome to hang for a few hours without having an agenda.

It all changed at 11pm when we bounced over to The Mercury Lounge for some Hockey Night. We met Rory, Christen, Lucy, Tumbleweed and Mr. Big Sleep for a solid show by the Twin City (the mini one) five piece (well, if you count the dude with the wig it would be six). Lead singer dude wore his patented Vision Street Wear t-shirt (he either has a million of them or that one is barely holding on) and belted out some of their best tunes. I was disappointed to hear they are taking a break for awhile especially with what I thought was a new record in the pipeline. They played a number of jams like "For Guys Eyes Only", "Dance Trance", "Tubin" and my personal favorite "Get Real". I'm done with all the haters claiming they are nothing but a Pavement Jr. The argument is null at this point. They write fun, light, killer pop tunes and if you can't enjoy them for that then you should just stop being my MySpace friend.

My tail spin began quickly after Ghostland Observatory started. From what I remember they were awesome, but then again, the last thing I remember is Rory pouring us tequila shots at the end of the bar. Bad news!

This is a new Loose Record feature which will ultimately be a weekly installment. Much of this is based on the fact that no one wants to read more awful posts about Eddie Vedder...that ass has a voice like a native Seminole folk singer summoning rainfall. Anyone consdider the recent storms in the Northeast? Coincidence?

Anyhow, this is part one of a weekly installment which focuses on why the Milwaukee Brewers are better and cooler than the team that you like.

Reason #1- How many of your announcers were on Mr. Belvedere?

(cue theme song: Streaks on the china, never met him before...)

Right. Didn't think so.

Consider this a point...and your counterpoints are welcome, but you can stil shove them up your ass.

Free shows are awesome on their own, but what this flyer doesn't tell you is that there are two open bars. The first is from 8-9pm and the second is from 11pm-Midnight and they both come courtesy of World's Fair. So go early, get drunk, stick around and get drunker. Or head to Southpaw - you know where I'll be.

In my short time writing for this blog, I think 84% of my posts have been pearl jam related. That said, here's one more. This weekend I went on a mini-Pearl Jam tour, seeing the band in Albany and Hartford. That is 5 hours and 55 songs from the best live band on the planet in one weekend.

The Albany show was like a religous experience, with Eddie leading his followers in sing-a-longs, chants, and spontaneous hand claps. God it was amazing. I waved to Beach way up onthe right side of the Pepsi Center from my SEVENTH ROW CENTER seat!!!! Thank you Samuels for being a tenclub member since 1993. Eddie was on fire and McCready played and skipped around like a man possessed. They played three of the "5 semi-obscure songs I hoped to hear" from the list we made on the train (wishlist, off he goes, given to fly). They also miraculously played Rats, Red Mosquito, and Satan's Bed. I mean, Holy Shit!

For the Hartford show I just had lawn seats and it was pretty cold. I went with my sister, who knows about 4 songs, but she was a convert at the end. All of the new songs ripped and animal, dissident, and do the evolution were particularly epic. Samuels, this time in the EIGHTH ROW, caught Eddie Vedder's guitar pick during World Wide Suicide! I said, Samuels caught Eddie Vedder's guitar pick during World Wide Suicide! It says EV on the back.

Alright, I could go on and on about eddie drinking wine and smoking butts and the band ripping and the crowd participation, but in the spirit of brooklynvegan, i'll just post a few pics. Tonight it is Guns n' Roses and from the posts on vegan and productshop and others, I cant wait. Hope Axl's still standing after last night's show.

Here are the pics (via Brian Samuels)

blogger's picture adding shit is all fucked up...i'll put the pictures up later. i know Bothe is holding his breathe in anticipation.

So last became an unexpected whirlwind tour of the neighborhood. It began at Webster Hall where Christine and I held it down for Mogwai. Now I've never been a huge fan of those Scots, but I had my respect. What I know of them is loud and atmospheric. Last night they surprised me by not blowing my eardrums out, but they did manage to blow my mind with an incredibly trippy light show. As I stood in the balcony with Danny, Gigs and Kelley, it dawned on me that this band will always be one that I missed. It's not something I'm going to jump into at this point, but I can say they put on a fantastic show. Head down to Webster tonight for round two of their stand. I took tonight off because of more pressing issues which I'll get to later.

After the show, Kelley, Susan, Shadow and I went to snag a cab. As I climbed in the front the cabbie got a bit pissed off with me because I told him we only had four folks in the whip, but apparently Danny snuck in. At this point the dudes bounced, got in another cab and we all reconvened at the Bowery. Noah and Merrida were hugging the bar as we came in, but my goal was to see some White Rose Movement. After saying a long overdue helo to Ms. Nora, I ran upstairs only to realize they were in the middle of their last chorus. I didn't even get a good look at the band. Cara and I kept Bango company for a bit before retiring downstairs to get a hang on. The basement was littered with folks I haven't seen in ages, (I need to get out more) like Ashley, Emily, Melissa and Christen - wait, I seen Queen Goon all the time. Folks broke off to their respective dance parties and I returned home mildly buzzed and kind of bored.

Around 2am I got a call from Anna who was headed to 2A with her friends from Portland. I contemplated a rally, but tried to drift off when all of a sudden Ghostface rang again, ("Be Easy" is my ringtone). It was Hawkins and his sister. Rarely do I want to miss an opportunity to hang with this man so I jumped out the door and met everyone upstairs at 2A. After a few drinks there and a shot courtesy of George, we dipped over to Ace Bar to finish our night playing pool with my man Capt' Jack. It was an all around solid hang, but I'm paying dearly for it now.

The whole point of this post - before it ran away from me - was to remind y'all to get to the Mercury Lounge for Hockey Night. They rhyme and they rip. They rip and they rhyme. They spit mad fire. Just do it. I'm still drunk, but the plan right now is to get the neighborhood hang on preshow. Give me a call if you are around and down. You don't want to miss your chance to get into a hippy Dance Trance.

Last night had ambition written all over it. I left the office psyched to hit up dinner with Ms. Dana (who has the best Coachella recap eva), but my plans turned to shit as we mowed down a plate of brisket and Whitetrash-a-Role at Big John's, (formerly Kitchen and Cocktails). After some wonderful dinner conversation (that mainly revolved around blog rock and Sunset Rubdown), we returned to 186 to plug our buttholes while watching the Yankees lose against Boston. Eventually Dana left so I could finally let out the last two hours of gas. It was so sweet.

So yes, this is my typical evening. Since people are exponentially cooler than I am, I'm going to post some links from those folks ::

** Cara has a blog called C and C Blog Factory. This girl has more clues than Scooby-Doo and she makes mad tasty Scooby Snacks.

** Time to waste? Make your own Dub! (Thx R-Dizzle)

** Thurston Moore interviewing Beck on 120 Minutes. (Thx Buildit)

** Speaking of new blogs (well, if I haven't read it, it's new to me), check out Darnold's piece of work - Mercedes Rules or Boss Blog - whatever, (I don't think he is talking about the smoking joint from DJ Quik).

** Because America loves hot teen jailbait ass - here is the new video for Be Your Own Pet's latest single "Bicycle, Bicycle You Are My Bicycle" (Quicktime). Thurston Moore loves these kids - maybe you should too.

** I just got word that The Rentals are returning (once again). Though they don't have any NYC dates yet, you can be sure they will be out here soon and yours truely will be front and center for a full force geek out.

** My blog intake is obviously down. I thought The Little Ones were way under the radar, but apparently the blogs have jumped on it (Yeti is so on his game). You like Shins style pop? You'll dig these kids. Check out their first NYC dates and some West Coast romping:

Fri May 19: Los Angeles, CA The Echo
Wed May 24: San Francisco, CA Rickshaw Stop
Tue May 30: Long Beach, CA The Prospector
Sat July 1: New York, NY Bowery Ballroom

You like Ghostface Killah? Yeah, me too. Check out where he got the samples for Fishscale. This is hotter than hot, (props to R-Dizzle).

Word on the street is that there is some new Radiohead song on Pitchfork, but I could give a shit.

Oh, and don't forget to check out Gothamist today. Way to finally represent Sam Champion. These guys are going to be the band of 200whatever.

So while some may be ecstatic that I haven't posted in a couple weeks, I am not. You see if I don't post more often, I can't refer to myself as a 'motherfuckin blogger.' Which I do ALL the time. So in order to maintain said status, he is a short recap, in no particular order of the last couple weeks of my life.

1. Getting "motivated" (yelled at) by my boss at work.

2. Seeing the Julia Roberts play on broadway (the reviews are accurate) followed by Rigoletto at the Met on consecutive nights. It was culture week for me and both nights were rad, ending in Employees Only and good times and blurry taxi cabs and walks home. Oh yeah. And we saw David Lame while we were in Lincoln Center. What a fucking douche.

3. Building a deef (dancefloor for those who arent up on the new lingo) in my backyard with the roommates on Saturday. The shit is epic. Christened with a latenight strokes danceoff saturday and a margarita blender event on sunday.

4. My friend's sister's engagement party at the Angler's club where I was possibly dressed the preppiest I have ever been. And I went to prep school. What a fucking blast. The night went from there to the Maritime cabanas to the backroom of the spotted pig where we hung out with master chef batali. he was the man and was chain smoking merits (extra cool points for that).

5. I had a graduation ceremony monday from NYU. While I still have a thesis to write, it looks like anyone who took moser getting his undergrad diploma before my masters has to eat it. Beylin, when are you graduating?

6. I also caught up on a lot of cds that i was late purchasing...Eagles of Death Metal, Pearl Jam, Wolfmother, the first Libertines, and the Best of Robert Palmer. Let me tell you one thing...Deef in the backyard + the best of Robert Palmer = Unending Good Times.

As for this weekend, I leave for Albany tomorrow to see Eddie Vedder and then continue to Hartford to see the band play there. Sunday will be Mother's Day spent in Bolton. Then back to the big city next week to see Guns n' Roses, Art Brut and the Strokes. Life kicks ass.

As many of you know, or more properly put; many of you have openly bashed me for my recent purchase of a MANgenta Razor phone. Well, let me tell you sticks and stones may break my bones, but gay jokes will never hurt me. I've also caught flack from many of you for my ringtone of choice - Ghostface Killah's "Be Easy". You folks are haters, but let me side with you for a quick moment. Let's forget the fact that I'm a total herb and my consumer choices would have you believe I'm one of two stereotypes: 1. A flaming homosexual who is overly fond of pop culture, 2. A suburban jock big enough to protect himself who wears a lot of cammo and cocks his hat. Well, I'm neither. I'm a chubby, spiteful man who loves women, hates cammo and rarely wears a hat, (but that's because my head is so fat). But I do love sports - so go figure. Anyway, the point is that my new phone is a piece of shit. I didn't heed the warnings of my heeb roommate who is Johnny-phones-alot. I didn't take the advice of my coworker Boots/Doom who informed me of the short battery life. And I didn't take my own advice of trying to not look like such a douchebag. Moral of the story is, and well, this doesn't make much sense - make sure to plug your new phone charger in where the old one resided. Otherwise you'll forget it twice a week and no one will be able to contact you.

If you're still reading, I'm sorry for wasting your time.

Ok, my second thought of today is where are all the fucking barbeques? Seriously! We've had some nice weather and I've yet to fuck around on anyone's grill. Karl? Jeff? Yaps? Ok, Yaps is excused because last Sunday I got a message that said something to the effect of, "Belin, get your ass over here. We put a dance floor in the backyard and we are doing some barbequing." You know what I did? Yes, for those of you who guessed, I stayed in and did work until Kyle, Buildit, Dee and I went to get giant margaritas before we were joined by Nic(holas) and Shannon for the shows. So yeah, that miss was my fault, but the rest I'm blaming on you folks. Where are my BBQ invites. I will beg because, well, actually, at this point in my life I've resigned to the fact that begging is the only way I'll get... wait, enough.

Third thought of the day comes in the form of two quick parts. Number one being the number of bands that have reached out to me lately. You guys are tops. Especially the bands that don't suck. Have you guys heard of Myspace? It's like this totally untapped marketing and publicity resource. Yes, I'm being a dick, but a couple of bands that hit me over the last week really turned my head. What are their names? Oh, I'm not going to tell you because they would just get blown up and I'm doing A&R now. Well, actually I'm not, but blog rock is so last year. Jeff (CV) and a couple other blogs seemed to hit on it. Why is there always one name on every blog? It gets a bit tiresome, but I still love reading some blogs. Music is fucking done. Yeah, you heard it hear. Let me rephrase. Music is the new cocaine. Now that everyone is doing it, its kind of lost its lure, but every once and awhile its fun to revisit. Ok, don't worry, I'm not going to be an asshole forever. Give me a couple of weeks to shake the disease

Oh, so the reason I wanted to write this post is because I saw Brian Jonestown Massacre last night. Yes, the performance went without major incident which is awesome because they sounded fucking great. Not being a huge fan, I paid more attention to Rory who was tossed rather than the shirtless Anton and the tambourine wielding Joel who rocked some killer side chops. Maybe the days of dysfunction are over, but then again, I didn't stay until the end of the show.

My underlying point is today is Thursday. I want to make this weekend awesome. Who is coming with me - to Chilis on Sunday?

How pumped are you for the 1,802 straight nights of the Bouncing Souls at Knitting Factory? Probably not as much as me, but you should be pumped for all these damn tickets we are giving away. Go to the Loose Contest page for all the details on how to enter. Here is a taste of what we have to offer ::

05.12.06 :: White Rose Movement :: Bowery Ballroom
05.13.06 :: Mogwai :: Webster Hall
05.13.06 :: Pretty Girls Make Graves :: Irving Plaza
05.20.06 :: Rainer Maria :: Bowery Ballroom
06.30.06 :: The Futureheads :: Webster Hall
07.06.06 :: Radio 4 :: Bowery Ballroom
07.06.06 :: Broken Social Scene :: Prospect Park Bandshell

And a bunch of Cat Power shows including a trip to see Letterman! Oh, and to answer your question Hawkins; no, I'm not taking blow jobs in exchange for Broken Social Scene tickets, (I'm more of a handy kind of guy).

Just a quick reminder that Hockey Night is playing at Cake Shop on Tuesday evening. But if you've already got tickets to see The Guilemots with LEVY at The Bowery, don't sweat it. Hockey Night will also rock The Mercury Lounge on Saturday night with Ghostland Observatory which is one of those bands that continues to impress the legions. I guess the point is that there are some good rock shows coming up in the next couple of days. Let's not forget Phoenix, Priestess and Mogwai who all have shows on deck. It's going to be a hectic couple of days, but you should consider pulling double Hockey Night duty as they completely rock - even if they do sound like Pavement - yup, I had to say it. They were one of the best bands I caught at SXSW and since my return their cd's have stayed very close to the top of my pile. Some of you may grow tired of the overly familiar sound, but then again, you may also love The Editors so I understand your frustration. Get it?

Additionally, I hadn't been a huge fan of Cake Shop since all the problems the Joggers experienced there during CMJ 2006, but after a couple of shows including a well mixed show by White Rabbits last Thursday, I'm pscyhed to hit this place up. White Rabbits is a five-piece Brooklyn via Columbia, Missouri band that recently signed to Say Hey Records which is home to Shy Child, The Occassion and Inouk along with the (unfortunately) defunct or on hiatus Cause for Applause. Anyway, the band was aptly described to me as a band that Walkmen fans would enjoy. They had sounds rooted in that melodic, organ driven indie rock, but they certainly looked as though they have more fun than their super serious counterparts. Yes, this also means they had a sound and even swagger that recalled Austin's Sound Team, but again, there was a playful, bright-eyed nature draped thinly over their layered orchestration. Look out for these guys as they plan to rock through the summer and produce an album at the end of the year.

Speaking of producing albums, as you may or may not already know, I'm a huge fan of The Big Sleep, but how did this slip past me. Danny, Sonya and Gabe - you got some explaining to do. My question is about Future Perfect Media. Did you guys find a label? Is this something from the past during the days of TBS B.J. (yes, that means The Big Sleep Before Jay - bring on the blow job jokes)? Anyway, I'm just wondering what the story is - please fill me in publicly or privately if it's a secret or sore spot.

And if you like FREE tickets, keep your eyes on the Loose Contests page. In the next couple days we'll post contests to win tickets to a ton of shows including Cat Power, Pretty Girls Make Graves, White Rose Movement, Broken Social Scene, Radio 4, Mogwai, Rainer Maria and The Futureheads. You'll even have a shot at winning tickets to see Cat Power perform on Letterman.

So I was thinking - where have I been? Yes, my apologies out to the party people, friends and haters who check out this blog on a regular basis. My little break from all things Jay has left you with a massive hole in your day - just let me believe it. For all of you kids who give me shit constantly for not keeping you updated on my daily romps through the neighborhood - I've booked the backyard at Union Pool for Sunday and you're all welcomed to come pee on me. Yup, drink tons of beer, load up those bladders and come let loose (a pun mildly intended) on me. Ok, maybe (s)not, but sometimes it feels that way; I have feeling too!

Back to the question at hand - where have I been? Well, I've been living the life of a working man. As you know, I'm a producer. I produce shit. Yes, I'm floating my own boat because self-loathing is so 2002. First of all, if you missed the shitshow that was the Three Amigos birthday party, I feel bad for you. End of the World, The Big Sleep and Sam Champion killed it. Seriously. All the bands were awesome and the ladies at Fontana's were top of the pops. If you are looking for a party space with good sound, easy going folks and reasonable drinks look into that bar - you'll be happy you did. Thanks to all the folks who stuck around and danced while I fumbled around on the decks. There were mad old and new friends in the joint. Cupcakes were thrown, batties were hit and shirts were ripped off. It was an all-star event.

See some party photos here and here.

The following day was my birthday and what does a 25 year old white boy do on his birthday... oh... I... don't... know... Go see Ghostface Killah at Nokia! This was my first trip to the Times Square theater and you know what, despite the clean corporate feel, I'd rather see a show at Nokia than Madison Square Theater which is its closet comparison. Slick Rick played a short set before the main event, but he still killed it and even played "Mona Lisa". The changeover was pretty quick, but by the time Ghostface took the stage the crowd was proper and poised. All you really need to know is that Ghostface is the man - The Village Voice agrees.

The rest of the weekend slipped by, but that didn't matter because Monday was the big Sam Champion set down at Bowery. The NYC quartet opened the gig for the Two Gallants, but the latter came as an afterthought because the Champion fucking destroyed. But you don't have to take my word for it... check out reviews here, here and here.

The later half of my week was dedicated to kicking ass with Dirty On Purpose. My first hang was on Thursday evening when they hosted a listening party at DJ's apartment. It was an amazing hang that featured tons of food, good kids and a few million previews of the new record Hallelujah Sirens. A bunch of folks from work showed up for what turned out to be a top notch hang. Thanks to the band and Jin for throwing a great party. More relaxed, low pressure parties like that need to happen on the regular. Check out the new record when it drops on 6.6.6 or you can purchase it digitally via eMusic beginning May 23rd.

On Friday I hooked up with Noah (no - I didn't buttfuck his mouth), and we decided to roll out to Pratt for some big festival thing. We made it in time to see Broken Spindles which is the one-man side project of the bass player from The Faint. It was a bit of a wash, but we managed to get proper while downing brown paper bag pounders in the sun with the boys from The Comas. Now I have to be honest here - mainly because I love them - but the past couple times I've seen Dirty On Purpose, it left me wanting so much more. On Friday, they brought it all to the table and sounded fucking fantastic doing it, (after the first song where the bass sounded a bit off). The new songs sounded out of this world and managed to fill a space that literally had no boundaries.

During change over DTL (along with his new friend) lead us to Clinton Hill's premier take out margarita spot. We returned to the lawn fully loaded and ready for Love as Laughter. Holy Fuck - this band is good. They pull from the best of influences, but Sam's ideas make it something new and fresh. Someone needs to create a super tour with Love as Laughter, Sam Champion and Drive By Truckers or something like that. It would be totally fucking sweet.

This week has been a bit of a wash since the Yankees lost to Boston on Monday and then got rained out, but last night the Loose partners met at some lounge on 51st for the SESAC awards dinner party. That kind of shit is amazing. Our girl Jamie did a great job and was totally smoking hot. Nice work girl - thanks for the good times!

Once in a great long while, we all experience revelations that will last a lifetime. Sometimes they last longer than a lifetime, and our discoveries will undoubtedly affect generations to come. Like the Buddha under the Bodhi tree, our lives will never be the same after such enlightening experiences.

Now, for a moment, let me take you back to a magical time. A time before innocence was lost. A time when the air smelled sweeter, the trees grew greener, the birds soared higher. A time when the phrase "U Can't Touch This" was a rallying cry amongst the youth of America. Yes, friends, if you hunker down beside me I'll regale you with a tale of a transitional time for America...a time like no other. Yes. The early 90's.

Now this time was certainly magical and mystical, but we have to look at the fact that it was transitional...at least in one critical aspect. At some certain snapshot in time (date unknown) the mullet transformed from a fashionable statement of modernity and coolness into a monstrously embarassing faux pas. A faux pas so abhorrent that it spawned several monikers (i.e "mullet" "Wisconsin waterfall", "hockey hair" etc.); it also led to several sub-genres (Canseco Mullet, Mexi-mullet, The 9-5 mullet inspired by Dolly parton, etc); it spawned websites and books, but most importantly it drew a line in the sand. Mullets on one side of the line, non-mullets on the other.

This hairdo had an impact on society unlike any other coif through history. Even Franky Valli's prolificly puffed pompadour didn' t evoke such love, hate, or comedic material as this new 'do of the 80's (and early 90's). Even today, the mullet exists in many metropolitan areas as an ironic statement of of anti-cool cool...whatever the fuck that means. However, outside of major cities in the rural sprawl that makes up a majority of our country, the mullet still thrives as these brave mullet-sporters hold on to this antiquated fashion statement like Stallone held on in Cliffhanger.

So this begs for the eternal question: Do people who wear mullets (non-ironically of course) know that there exists such a culture based on mocking this hairstyle? Or are these brave mulleteers like Plato's cave-dwellers...eternally focused on a reality that is, in fact, non-reality?

Well, for the first time this question has been answered empirically.

This recently came to head as a discussion between two coworkers, one of which has a killer mullet. So mulleted-co-worker, who we will call Rex, comes in to work one day with a freshly shorn mullet...the top and front were extra short, extra styled, and fit for a Cobra Kai...the rear was flowy and luxurious like a Fabio romance novel cover. The other dude (who will henceforth be known as Guissepe) approaches Rex with a curious glint in his eye. Guissepe proceeds to ask Rex, if when he goes for a hair cut, does he ask for a "mullet" by name? Rex seemed perplexed. Guissepe then asked Rex if he was aware that there were websites dedicated to mocking his haircut, countless pseudonyms and subgenres of his haircut, and millions of people who took great pleasure in spotting mullets, discussing mullets, and cutting their hair to imitate mullets.

Again Rex was totally baffled, and shocked that such a subculture existed, based solely around his own hairstyle. The eternal question has been eternally answered: People who wear mullets non-ironically do so with such panache and gusto because it is a reality to them...the shadows on the wall are the reality...and those shadows look a lot like Dave Coulier and MacGyver.

Stay tuned next week, as we tackle the man-stache...

words: Martin Royle

I'm sure that I, and only I, have the correct insight into life, the universe and everything. This isn't ego. It's delusional ego. It's a reinforced delusion, reinforced by weeks of landscaping work and pot smoking. I see the world from 20 paces away and like a one-sided duel where the other shooter isn't armed and is in fact surprised he's being shot at, with detached clarity I target the obvious.

Here are the headlines. The sound-bites. The easily digestible position papers. Here this: Post punk casualties and college bound teenagers, we must kill all the critics and ignore all the taste-makers. Indie rock sheep in a gray urban pasture, we must stop taking pictures in front of bathroom mirrors. Fashionists; people judge you by how much you make them judge themselves. Your looks are secondary to the looks you inspire. You're only as good as the shit being talked about you.

Golf course workers of the world unite! The time has come to cast off the all-too-sober oppression of the 40 hour work week. Like the French. Riot. More pay, less work. It is time to start asking what our country can do for us. And critics, did I mention that critics need to be shot into the sun? Burn thousands of copies the newest buzz band as fuel. And all the indie sheep will follow them onto the shuttle. "This band is hot. Very hot." Bitter? Never!

It's the news' hour. It's time for the easy victory, the money shot. Ignore the government, deny whatever flag you pledge your allegiance too, even H&M needs to burn. The time has come to rise up and demand that colleges stop offering 'music industry' programs. Soulless bastards! The business model of rock is changing and yet the bands still have the least amount of power. And what the hell ever happened to the guitar Gods?