Pamela Pekerman is Wrong as Hell!

Yes, Miss Vincent, of course I'll be your husband.

2007-07-29T21:29:00.000-09:00

St. Vincent
Marry Me
Beggar's Banquet
2007

Rating: Proposals from beautiful woman are very hot. Especially when phrased not as questions, but as commands.

St. Vincent is Annie Clark. Annie Clark has played group member to Sufjan Stevens and the Polyphonic Spree. She has also been compared to Kate Bush. This doesn't make much sense to me because A) I don't like Kate Bush, and B) that's all I've got.

I hate hate hate comparing rock artists to other, usually more well-known, rock artists. It's generally just lazy, and specifically it's dumb shorthand that only exists in a world where people in suits decide who gets recorded/distributed and who doesn't. In this DIY internet age, we're supposed to be beyond that, right? But we still do it. And by we, I mean I still do it. Because A) I am lazy, and B) I love dumb shorthand. Or is that I{>DSH?

Of course it defeats the purpose when I write it out in both shorthand and longhand. Especially considering I don't get paid to write these reviews, let alone paid by the word. But I digress.

St. Vincent sounds like a cross between ree-ree guitar-land, the lost continent of infamous hand-claps, lush-yet-off-kilter string-town and buddha buddha drum-city. Plus, I like her much better than Kate Bush. Prepare yourself accordingly, because there's quite a bit of stuff going on during Annie Clark's solo debut; Marry Me is a rude marriage of sorts between several indie rock streams from the past few years. It's idiosyncratic, multi-instrumental, quasi-symphonic, occasionally choral, vocally distinct and varied in tempo and tone. In other words, it's packed.

"Jesus Saves, I Spend" is a perfect example. Multi-tracked vocals, inventive drumming, clever song-writing, weird kid and/or high pitched singing, powerful-good guitar riffs, and sleigh bells. But don't think this is Sufjan's XX twin. Because that's a dumb thought. Shame on you and your dumb thought. Remember, we're trying our best not to compare here.

"Your Lips Are Red" is more of the same, only more intense and kind of scary. Screeching string sections denote something is amiss, if I understand my Musical Composition for Dummies manual correctly, and for three minutes this is a really eerie track. But somewhere along the way, it turns really sweet. It's nice to know that Annie Clark is something of a romantic, and she displays those chops over the course of Marry Me quite prominently.

"All My Stars Aligned" is nearly the prettiest girl at the ball. Over tinkling piano keys and what may or may not be a keyboard-produced choir, Clark puts on a show that basically makes me want to propose marriage right back at her. And it helps that she's a damnably fetching young lady. After her only sort-of-boring track ("Apocalypse Song") and a brief piano interlude, she strikes again with "Land Mines," an intense and altogether exquisitely crafted piece that moves from torch to adult contemporary to low-fi symphony to Björk-like heights in just over five minutes.

The last two tracks, "Human Racing" and "What Me Worry" sort of live by a different set of rules than the rest of the album, setting up a jazzy sound that hearkens to what Norah Jones might be doing where she mildly addicted to crack. Note: just mildly addicted. Possibly: more like P.J. Harvey on uppers. Regardless, it's really bewitching stuff, and a nice change of pace from the rest of Marry Me. And if we're lucky, maybe a hint of things to come when Annie Clark gets around to recording again.

Marry Me is one solid piece of freshmen songwriting, and you will most assuredly fail to find a stronger debut solo album in Anno Domini 2007. I can't seem to find the correct words to compliment Ms. Clark sufficiently, other than this is a devastatingly handsome debut.

And, IMHO, much better than Kate Bush.

iLoveStVincent.com
St. Vincent on MySpace

An alternate rendition of St. Vincent's
"Your Lips Are Red"

Murder! Zombies! Take to the Hills!

2007-07-22T20:26:00.000-09:00

The National Lights
The Dead Will Walk, Dear
Bloodshake Records
2007

Rating: Much better than that Zodiac movie with Jake Gyllenhaal. And shorter. And much, much better.

The Dead Will Walk, Dear comes on slowly. You barely even notice it at first. But little by little, moment by moment, it grabs you. Until suddenly, when you realize it just might be your favorite album of the long, hot summer.

And then, after repeated listens, you notice something else. It's really, really creepy. These songs are about murder; and quite possibly, necrophilia. At the very least, statutory rape. And then you can't decide if it's good or not anymore. But damn if it's no less beautiful.

It's impossible to recognize things like this at first. Case in point, The National Lights sound quite pleasant upon first listen. Maybe a little too folk-pop in places -- Jacob Thomas Bern's voice just a little too clear and AAA friendly -- the sorts of things that make you think "nice album," but not necessarily one you'll be playing a month from now.

Well guess what? I said that, too. And I was wrong. Who doesn't like folk song cycles that may or may not be about a Midwestern serial killer? Not me. Or is that not not me. I can't be sure. About anything anymore, really. Other than this is not a "nice album."

The Dead Will Walk, Dear is a dangerously quiet recording, with plenty of gentle guitar picking, easy accompaniment from organ and lap steel, and the occasional banjo or mandolin bridge. Burn's voice is a little too earnest at times, which makes Sonya Cotton's stunning backing vocals all the more important. They lift the songs from easy fluff-folk to gorgeous, neo-Gothic duets. It's amazing what a little estrogen can do to a song, especially ones as dark as these.

Dead Will Walk's first two tracks breeze by with barely an ear-prick (unless you attentively pick out the beastly frightening lyrics), but it's track three, "The Dead Will Walk," where things suddenly become interesting. Burn sings of love and loss and murder and lost loves murdered throughout the entire album, but it's track 3's gentle hymn-like organ lines, lazy electric flourishes and well-placed banjo picking make the song hum. Like Rosie Thomas' "Why Waste More Time," the song proves that more can be less can be more. And then it's over in three minutes flat. Bummer.

But what comes next tops it: "O, Ohio." Cotton really steps things up here, with some dazzling backing vocals, accented quite nicely with the sparse sounding lap steel interludes between verses. It's a track that begs to be repeated, over and over and over. "Riverbed" continues the slide guitar trend, albeit with a bit more pep, as Bern sings of floods, drownings and growing old. Two tracks later we find another slice of small town life, "Midwest Town," which glides effortlessly on pump organ for two minutes and thirty-three seconds of near-eschatological new-folk-rapture. Like Dan Deacon for fans of Dirty Linen. Oh so pleasant.

There are missteps. "Buried Treasure" and "The Water Is Wide" are attempts at wicked cheerfulness that mostly fall flat. They're still generally pretty, but in the midst of so much dark matter, they get away from what makes a good folk ballad a good folk ballad -- keeping the music as depressing as the subject matter.

And yet, as much as I like this album, I have the feeling that anyone trying to pull off a project like this is likely more than a little bit pretentious. Maybe that's not my place to say. But I can imagine kids like this in some of my Lit classes in college -- the kind of people who had something good to say every now and again, but who you really had no interest in talking to outside of class. I guess this is what they do after they graduate. Write gorgeously morbid murder sequences. But who am I to judge?

"Swimming in the Swamp" rights the boat, with actual piano. Nearing the end of the album, it's almost a surprise to hear it thrown in, even if it's just a couple of chords every measure. But they do the trick, as we're given another song about water and drowning and death. And I'd like to think the subject matter works, given that the album is only 27 minutes long. Any longer, and there would be too many songs, and too much Southern Gothic, for the album to hold up. Yet it does.

Bern doesn't fall prey to album-lengthening tricks -- like padding his songs -- which happens all too often in folk music. His songs are simple, and don't need three or four verses, or the chorus repeated ad naseum, or guest guitar spots for extended soling. This is simple stuff. And this is dark stuff. Bern admits it with the brevity of his works. And with that brevity, they're better because of it.

The albums closer -- "Killing Swallows" -- tries to toe the quiet-loud line that permeated post punk circa 1989, albeit much mellower. The song consists only of one verse, followed by two minutes of heavy strumming and e-bow histrionics. It's both a terrible closing and a perfect one. It's not a great song, but it works here. And due to Dead Will Walk's conciseness, you barely notice. If you're like me, you're probably already skipping back to previous tracks, trying to decipher lyrics and relive great heights, that's it hard to remember just when this album actually ends.

So maybe it's not a great record, but with so many great moments, and with so much to digest in so little time, you'll be hard-pressed to tell the difference. If quiet songs of murder and villainy turn you on, then The National Lights are right up your alley.

The NationalLights.com
National Lights' Space (seriously, listen to them, now)

You Are The One I Adore

2007-07-15T20:25:00.001-09:00

Bunky
Born To Be A Motorcycle
Asthmatic Kitty
2005

Rating: A box full of kittens, playing drums and guitar and assorted brass instruments, with bows and shit in their hair, like Anne Geddes on amphetamines and coke

There are so many bands out there, let me tell you -- as if you didn't know that. But there are. Lots of them are good. Even more of them aren't. And a few are incredible. In the midst of incredibleness, it's not fair that the really good ones somehow wind up with the short end of the stick. They don't get the same press: the love from Spin or Pitchfork or Paste or whomever are the arbiters of incredibility these days. And that's a damn shame.

Bunky are a good case in point. They aren't trying to send the scenster kids into bouts of orgasmic frenzy like Arcade Fire or Broken Social Scene, but what they lack in "indie cred," the sure as hell make up in pop songcraft, as well as actual underground credentials. Bunky is essentially Emily Joyce and Robert Rafter -- both gainfully employed as recording engineers -- and a variety of fellow San Diegoans in support. Their music is basically rock and roll, complete with boy-girl vocals, wailing guitars, erratically imaginative drumming, and the occasional Motown/So-Cal horn section arrangement. There's alot of 50s and 60s rock worship in these pop gems, but enough good-old 21st Century ingenuity so that it don't sound stale or tired. Bunky write pop sings with kick, pop songs with attitude, and pop songs with wide-eyed wonder.

If there were such a thing as Peter, Paul and Mary for 2007, Bunky would be it. Songs like "Chuy," "Gotta Pee" and "Funny Like the Moon" scream Yo La Tengo for the younger set. Maybe that's not a fair comparison, because Bunky are as different from Yo La Tengo as the Tengo are from the Velvet Underground. It's all a matter of perspective, I guess. Bunky make quirky little pop gems that you'd have to try with all your might not to like. It's not worth the effort. And besides, why would you not want to enjoy hella fun romps "Glass of Water"? With Rafter's nasally repeated desire for a cup o'agua followed by some bee-sting guitar fuzz, transitioning nicely into a muted trumpet solo, which leads us into the following track, a faux-attempt at tearjerk-pop appropriately called "Heartbunk."

And they're singable, too. Did I mention that? "Cute Not Beautiful" allows Rafter and Joyce to trade verses -- Rafter's near whisper calling to mind Ira Kaplan at times. But thankfully, Joyce's vocals are all her own, romantically ringing above trumpet and hushed guitar, inducing chills when she reaches high into the register, creating a memorable sort of VU/Diana Ross mashup. It's good stuff by far. And deserving of more attention. Unfortunately the youth-set moved on from truly fun music long ago, sometime when MTV decided sexy was more important than merriment and goofiness, and everyone else just sort of gave up and followed suit.

Thank God no one told Bunky. Though it's too soon to tell if they'll wind up being one of those bands who release good record after good record, hopefully one of these days they'll get their due along with great American bands like the Flaming Lips and Yo La Tengo. Until then, I guess they'll just be our boisterous little rock 'n' roll secret.

San Diego has got it good.

BunkyMusic.com
Bunky's MySpace

Bunky on some FOX programme
(Sadly, one can barely hear the horn section)

A Steak of an Album -- minus all the gratutious heart disease.

2007-07-08T17:27:00.000-09:00

Pharoahe Monch
Desire
SRC/Motown/Universal
2007

Rating: Three Lombardi Trophies in Five Years

I haven't listened to much hip-hop since moving to Vermont. And that's been okay with me. It's not that we're in the midst of a particular dearth of quality hip-hop, it's just that I haven't been much in the mood to slog through so much crap just to find the good stuff. And there is a ton of crap out there. It's not like Indie music, where I know exactly where to go to find new and exciting stuff to plug into. And it doesn't help when some of my favorite hip-hop artists just seem to have lost it -- Talib Kweli, Mos Def, the Roots -- whatever "It" was, and whether or not they ever had "It" (and lost it) or I just tired of their particular sound.

What I do know is this: Pharoahe Monche hasn't dropped an album in eight years. Maybe that's the trick to not losing "It." Dude is ready, set, go for 51 minutes on Desire. It's albums like this the reaffirm my love for hip-hop -- and reaffirm my deep seated hope that this genre has an endless supply of something to say, both to the American public and to popular music, too. So no doubt about it, Monche is one of those rare MCs with words to spare.

After a solid album opener in "Free, " Monch opens up a six-pack of post-Gospel whup-ass with "Desire," keeping the listener engaged with intense production and lines like, My book is a ovary/The pages I lust to turn/My pen's the penis/When I write the ink's the sperm. In the Motown-infused "Push," with vocal guests Showtime and Mela Machinko, and a tight horn arrangement by Tower of Power, you hardly notice that Monch only takes one turn at a mic, allowing his guests to drive the song without overpowering it. His 'cover' of "Welcome to the Terrordome" nearly holds a candle to the original, but it's hard to top Chuck D. Luckily, Monch gets it out of the way early, clearing the way for a number of consistent, ridiculously amazing tracks.

"What It Is" is about as claustrophobic as Desire gets, almost a club track were it not so hard, with a whispered hook and stark, nearly industrial production. "When the Gun Draws," a "message" track (where most socially conscious MCs tend to trip up), is so lyrically engaging with conspiracy theory after conspiracy theory that one can barely tell what it's about. And that's a theme that runs all across the length and breadth of this album. There's so much to unpack, that even after repeated listens, it's still hard to decipher what exactly Monch is actually saying. If Sufjan Stevens is the new Walt Whitman, then Monch might be our James Joyce. He's not quite there yet, but given time (another eight years or so), we just might have a Ulysses on our hands.

From the beat-friendly, boogie-woogie "Body Beat" to twinkle-star, slow-jam "Bar Trap" to the meandering, jazz-hop, symphonic suite "Trilogy," Monche continues to engage the ears and brains of his audience. Even the albums more ponderous moments -- "Hold On" and "So Good" -- have enough nuggets to mine that they can't slow this freight train down. Monche's flow is so textured and bewitching, that it's a disappointment every time the album ends. And unless it's been on repeat for three or four spins already, it easy to skip back to track one and start the whole deal over.

And that's what makes Desire so fan-freaking-tastic. It's addictive without being all-style/no-substance. Desire isn't candy-coated hip-pop. It's red meat. But you wouldn't know it from how many times you keep going back to the well. It's what this listener's been hungry for all year long without even knowing it. And once you've heard it, I've a feeling you won't be able to put it back in the jewel case either.

If only we didn't have to wait so long between albums.

Pharoahe-Monch.com
Monch's MySpace

Good-Times Video for "Body Baby"

Ha hah hah hah ha ha haah! How do you even begin, Tracy? How do you even begin?

2007-07-01T20:23:00.000-09:00

Blitzen Trapper
Wild Mountain Nation
Lidkercow Ltd./Sub Pop Records
2007

Rating: Pop quiz, hotshot. It's 1875. It's 1975. It's both those years and it's 2007, too. Oh, and also, there's a bomb on your bus and you can't go too slow or you get replaced by Jason Patric in the sequel. What do you do, punk? What do you do?

This is my first Blizten Trapper album. It comes on like a punch in the face and leaves like that soaring eagle/hawk/bird of prey on the cover of their disc, gliding on God-made air currents over purple mountains majesty. Man does it ever!

Somehow these guys made two records that totally flew under the radar (self-released, I believe), then BOOM!!! Wild Mountain Nation! It makes me think of a cross between Appalachian Hillbillies and those weird people that lived in the mountains around Gondor in Tolkien's Return of the King. Right? And this is wild man music, for sure. And this is hillbilly music, for sure. And this is Detroit Rock City, for sure. And this is glam-downed punk, for sure. And this is what the late 60s/early 70s sound like in 2007, for sure. Forget all those bands who're trying to recreate Rock's Golden Age. Instead, harken to Blitzen Trapper, and heed their riffs and/or steaming guitar solos! Man oh man do they have a story for you!

And the following is that story. You follow?

"Devil's A-Go-Go": sort of like that bass line from that one P-Diddy song that had Ben Stiller in the video, but bigger and badder and with lots-o-angular gee-tars. But it doesn't come close to defining this album. In fact, no one song can define this album NOR this band. Well, maybe "Proud Mary" does, but that's not even their song. So it doesn't count.

"Wild Mountain Nation": kind of laid-back country rock, but post-punk. No, it doesn't sound like what you have in your head right now. It's mellower. Just listen to it, already.

"Miss Spiritual Tramp": I guess it's sort Nuggets-sey, but not really. More Zep. Oh dude, and with cow bell!

"Woof & Warp of the Quiet Giant's Hem": it has these harmonic guitar parts that I could reference better if I had lived and loved in 1973 or something. But I wasn't born yet. So I got nothing for you.

"Wild Mtn. Jam": lo-fi, jug-band blues. With psychedelic leanings. The American Anthology of Folk Music distilled in Kentucky-by-way-of-Haight-Asbury.

"Country Caravan": like Devendra, if he were a cowboy maybe?

My point is this. Your neighbor was right. You should start taking his advice. She probably knows you better than you know yourself. Listen better today than you did yesterday. This music was made for righteous dudes. Like this one time, I overheard these two men talking about a screenplay in a Barnes and Noble outside of L.A. And they were all gossipy about their friend and his girlfriend. Boy, that was stupid. They would not like this album.

But you will.

BlitzenTrapper.net
Blizten-to-the-Trapper's MySpaceSpage

BT's seizure inducing video for "Woof & Warp"

Miss O'Connor waits for no man. And that's a damned fact.

2007-06-24T20:22:00.000-09:00

Nora O'Connor
Til The Dawn
Bloodshot Records
2004

Rating: Basically the best album of 2004 that nobody heard in 2004

Nora O'Connor is one of those faces you see and recognize, but only faintly, and only briefly, and then forget that you thought you recognized her in the first place. She doesn't mind. O'Connor has performed as part of two great Chicago indie institutions -- first with the Blacks, then with Andrew Bird's Bowl of Fire -- and you probably had nary a clue. And if that resume ain't impressive enough, then how about this? She's also an ordained minister, which, in this correspondent's opinion, comes in handy when writing and performing insurgent-country music.

If at first Miss O'Connor comes off as a cross between a poor (wo)man's Norah Jones and Patty Griffin, then try, try again. She doesn't do the coffee shop thing as well as Jones, nor does she possess the pipes of Griffin, but what she lacks in vocal chops and Starbucks-milieu, she more than makes up for with an ear for stick-to-your-ribs melodies and hopelessly romantic songwriting. These songs stay with you without really trying. At their heart, they're good ole' country tunes -- but it's the touches of gospel, jazz, blues and mountain music (by way of Chicago, Illinois) that help this too short of an album (at just under 32 minutes) proclaim its greatness to the world. Too bad no one seems to be listening.

From the opening bars of "My Backyard," its clear that Nora O'Connor has no plans for world domination. It's a sweet and tender tribute to hearth and home, one that glides effortlessly over flights of harmonica and Hammond organ. It's followed by "Bottoms", a bluesy fiddle-tune with country harmonies and plenty of barroom heartache. Over the course of nine tracks, O'Connor tempers her country leanings with straight up city/songwriting chops. It works for the most part -- though you wouldn't here me complaining if she leaned a little more West Virginia sometimes.

She still comes through in spades, however: tracks like "OK with Me" and "Nightingale" pack a punch that's rarely heard south of the Mason-Dixon these days -- let alone up-river Mississippi. The latter of the two features some gorgeous fiddle accompaniment by Andrew Bird if I'm not mistaken, who puts his own Bowl-of-Fire-era spin on O'Connor's composition. They make quite a pair. If you get the chance, look around for a pair of other tracks they've done for separate compilations -- "Oh, Sister" and "Two Way Action." If you're a fan of Bird, you won't be disappointed.

All in all, Til the Dawn is brilliant tribute to American music that gives Miss O'Connor plenty of space to shine. It's too bad I didn't hear of it until just recently, otherwise I'd have been enjoying it for going on three years now. And you shouldn't wait neither; go find it quickly, friends. You don't yet know what you're missing.

Noraoconnor.com
Miss O'Connor's MySpace Page

"Nightingale," Live from Navy Pier with Kelly Hogan
(Skip ahead to 6:25 remaining)

Perfect Summer! Here We Come!

2007-06-17T19:49:00.000-09:00

Matt & Kim
Self-Titled
iheartcomix
2006

Rating: So Much Fun You Will Puke Upsidedown Frowns From Your Insides For Days & Days & Days, Etc.

Matt & Kim play power pop with synths and drums. And that's about it. They're from Brooklyn, so they probably don't have real problems like normal people, and they most likely aren't still pissed that the Dodgers moved to Los Angeles. In fact, they were most likely never pissed about the move at all. I would wager that they don't even know where Ebbets Field was located. That's sad.

Their music, that which they craft for performance, in said Brooklyn areas, is not sad. In fact, it's about some of the happiest music ever. Wait, you interrupt, aren't they just another Mates of State rip-off? Well, I guess. But only you'll admit that Mates of State are just another Quasi rip-off. So take that, you dumb snob! Besides, Matt & Kim are to Mates of State what Arrested Development is to the Cosby Show. Or something like that....You know I'm trying to write reviews without mentioning other artists, so why would you bring that up in the first place!? Shut up while I'm writing!

They talk real funny, too. Like Linford and Karen if Karen had a sense of humor. She doesn't. Maybe Linford could marry Matt & Kim? That would be nice.

I wish I could describe their music. Fortunately for us, there is this thing called the internet so I don't have to. MySpace to the rescue! Also, YouTube! Rock on! Yea Yeah! Basically, they rule.

MattandKimMusic.com
Matt & Kim Myspace

Video for "Yeah Yea," from their Self-Titled release

Girls play music. Boys fall in love. Girls win again.

2007-06-10T19:08:00.000-09:00

Uncle Earl
Waterloo, Tennessee
Rounder Records
2007

Rating: Fiddles! Fiddles! Like one-million fiddles!

There is such a thing as drop-dead gorgeous toe-tapping bluegrass. And her name is Uncle Earl.

Yes, Alison Krauss is on Rounder Records. And yes, her music is most often terrible. No offence to her and her buds in Union Station, but old-timey music sounds much better when you drop the gloss. And Allie's got gloss in spades.

Which isn't to say that Uncle Earl are a down-home dirty bluegrass band. These four young ladies make for one bad-ass string band, they just also happen to play in tune and sing real pretty, too. They do not, however, try to play pop-bluegrass, which is a good thing, and makes Waterloo, Tennessee a rather compelling mix of standards and originals. As newbie to bluegrass, I can't tell which are which....which is probably the point. It's a record that oozes timelessness and authenticity. If Uncle Earl took that extra low-fi step, you'd probably mistake them for the Stanley Brothers.

Minus the penises, of course.

But enough about the fact that they're all chicks! This band can play! "Wish I Had My Time Again" is a flat-out, foot-stomping barn-burner. It lays low the horrible hordes of invading pop divas lurking from your doorstep to mine in something like two-and-a-half-minutes. The mighty hand of Americana prevails against the wicked! I can't tell you how much I enjoy damn fine fiddle music. So just trust me on this one. It's good.

"Bony on the Isle of St. Helena" turns the tables on their ears, if I may mix my metaphors. There's still a bit of tapping here, but there's also some spare yet gorgeous harmony on this one as well, folks. And knowing me knowing you, you're a sucker for harmony. Admit it. It's not a bad thing.

Over the course of the album, Uncle Earl manage to throw in a few curveballs, too: Some 12-bar blues, shape-note singing, Asian string work, and even a Dylan tune for good measure. Most of the time it works. Occasionally it doesn't. But the fact of the matter remains, if you (A) bought Allie Krauss and EmmyLou records after hearing all that bluegrass music in that one movie with George Clooney, and (B) thought their regular records sucked L-7 weenie, then this is the bluegrass album for you, friend.

So step right up. Rounder Records -- It's not just for 52-year-olds anymore.

(More like 31, give or take a few months.)

UncleEarl.net
Uncle Earl's MySpace

Uncle Earl, Live from Lotus Fest

The best reason for midnight ever invented. Ever.

2007-06-03T18:33:00.000-09:00

The Innocence Mission
We Walked in Song
Badman Recording Co.
2007

Rating: Seven Soft Kisses on Fragrant Downy Pillows

The Innocence Mission are a much-loved band to my near-sweltering ears. At least they would be if it were hot right now. And yet because of fabulous inventions like screens and windows, it's not. This album, however, is hot as hell. At least, as hot as hell as a folk album can be.

Don't ever let it be said that the Innocence Mission are inconsistent. They are (as a matter of fact) anything but. Since 1999, they've released five fantastic recording of majestic folk-pop. No one album blows the others away, though there are standouts. And no one album falls flat, though Christ Is My Hope just might if you're not into Sacred Hymns (I am). We Walked in Song offers more of the same consistency, with just the right amount of dreamy guitar-work, understated bass lines, unobtrusive percussion and wonderful Karen Peris-ness. Mrs Peris' vocals might be an acquired taste to some, but not this Yankee cowboy. Her own stand-out has to be "Into Brooklyn, Early in the Morning", which boasts vocal "Ba-Ba-Bop-Bas" from hubby Don (who doubles as guitarist for the band) and some wickedly delicate accordion as well. I guarantee you this: you will not hear a better "Ba-Ba-Bop-Ba" on any other record of 2007, 2008 or 2009.

Many of the Innocence Mission's songs could double as lullabies, but don't let that fool you. There's a quiet intensity on tracks like "Since I Still Tell You My Every Day" and "Over the Moon" that will freaking break your heart. I guess words like "bittersweet" or "wistful" come to mind (guess who needs a thesaurus!), but those could be used for a hundred other bands. The Innocence Mission deserve a genre all their own....and maybe a gold record or two, were this 1972. Alas, it's not. So I guess we get this amazing little band all to ourselves. O America! If only you knew what you were missing!

Yes, Karen. I'm over the moon as well.

TheInnocenceMission.com
The Innocence Mission's MySpace

Video for "I Never Knew You From the Sun,"
from the album Befriended

Fake History. Or Fistory!

2007-05-31T19:51:00.000-09:00

I'm trying to catch up with a back post for every week since my first review so that this blog looks like it's alive and not dead. Or derived from animal by-products. Like monkey poop! Man, that shit stinks!

But I'm all out of words for tonight. Bye words!

(Actually posted August 17th)

EDIT: I started adding links to each band's web page and MySpace page so's people can hear some tunes. (8/31)

EDIT 2: New Template! (9/2)

EDIT 3: YouTube Vids!! (9/3)

Something for the Kids who are about to become Parents.

2007-05-28T18:07:00.000-09:00

The Avett Brothers
Emotionalism
Ramseur Records
2007

Rating: 15 "High Fives" out of Your Mom

There's something special to behold when families make music together. The Carters, the Whites, the Stanley Brothers....even the Danielson Famile. There's something to be said about the bonds between musical families when the book is finally written on the Rise and Fall of New World Folk and Americana Music. (Patent pending.)

Two of the Avett Brothers are actually brothers, so you know right away that their act is part of that sacred musical tradition in the South known as the Family Band. The boys share vocals while handling separate guitar and banjo duties, and years of playing and singing together bring a confluence and immediacy that isn't often found in popular music these days. Imagine, if you will, that Tweedy and Farrar had stuck it out through the 90s and you might get an idea of the mutual musical reciprocity that goes on between these siblings. There's a bass player, too, but he has a different last name so I don't suppose he counts.

The Avett Brothers play music rooted in old-timey folk and bluegrass, but do so clearly aware of the fact that we live in a rock'n'roll, post-punk society. That's not to say they attempt to meld the two traditions ala Uncle Tupelo or Defiance, Ohio. This is their take on traditional American music, coming from two boys who happened to play in rock bands before they wizened up and set themselves on the straight and narrow. There's no agenda here. No one's trying to create new musical genres from scratch. It's just two brothers and buddy playing guitar, banjo and upright bass. And it's pretty damn good.

Emotionalism, the new album from the Brothers Avett sees them shed bits of their post-punk skin, only to replace it with tighter harmonies, folk-easy singable melodies, and yes, the occasional string section. So whether or not you find these things appealing will decide just how exactly you'll respond to their latest offering. At times, dipping their toes in the river of the great, heaving pop-center does them some good. "Salina" bounces between dive-bar, piano ballad to bouncy, toe-tapping masterpiece, then finishes with what (I'm guessing) was supposed to be a poignant orchestral tribute to homesickness. It almost works, but not quite.

The songs are tighter, to be sure, but the Avetts lose some of the Old Weird America flavor from their previous albums in their attempt to be SERIOUS PERFORMERS. Gone are the screams and yelps from old songs like "Colorshow" or "Gimmeakiss." That being said, Emotionalism isn't a complete about face by any means. It's just an intentional focusing on the more traditional sounds of the band's prior recordings. Album opener "Die Die Die" is a great guitar/banjo ditty with some fantastic, high-register harmony vocals, but you can't help hoping for a yelp or a holler or something to really liven the place up. Instead, we get a break with a series of "Doo-doo-doos" that wouldn't sound out of place on a Buddy Holly or New Pornographers ballad. "Die Die Die" is followed by a sweeter, quieter version of itself called "Shame." Here's where the Brothers really go for the saccharine-jugular, singing Shame, boatloads of shame, day after day, more of the same. The only thing that keeps it from becoming a parody of itself is how honestly pretty the song really is.

The album really gets going by track three, with "Paranoia in Bb," an tack-piano driven ode to mental illness. If you caught the boys on Conan a couple of weeks ago (or found the video on YouTube), you caught a glimpse of the potential energy this band possesses. The studio version is a little more relaxed, which only seems to heighten the confused tension behind the message of the song. Is it about losing sanity? Is it about falling in love? Is there any difference? The least that can be said about the opening three tracks is that the Avetts haven't lost their sense of humor, leading off with songs about Death, Shame and Paranoia. Ah, the South rises again.

The rest of the album bounces between much of the same. There are same great songs here: The buoyant 50s-rock by way of Eleanor Rigby strings inspired "Will You Return?" The traditional bluegrass meets some faux-Caribbean/Mexicali-madness of "Pretty Girl from San Diego." And the aforementioned "Salina," a Billy Joel/Graham Parsons jukebox mashup.

But overall, while these brothers are great musicians, their almost total devotion to releasing a "pretty record" nearly brings down the whole project. "Living of Love" is a perfect example. It's gorgeous. But the boys don't have the vocals to quite match it's majesty. As a Patty Griffin/Emmylou Harris duet it might work. But the Avetts lose a piece of what really makes them great by focusing on their Nashville influences. They almost pull it off in the finals few bars, with those towering, chill-inducing harmonies, but fall just short. But hey, at least they go out with a bang.

Well, almost. Second-to-last track "Go to Sleep" ought to have closed out this album. It's lazy guitar strum, laid back harmonica and full-family vocal vibe would have been the perfect finishing note for this album. Unfortunately it's not. Instead, we're subjected to one more "quiet" song, which means one more "pretty" song, which makes four of five "pretty" songs too many.

What the Avetts fail to realize (maybe) is that "Go To Sleep", with it's banjo and fiddle and trombone (?) is pretty. I mean, it's goddamn pretty. It's the kind of pretty Ryan Adams hasn't hit since Heartbreaker. Instead, we close with the kind of pretty Ryan Adams still has in him (in spades). It's enough to make you want to grab the Avett Brothers by the short hairs and beg them to smash their guitars or turn up their amps a little more often. You guys rock so well, why would you want to write Whiskeytown B-Sides!

But I digress. Taken on its own, Emotionalism is a powerfully good rock record. But knowing the history and energy of this band, it doesn't quite meet the mark the Avett Brothers have set for themselves on their back-catalog. Oh well. At least it's more entertaining than Sky Blue Sky. In fact, while I'm waking the Avetts from the "pretty" stupor, someone else give Jeff Tweedy a swift kick to the backside, too. Americana's too big to be defined by its syrupy ballads. True American music has so much more to offer. And the Avetts know it.

TheAvettBrothers.com
The Avett's On MySpace

Performing "Paranoia in Bb" on Conan

A New Direction! A New Detection! Bring the Olde Back! It's Bigger than Bags!

2007-05-28T17:56:00.000-09:00

Let's write reviews together, you and I. And you as well. And those of you over in the corner. And those guys out back, taking a smoke break. And the kids, too, if we can round them up. All of them. Except Simon. He forgot to take his pills today.

I mentioned to Paco something about this blog last time I saw/seen him, and he mentioned to me something about how he wanted us to review all sorts of stuff on it. Then B.B. King mentioned something about how Pretzel's post on DAT Politics sort of killed us. Damn if B.B. isn't always right. Give that man a golden medallion!

So let's write reviews together, me and you. And bring this blog back to life with music on our minds. Let's invent new ratings scales, that put Pitchfork and the Source to shame. Let's post multiple reviews about the same record, and argue amongst ourselves who is more right, and more upright in the eyes of the LORD, and prettier. Let's be as subjective as possible, and throw Objectivity out the window, along with Reason and Logic and Sobriety. Let's stab each others eyes out with forks, parents be damned! I'll give this album four guerrilla grunts out of five while you empty three clips into it with your Israeli made UZI sub-machine-gun, obliterating it to hell within the limits set out by G-d at the beginning of Energy and Matter. And let that be your rating scale!

Review everything and anything! Bags and bots! Queen Elizabeth and Corn Chips! Pots and pans and best spots for panhandling! I hate Mentos! There! That is a review! Join me! Won't you?

Revielus!

Bots on Skates! The Bag of the Century!

2006-06-15T11:24:00.000-09:00

Alright! I give these Robots an A+! Go to my post at Midwest Mindset for further details and vids!

He Takes a little while to get going after the initial start but look at that skatin'! I mean, it's a Robot!

Washy-washy

2006-06-01T06:15:00.000-09:00

Recently, I was being lazy as hell. By recently, I mean three minutes ago. The tv is on, but I'm not watching it because I'm trying to figure out how the hell to automatically alphabetize a list in Word, and I heard the joyous joyballs. I Think I Need A New Heart by The Magnetic Fields was pouring forth from my tv. It was a commercial for Cesar fancy dog food. This brought about a great mix of craziness.

Pros
-Who uses the MF? Nobody. Nobody I knew of before. Nobody I know of tomorrow. But somebody I know of today. The tasty piece selected is excellent as well. Although I'm not sure any selection off 69 would be a bad choice. Plus, we can't really expect any company to select Punk Love, How Fucking Romantic or Experimental Music Love, can we? Bravo.
-Cesar is obviously and uneqivocally named after Mexican-American Labor Activist Cesar Chavez. Excellent reference, but segways wonderfully into the cons.

Cons
-This dog food is really fucking expensive. It's like buying the DL Muse Bag. Completely unnecessary. What a huge waste of resources on dogs. There are certain wastes of resources on dogs that are completely justified and valuable for society (see Matt's entry below). This is not such a waste as it contributes nothing to the overall sweetness of the universe. I guess ultimately that means the good wastes are not really wastes at all, but amazingly generous contributions to the state of the universe. Plus, what an terrible irony that a company named after Cesar Chavez, a man who spent his life working for the oppressed, reinforces oppressive industrialized captialist waste at the expense of the oppressed. Instead of feeding people a $10-meal, let's feed our dogs a $10-meal.

In the end, I think I must vote against the Cesar gourmet food gang. The MF choice may reflect more of an openness to good music in commercials thanks to Honda (Postal Service), M&M's (Iron & Wine), and Target (Badly Drawn Boy), instead of the goodness of Cesar. Chances are there is one cool person in marketing that doesn't really fit in that suggested MF.

Speaking of MF, right now, free ep from Danger Doom on adultswim.com. It's mostly remixes of Mouse and the Mask stuff, but it's mother-fuckin FREE. Plus it's a zip file, so it takes less time than you could ever hope for to download. GO.

And your self and all your selves and all your golden brows and golden browns and golden goals and golden goalies and goaliarchical golden brown-self!

2006-05-23T16:58:00.000-09:00

or
the Lord is alive and well and doing just fine, right here in rivercity, With a capital "F" That rhymes with "Jeff" And that stands for Pool, We've surely got trouble! Jeff Pool Trouble! Right here is Jeff River Pool City, Right Here!

or
Yesyeshellyesdamnyesyesyespleasepleasepleaseyes!!!!!!!!!!!

or
Jeff: This bird your friend?
Rinse: Yes, but its the worst kind of friend.
Jeff: Quite a mess of a bird eh?
Rinse: like you wouldn't even begin to know!
jeff: but my mind contains all your knowledge anyway
Rinse: but your mind is a fruitless void
Jeff:but your mind is my own mind, my mind is your own knowledge of your mind of my mind my minds eye or my miners or memymine memy memtones mercury!

or
Witnesses say she told craig to "shut up"

Please listen and come here and listen right here right now to this these words this part of this please! please come here! i have news for you and for me and for all of us. dat politics is the one is everything things are everything. dat policitcs is the light is regular light is normal lighting in normal circumstances is special lighting for special occaisions is the "The light" is the one light for one man or woman or man shaped doll or light shaped man-woman doll or man's doll's friendly aquaintance with light or his friends or his small back catalogue of matierals regarding himself, light, or his man woman doll's hair dresser, dat politics!

Please bring your means to an end and purchase or buy and get or download or absorb deep into your heart the heart of all hearts, this kind heart that i bring this cloth heart, terry cloth, tearing fabrics or black dark black blamefilled clothes.

What: Dat Politics (the humans with eyes that are my heart)
What else: Wow Twist (the album that is eyes, eyes in a tuxedo, tuxedos flooding the gates of trouble)
what else: please get it it it or get with it, tit, tits, its tits, its tit mouse tits
also what: Good things are in store, are in stores now, are interested in finding your and your game
What to bring: Your game, your goods, your goodness sakes, your special meaning
when: right now, always, since the beginning, immediately
Who: me, you, everyone we know, miranda july, dean martin, dean martin's hair, dean maritime and the maritime gang

the sound is flowing through you!
the collapse of all buildings is coming!
the collections are here!

10 out of 10! 10 out of 8! 8 out of all 8s! 100 out of 300!

Pamela, You will never review this, which is why we are better, better, better, but this is also why we are the same, the same ol same! Pamela, I will give birth to you, and stake you as my birthright! I will clothe you in righteousness, I will cover you with a blanket of leaves, I will place you in the core of the earth.

Dear Dat Politics,
Buildings are flowing through you! You are more important and stronger than every sound in the world! You are more sound than everything else except the part of everything that is your sound. I am listening harder! I am gaining knowledge! I am right at the ledge! I am alright! We are all alright oh yeah!

Your Friend,
Carter Beauford from The Dave Matthews Band

Dear You Guys,
This small collection of sound of fun (11 tracks of "fun") is necessary! Please enjoy! everything I have ever said to you is a lie in comparison to this! My life is a hoax! My life is not a hoax, it is okay, I am okay, I am alright, I feel very fine!

Your Friend,
Jeff Pool Trouble

You can be crushed for a small fee! You can be crushed by my hands! I am buried deep deep in the ground! I am buried deep in the ground and filled with crushed peppers! I have a crush on pepper! Knox County is going back to eastern time!

You can become a special businessman! You are gaining 10 life points! You may gain 10 pounds! You have a great dexterity! you are great! you can work harder and become more! Look!:

See!

What's dat dizzy zip? My Toshiba is alive!

I don't mind, No I don't mind, I don't mind at all. I don't mind at all

I don't mind.

No, I don't mind

Gimme Bays

2006-05-20T18:17:00.000-09:00

In a new bastard post, Craperman said that you should subscribe to piece-of-hell fashion week daily's magazine because they are giving away a YSL Muse bag. When I read that, I realized what a damn shame of a giveaway that was and that there are plenty of much better giveaways available to us. Here are a few samples (speaking of samples, Dumbela also couldn't contain her appreciation for free perfume samples at stores. If she can spend $1,000 on an S&M underwear bag, why can't she shell out a few hundred to smell obnoxious and give me a headache when I meet her? (which I hope never happens))...

-If you live in Japan and buy Pepsi Nex, you can win a Pepsi Nex Robot. Of course Pepsi parentage is a huge notch against it, but who doesn't want a free robot? Nobody I'd like to meet.

-If you go to the August 26th St. Paul Saints (minor league baseball) game, they are giving away buddhas. Baseball teams have giveaways all the time, but buddhas easily go down as the best I've ever heard of, and perhaps the best ever. In fact the St. Paul Saints have a whole host of amazing things. For instance, they had a New Year's celebration on May 15...this year they are giving away balls of yarn and a little boat (partially as tribute to the Vikings' boatcapade), in addition to the buddhas...on July 22 they are honoring the smallest man to ever play pro baseball...on July 29th they are honoring pro players who had good mustaches...these are the best. I can't believe how side-tracked I got. I can't believe I can't attend any of these events. I can't believe my moms.

-This is more to the point and it may be the number one giveaway of the year, because you can still get in on the action for 0.5 months. Gnarls Barkley is giving away a bag full of sweet goodies including tickets to view. The biggest problem is that I couldn't find any pictures of the bag to be given away. At the same time, it could be a grocery store plastic bag and it would rule the hell out of Pekerman's recommended giveaway. Plus, there are ten runner-ups who also get a bag. It doesn't have as much sweet stuff, but it's still a bag. A Gnarles Barkley Bag. Sign up at http://atlanticrecords.liquidbuilder.com/gnarlsbarkley/?lev=1.

If you have any better giveaways, let me know. I didn't devote too much time to these finds. Plus it's hard as hell to find good giveaways that aren't for completely predictable gear.

A final note, here's Pamela on a blog that rivals her own for shittiness, thebagblog.com.

Check it out for deeper annoyance.

Real People vs. Not-Really People

2006-05-12T09:41:00.000-09:00

Professor Martin would call this a "non-realite" in the subjuncitve form of a french verb. What the hell am I talking about? Kristopher Dukes. This co-hert of one Pamela Pekerman is not real, or she is a "non-realite." I want you all to lay your bag-lovin' eyes on her "website." I wanted to talk about this Kristopher Dukes and her not being a real person. I wanted to talk about how I want us to make another site called Cassandra Pukes. I wanted to talk about how I dont believe her latest post about how this outfit she is wearing is from 3rd grade.

I wanted to talk about how lying isn't nice to do. So, Kristopher Dukes, stop lying about your clothing from 3rd grade and leave your mother and Easter Sunday out of this.

In other bag-trends news, I want to break this bracelet that Kristopher wants to make-out with. And finally, I wanted to talk about Kristopher stoping all this talk of her eye make-up. Kristopher, you'll go blind someday if you don't cut that out.

mistaken

2006-05-11T14:18:00.000-09:00

i do apologize for the false pricing of the white, coral clutch posted yesterday.. it's $255 dollars, not $330.

this, however, does not change anything.

You have to be kidding me.

2006-05-11T09:19:00.000-09:00

Pamela is up to her wily "just thinkin out loud" lame-ass reviews again. Bagerica called her out yesterday on the 9 million dollar melted gummy clutch, and today I will also speak on a clutch that PP has most recently named "sophisticated". I have recently named it "bondage underwear from Berlin". Look at this trash. The designer Janna Kruse is a total ass. Just look at her website, sick ass logo with bitmappy edges, stupid ass poses and bags, and prices as high as Jeff BBz cholesterol used to be. (Sorry if that was private.) I mean, if your gonna charge more than 300 dollars for a handbag, )be it clutch, crotch, snot, snoopy, purse or fanny pack)
at least have your logo be designed by someone other than a fat seal calf with a laptop and marker. Low res is lame res.

Anyways, this bag is totally a pair of sick dominatrix panties (that word rules). Check out the way that rich broad is holding it where underwear goes. Anyway, Pamela says that she "craves the bag", like she craves an ice pack after my size 12 boot kicks her right in her ass. Here's what she says about this modern marvel of used black undies.

"...But, it’s the Nina clutch that I truly crave. The architectural juxtaposition of rough embossed croco with smooth lambskin, creates a sophisticated look. Gold rivets add an edge that is softened by the lambskin rouging. It’s this type of balance that is often missing in the evening bag genre."

PP is actually condoning killing of crocodiles and lambs, to make this barf bag. (Hey we should review barfbags, too.) Crododiles, I believe, are endangered and lambs, I believe are symbols of peace and are much more useful alive then dead. Maaaaaaaa!

Basically, this bag makes me want to throw up in my mouth. But instead of swallowing it, spitting it into a ziploc bag and mailing it to Pamela Pekerman, 666 ILoveBeingStupidAsHell Lane, Dumb Moron, AR 12847. And charging her 300 dollars for my amazing puke bag. She'd have to do it.

It's no doubt that Pamela, is indeed, wrong as hell. And going there by killing sheep. Maybe not?

can we say, "impractical?"

2006-05-10T22:09:00.000-09:00

I like a good clutch as much as anyone, but let's face it, this one is a bust.

I have formulated some solid reasons why this Isharya clutch is impratical.

1) The Isharya clutch is white silk with red beads in the formation of coral. I can not argue, it's appealing to the eye; the contrast of stark white and vivid red is close to making the heart skip a beat, but honestly, think about our wardrobe choices with this clutch. Shall I say "limited"? Who wants a clutch that only jives with a this season white linen dress? Don't get me wrong, white linen is posh, but if i'm going to have a favorite clutch, it's going to have to go with my favorite grey hoodie ((which looks just as sexy)).

2) Price, price, price. DO i have to pay nearly $330 for one clutch to be a bagista? I think not. I understand that it's silk, i understand that it's chic design is elegant.. but $330?? This bagaholic is a working girl who tries to make every dollar stretch. I can find luxury cheaper, thank you.

3) It's not versatile enough for an on-the-go girl. Circumstances and situations arise that we can't control.. and if I'm carrying a clutch, it's got to be just as ready as me for the switchback that can be my life. I'd look quite silly if, while at an outside event, i got paged to work and i still had this clutch for the emergency at hand. I need something, nay! we all need something, that can turn from classy to casual in an instant. This is not that clutch!

Maybe you seasoned baggies disagree with my negative critique of this clutch, but I assure you, they were well thought out and, might i add, very true.

As a side note check out the jcrew coral clutch.

Animal Alphabet Bags

2006-05-07T15:33:00.000-09:00

Ken & Trisha have just released a new line of bags they're calling the Animal Alphabet Totes. Each bag features a name, along with depictions of animals whose names begin with the same letter. I thought I'd post a picture of the Nicholas bag, as Nanny Goats and Night Owls are two of my favorite animals.

Let's not beat around the bush here: what Ken & Trisha are doing is very courageous and very ambitious. The aesthetic of the Animal Alphabet Bag is intensely challenging, and, to make matters worse, we can't count on Ken & Trisha to help us make sense of it:

"Your children will be delighted to see and learn about animals who's names start with the same letters as theirs."

Ken & Trisha would have us believe that the Animal Alphabet bag was intended for children. Yeah right. Make no mistake, bag friends, within weeks this bag will be all over the bag world and no bagista worth his/her salt will be without one.

But what is it that makes this bag so successful?

"We have a lot of fun making and designing these High Quality Art Tote Bags. We hope you will find the perfect tote bag for expressing your unique personality." (italics mine)

The key here is personalization. Each individual can have their own unique tote with corresponding animals, regardless of what letter your name starts with (unless it starts with U, V, X, Y, or Z, they don't have those). The Animal Alphabet bag is about allowing the buyer to define his/her own essence by means of bag. This is something that contemporary designers are exceedingly reluctant to do, and it is why the Animal Alphabet bag is so important.

Also, Ken & Trisha have another site dedicated to "items with a traditional music or old-time theme."

Highway Fruit Bags

2006-05-06T20:20:00.000-09:00

Listen. This guy's got it right. You know? Carry bags and bags of fruit by way of a hot car on a mid-western highway... Don't mind if I do. Also, wonder if he's part of the IMF?

the High Priestess says

2006-05-06T10:20:00.000-09:00

This past summer, one of my best friends bought a beautiful interpretation of the Tarot Card's High Priestess painted on wood for me on my 22nd birthday. No one around my house or the people I am or have been associated with in the past 4 or so years of my life knew where the high priestess came from... I, however, did.

While in the sixth grade, I started obsessing over things of supernatural beauty.. Tarot Reading was one of those mysteries. Once even, I had a gypsy read my cards, thus my future. I don't remember it now, but that's not the point. The point lays in the mystery, if you will, of how gypsies and others of the sort get their Tarot Cards from one place to another without bringing harm upon these powerful future-telling cards. Because, let's face it... someone sitting down across the table to get their future and present conflicts read via tarot would think it tacky if the teller would rip them out of a card box. Right? I mean, I would, especially now that i found Tarottoes.com.

Tarot totes were designed with, of course, tarot cards in mind.. however, they are convenientally sized for any deck of cards, cell phones, wands, iPods, metaphysical books, bird seed for hungry birds, healing crystals or any number of things. And honestly, who wouldn't want to carry one of these bags. Reasonably priced and of attractive, mystical fabric.. they can bring awe to not only your tarot reading abilities but how you transport them. My absolute favorite tarot tote Fairy Ring, but they are so versatile that even cat lovers can carry their tarot with Cat Moods.

The rope, pull tight top is also a nice feature for ease of use. If one is in a hurry to get the iPod, crystals or Tarot cards out, he/she doesn't have to fiddle with zippers or buttons.

I recommend Tarot Totes for anyone because of their beauty, rope top feature and convenience. These totes are definately for the High Priestess in us all.

A New Trend in Bags: Sacks

2006-05-03T18:03:00.000-09:00

Presented here is an edited, expanded and revised version of the paper "The Inherit Prejudice of the Bags/Sacks Dichotomy: A Socio-Linguistic Study”, which was first read at the ninth annual meeting of the Southern Society of Cognitive Linguists. The author has kindly provided this edition for decimation on Bag-Trends, and we are pleased to present this article, which we agree addresses timely issues concerning not only the field of bag theory, but the entire bag world. [the editors of Bag-Trends]

In recent years it has come to my attention that there is an important dichotomy that is threatening to divide the continental United States into warring factions. I believe this is an appropriate forum to launch a campaign to raise awareness of this vital issue. What concerns me is the culture war that looms on the horizon pertaining to the name used to pick out partially-enclosed, flexible containers for the storage and transportation of goods. While some nouns fitting portions of this description may include baskets, boxes, and pockets, the specific terms I wish to deal with today are bags and sacks.

As one moves west across United States from the east, many mannerisms, terrains, choice in foot-wear, and language utilization noticeably change. This has been a constant source of strife over the past four hundred years of this countries development. Due to the fact of population dispersal there have been many perspectives taken on the spread of culture and its impact on those who bring the culture and those to which new ideas, trends and bad habits are proselytized. It is a fact of human nature that no person wishes to admit to be on the receiving end of good news; therefore response-biases are created to cope with such a fact. (Overmeyer 529) It is from these response-biases that feelings of malevolence and wrath are observed to emerge.

Whether this malice is identified by the subject in its earlier stages is the subject of intense debate. (See Murry Gardner’s "The Emergence of Hatred from Response-Bias Variables" and Jockhom & Stevens "Hatred is Knowledge: a Response to Murry Gardner" in Midwestern Logio-Psychial Mindset vols. XXVII and XXVIII, respectively.) However, all cognitive scientists agree that in the final stages the stimulus results in over-anxiety, loss of bladder control and inability to produce a piercing whistle. If the immediate reactions were not detrimental enough, it is obvious that these final effects are enough to ostracize one from any-sized community (ostrich or otherwise).

In order to relieve ones mind of these grotesque final results, often the situation is alleviated by focusing attention to the perceived “factors” and “perpetrators”. (I have taken these terms, along with much of this preliminary research from Weldnor Grymn’s classic Euro-Prussian, book-length survey, Gegenüberliegende Seiten eines einseitigen Spektrums.) In the current situation under examination, the term “sack” is identified as the factor, while the immediate perpetrators are identified as loafer-wearing, eastern blue-state yuppies. This identifies many underlying, pre-conceived notions that although functioning as important factors, will have to be set aside to allow for the narrowing of this current study.

Even based upon these factors, it is still not entirely clear why the bag/sack dichotomy is such a volatile issue in America today. However, I believe that with a further examination into the etymological and linguistic roots of these terms it becomes quite clear why this issue has been so controversial throughout history. The word “sack”, as a noun, may be traced back to the ancient Hebrew “saq”, which named bags, sacks, and sackcloth. (Oxford English Dictionary) This term was later adopted into Latin, with the term being narrowed to the second use only. “Bag”, on the other hand, originated much later (as a noun) as the Middle English “bagge”, which may be a form of the Old Norse “baggi”, meaning “bag, pack or bundle”. (Ibid.)

These etymological roots, along with a punitive understanding of cultural seismology will lead one to the clear conclusion that the Jewish roots of “sack” are one of the primary reasons for its being shunned. Throughout history, anti-Semitic forces have attempted to eradicate all traces of the Jewish peoples and their culture. One, for example was, William Shakespeare, who in all his plays and poetry never uses “sack” once, although he frequently utilizes “bag”. (Terione, Word Frequency in Shakespeare) In conjunction with its Hebraic roots, throughout history there have been movements, many of a successful nature, to establish “vulgar” connotations of the word “sack”. An example comes from the classical Roman period, where use of “sack” frequently referred “to the punishment of drowning in a sack… the punishment (awarded in ancient Rome to a parricide) of being sewn in a sack and drowned.” (OED)

Other historical uses of the word “sack” in a vulgar sense include the use (by the Norse, interestingly enough) of “sack” to refer to the act of routing or pillaging. In more modern uses “sack” has come to mean “to dismiss from employment or office”, which finds its roots in British culture. This meaning has also been transferred to mean “to discard, turn off (a lover)” and therefore “to get the sack” is “to receive one's dismissal”. Also, to “buy a cat in the sack” is to buy an article without first inspecting it, which is derived from the French “acheter chat en sac”, and “se couvrir d'un sac mouillé” or “to cover oneself with a wet sack” which means to make vain excuses. In the United States, “to hold the sack” is to “be saddled with an unwelcome responsibility”. “Sack” has not even escaped vulgar use in the realm of sports. In baseball, the “sack” references a base, which is trod upon and may even be legally stolen. In American football, a “sack” is “an act or occasion of tackling a quarter-back behind the scrimmage line before he can make a pass”. (Ibid.)

“Bag”, on the other hand, aside from its most common use to denote “a receptacle made of some flexible material closed in on all sides except at the top”, carries such positive meanings as “a preoccupation, mode of behavior or experience; a distinctive style or category” or the phrase “in the bag” which means to have something under control or as a part of situations one is familiar or comfortable with. This great discrepancy in denotations and connotations is certainly the work of those who wish to keep Jewish culture from flourishing in any part of the world. Therefore, it is of vital import that the term “sack” be assimilated into all cultures and languages, for it is an important cultural alternative to the over-used “bag”.

This concept was proposed to the World Council on Linguistic Affairs at their annual conference in Brussels on 21 May, 1962 by the Zambian-born Jewish scholar Etmund Ereli. (Minutes of the WCLA, Saroon Te-Swe, secretary) Although most in attendance agreed that some action was necessary, the idea was lost in the political clashes of the sixties. In America in the mid-eighties, however, with nothing else to concern themselves, a group rose up and declared war on the word “bag”. This group was led by WCLA member and former professor of New Testament Hermeneutics at Gould College, John Paffrey. Paffrey’s goal was the acceptance of “sack” into the American dialect. His revolution spread throughout the east like wildfire, thanks widely in part to articles and essays published in the New York Times Book Review, Atlantic Monthly and the Yale Review. While the revolution of “sack” spread throughout the east coast, it was very slow making its way inland.

As of writing, “sack” seems to have made it as far as Columbus, Ohio in the past ten intervening years. Linguistic prognosticators have it reaching the Indiana line before 2010, and, if a suitable movement might be primed on the west coast, America should be in the “sack” by within the next twenty years. These statistics are rough figures, and will certainly vary according to the amount of backlash that is met as “sack” continues to make its move across the county. It is for this reason in particular that I believe the above figures are overly optimistic.

As “sack” has made its move west, it has encountered more and more opposition, which has slowed its progress considerably as it attempts to progress. In my calculations, for every one hundred miles a new concept or idea must pass and break-down a response-bias, the time between introduction and acceptance increases by .12%. Calculated exponentially, particularly if the prospect of a two front attack is ruled out, the amount of time this change will take is staggering. Thus, it is important, if this task is to be succeeded, to not only have individuals who are committed now, but who are committed to the promotion of “sack” into the far future as well.

In conclusion, based upon the results of response-bias, and the negative connotations typically connected with “sack”, it may be safely predicted the acceptance of “sack” into a holistic American vocabulary will face a long, uncertain future. However, this also means that it will provide an excellent study in overcoming response-bias and movement towards a broader, more culturally-rich language. In the meanwhile, however, besides passively examining the effects of this cultural shift, let us also become involved in the change. There is much work to be done, and much profit to be gained.

Baggin' & Waggin'

2006-05-03T10:04:00.000-09:00

Dogs, the lost and forgotten bag consumer... or not?

Bags have seemingly swallowed small dogs in Hollywood with superstars and models and old ladies toting around their rat-shaped hounds as a bag-trend all its own. Bags have engulfed tiny shaky ugly dogs for too damn long. Dogs hate that shit. They shit in the bags because the bags aren't nearly appropriate for dogs, they are appropriate for shit, thus the dogs shit in them. Although some would say these dogs are too small for walking and need clothes or bags or clothes bag hats, they are wrong. Dogs take the bus and the train. Jeff BBz showed me some dogs who could jump 100 feet high. Dogs can handle themselves.

All this is why dogs have raised a fist full of bags and are all supporting the new backpacks and saddlebags by WOLFPACKS®.
I four rugged awesome outdoor ass kickin' styles, these are truly "doggie bags." Just check out Iggy and Shae at the top of the post. Iggy even knows how to compliment a Banzai™ style bag with some hip trendy beads. Dogs have found their bag calling, and since they don't give a shit about Paris Hilton they will bite her with the fangs of fashion.

(Cody, owned by Karen Faddis, looks like he really enjoys his new Saddle Bag pack.
Karen says she likes the small pack size for hikes and short outings. Cody, has also worn it to the nursing home they visit, to carry small presents for patients and treats.
"The size works well for my purposes, and the dog enjoys wearing it.") These bags not only provide dogs with face melting styles, but also can be used for goodwill missions. And one.

Sorry my first bag review is so wordy, but dogs have never had a voice like Wolfpacks before.
To sum up here is a picture of Aspen with his packs and an actually comment from the dog. Seriously.

Dear Linda,

My name is Aspen. You really made my first backpacking experience dog gone special. You helped me size a perfect fitting pack and it is certain to last me many more trips. I CAN'T WAIT TILL NEXT TIME !! I just wanted to send you my picture (my owners Kevin and Jennifer took it) of me getting prepared to tackle Pagosa Peak. I am from Kansas and did I ever enjoy the cool weather of the mountains. I got to carry all kinds of really cool stuff in my pack too.

Aspen.

Screw you, Hollywood.

http://wolfpacks.com

Japanese Snack Sugar Cat

2006-05-02T20:09:00.000-09:00

Hey bag friends and tag bronds!

Bag veterans are in for a real treat today. I just found an Angel Cat Snack tote for $29.95! Yeah!

If you're new to B-T or have otherwise been wasting your life not knowing about the best in bags, here's a direct quote from the manufactuer:

"The is a very unique and famous Japanese snack sugar cat tote bag. It is made of high quality nylon canvas material, with superior illustration. Fully lined with inner zip pocket. A must have bag for Japanese snack lovers!"

So much has already been said about this bag that there isn't really much I can add. I would, however, like to take a moment to respond to some criticisms that have been raised in recent years by certain marginal, ill-informed bag thinkers (Pamela Pekerman, for instance). The grossly oversimplified version is that these critics attempt find fault with the cat snacks elements of the bag, while ignoring the inseparable themes of cat naps and Japanese snacks. In the Angel Cat bag, the combination of these very different and seemingly divergent elements transcends the limitations from which each of the individual components suffer, culminating in this remarkable work of bag that we have come to know so imtimately at B-T.

I welcome any comments detailing the impact this classic bag has had on you in particular, or on bag culture in general.

Speaking of Drinks

2006-05-02T08:15:00.000-09:00

A positive review is in order. In an attempt to fulfill our promise to possibly review absolutely anything, this is an endorsement of the new commercials for New Belgium Beers. If you are not familiar with New Belgium, go here

In short, this family takes environmentalism and making great beer very seriously. The company is growing quickly because their beer is so damn good. As a result, they have been advertising on the television recently. These are some of the best ads I have ever seen in my life. Check them out in quicktime (that they use quicktime instead of damn windows viewer or other bastard options is a small testament to their greatness) here

You will notice as you watch them that the music is the soothing sounds of Devendra Banhart. Once again, a testament to their greatness. I know that many live in Chicago, and they have recently branched out to Chicago. So buy it. Support the little guys. Support good beer. Support Devendra Banhart. Support environmentalism. Support turtles. Support you.

Also, they make a bag (bringing in the bag theme). The bag is almost perfect. It is very librarian-esque, which is way better than Jackie-O-esque. Then, just when you thought it was all, "no talking in the library" it comes from old advertising banners. This is the key. NO TWO BAGS ARE THE SAME. You never know what the hell is going to be on it. It's like the grab bag box they used to advertise in the Boy's Life magazines from Boy Scouts. Highly recommended at only $12 (unlike the ridiculous recommendations Pamela makes) this bag is perfect for summer picnics and trips to the beach.

Some Bags Have Beads

2006-05-01T22:45:00.001-09:00

I was just thinking about bags and bag-trends, and maybe bracelets, too. (But never ocelots.) When it occurred to me that I should do some image searches for bags and Jackie O, and I came up with this little beaded number, that runs for $52.

And then I got to thinking. Could I see Jackie O carrying this bag? Well, no. So are all Jackie O bags created equal? No again, considering this bag is $1295-$52 less than the YSL Muse bag, which is beside the point really, when you think of it, really long and hard. Or strong and dard. Like the makers of the dictionary.

Which brings me to my next point. This bag looks alot like a canteen.

Also, beads are okay. But aren't they a little too 1615 for today's Manhattan socialite?

And finally, I'm real glad we were able to get Manhattan for a bunch of beads. Just enough beads for those Indians to make us these awesome bags. With some left over for sweet bracelets.

Two Pamela Whiffs

2006-04-29T09:41:00.000-09:00

In a recent review of the YSL Muse Bag, Pamela Peckerman suggested that this bag is Jackie-O-esque. What? There are two problems with this. 1) This bag is ugly as hell. It might make a good barfbag, chunky style, hell yes. Maybe Jackie-O would have used this bag for carrying around her dog's shit, but not for everyday life. Or perhaps Pamela is referring to this Jackie...

If so, I take back my criticism.
2) This bag looks like somebody threw some gold on a shitty tire from the driveway of our old neighbors in Huntington. Therefore, Jackie-O would never have used it.

Also, since this is one of the first posts, it is appropriate for me to point out an all-encompassing problem with Pamela's comments. At the end of each post, she writes "Always Bag-a-licious." This is certainly not the case. This is obviously a reference to the R&B band Blackalicious. The problem is that neither member of Blackalicious has given permission to Pamela for this obvious reference. Pamela is not representing Blackalicious appropriately by endorsing such terrible bags.

To make sure this is not only criticism, here is an alternative bag to Pamela's terrible recommendation.

This is Ms. Monster Bag. The perfect bag for keeping your shit as well as scaring off kids. It's perfect and I highly recommend it. In addition, it is crocheted, so you can make it yourself. Therefore, it is worth far more than the damn YSL Muse Bag. Enjoy

Initial Thoughts

2006-04-28T16:28:00.000-09:00

Hey you guys, I was thinking about the lack of good bag reviewal sites on the net and wanted to make a positive contribution to the world of bag marketing, bag sales, bag go-karts hats, bag lighting, bag bags, hands that look like bags, sandbags, and of course bag trends. And bag-danas.

Now, I know what you are thinking, "Doesn't Pamela Pekerman of bagtrends.blogspot.com have a perfectly good bag trends review blog?"

No, She in fact does not. Just cause someone can get a blog and say any sicko thing that they damn well please, doesn't mean that they are worth their bag salt.

And thus this site is born. Our promise to you:

1. Review the latest in bags and bag trends.
2. Friendly and/or pleasant discussion of the latest in bag culture and bag theory.
3. Rude and unforgiving refutation of the latest in Pamela Pekerman's bag trends reviews and comments.
4. Interesting and thought provoking pictures and portraits of bags and people holding or being near bags and/or trends.
5. Possibly reviews or discussions of other trends such as bracelets, smiles, pats on the back, or banks.

If that's the sort of thing you want or need, then here we are. If you prefer Pamela Dumberman then suit your self, dillweed. Or maybe I'll suit you for you, myself.