Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Dr. Bubastis' Finite Playlist

First off--my well of Ponygirl Club contributions has been running a tad dry of late, leaving my fellow Bloggers gasping for air like rainbow trout marooned on a parched riverbed after a long summer's drought. For that I apologize. Depending on who you ask, I have spent the last several weeks either:

a) Held up in a villa somewhere in the Balkans riding horses and playing the accordion.
b) Learning to fire breathe.
c) following the Silver Jews on tour and stalking Cassie Berman.

While all or none of these may be true, none of this qualifies as a reason to neglect my blogging duties. I guess part of the problem is I haven't had anything to bitch about lately, and what is the point of blogging if you're not going to bitch?

So, in the spirit of trying to get through this blog with as little shit talking as possible, i'm going to fire up the ole' shuffle on my Ipod, and talk about the first ten songs/bands that come up. I promise I won't cheat to look cool.

1. Neko Case- "Hold On, Hold On"
I like Neko Case. She has a good voice and she's pretty foxy, but man, if it's possible to scream "I'm a total bitch" with no more than a few pictures, Ms. Case has it perfected. She's also in the "indie rock supergroup" The New Pornographers along with Dan Bejar of Destroyer fame. Personally, I like Case and I like Bejar but the New Pornos pretty much suck. It's just run of the mill power pop crap mixed with a few gems from one of these two. Anyway, I have no doubt in my mind that if Neko Case wanted to become a big Country superstar she totally could. People wouldn't even have to write songs for her! But then again, "country," or at least it's popular incarnation, has really become a pretty hideous swamp thing of a genre in the last decade or so.

2. Bear vs. Shark- "Baraga Embankment"
Fuck yeah. I've always loved BVS. People ask me to describe them, and the best I can come up with is "If At The Drive-In were a bunch of white dudes instead of a bunch of Mexican dudes and there was no Acid involved." Seems fair to me. Anyway, these dudes rocked and it's a pretty big bummer that they broke up. Check out this video for "Catamaran" off of their last album "Terrorhawk." It's the opening track, and a pretty kick ass one at that.

3. The Microphones- "I Felt My Size"
If this were like four years ago you would've been witness to me raving about how much I love this album, "The Glow, Pt. 2." But, well, it's just not something i'm really ever going to throw on anymore. Phil Elvrum has always had a pretty good thing going for him...he's super earthy and organic and shit and it comes through in his music, which is super bare-bones and folksey and woodsy. I dunno, maybe i'd like it more if I lived in like, Washington. It's the kind of album which, despite it's quality and how much I loved it at one point or another, I just don't really have much use for anymore. Kind of like Spiderland.

4. A Silver Mt. Zion- "Track 01"
Another band I used to like a lot more than I do now. Make no mistake...I was a huuuuge Godspeed You! Black Emperor fan back in the day. They played at the Casbah once but I wasn't old enough to go, then they broke up and I never got to see them live. So, therefore, I had to kind of hold out for a time when they would either get back together, or I was going to have to live with just seeing Silver Mt. Zion live. I did. It was boring. There were a ton of childhood emotions and expectations riding on that show...I wanted them to be a band they weren't. But, you know, that show made me realize that, as necessary as the breakup of GYBE seemed to be at the time, ASMZ just can't compete. At all. Efrim can't sing. He isn't a band leader. He was never supposed to be any of those things. These weren't people who spoke out about politics or or talked shit about other bands. They were supposed to be different. But, whatever. The death of Godspeed, to me, meant that post-rock was done and dead and people needed to move on. Too bad no one else did.

5. Modest Mouse- "Jesus Christ Was An Only Child."
Modest Mouse is one of those unfortunate bands that got popular at the wrong time. They got popular after they were done writing terrific music and, well, that just meant that their back-catalog would never be appreciated by certain people. It's like the Weezer effect...once you become popular and start writing crappy music, a whole new, young generation of "indie" kids will know who you are, but in a way that just means they aren't old enough to remember that you were good once and won't care. "Oh, yeah, Modest Mouse fucking sucks." Yeah? Listen to The Lonesome Crowded West and fucking tell me that. Damn these guys used to be good. Not that their new albums are terrible....they're not...but really, they're never going to even come close to their three big early albums. Oh, and Issac Brock's lisp is fucking annoying. I should do a piece about musicians with lisps. Who else has one besides him and that fruit from Belle & Sebastian?

6. Hot Snakes- "Let It Come"
Ah, the Reis/Froberg tandem, aka the best thing to ever happen to San Diego music. I seriously love these dudes. Sure i'm not as big on the whole greaser-punk vibe of Rocket From The Crypt, but I think it has to do more with me really like Rick Froberg's voice. Drive Like Jehu is one of my all time favorite bands, and while Hot Snakes decided to shed a lot of the more experimental and mathy aspects of Jehu's last album, they still know how to fucking rock. Drive Like Jehu is a perfect example of bands that existed at the same time as Nirvana, did a similar thing, and kicked infinitely more ass yet get little to no credit for it. God, I fucking hate Nirvana. Sweet, it's the Meat Puppets without anything that made the Meat Puppets interesting! Where do I sign up?

I don't know what the fuck is going on in this video but I kind of like it:

7. The Aquabats- Dear Spike
People who do not like the Aquabats are the enemy of fun. Now is a fitting time to listen to them, too, as Travis Barker is like, dead or something. Yes, it is a little known fact that Travis Barker used to be in the Aquabats, where he went by the name The Baron Von Tito. They probably kicked him out for not being Mormon?

It's definitely kind of sad that they're still a band. But, you know what? Who cares. Let them keep on rocking until Jesus comes back to earth or whatever!

8. You know what? There is no #8. I'm tired of this.


Sunday, September 28, 2008

Well, that ought to be easy for a genuine son of a bitch

I'll be honest with you guys right now- I don't know where the Doctor is. Part of me thinks he is in his lair, fiendishly twisting his moustache, plotting some evil shit. Part of me thinks David Berman from the Silver Jews showed up in his parlor to beat his ass because our fine Doctor probably lurched at Cassie Berman. The rest of me thinks he has probably just been partaking heavily in spirits, rendering him unable to write as the pine-scented devil (gin) toils in his brain. Alls I knows is that I am suffering from a few ailments currently- hysteria, asthma and Dr. Bubastis withdrawls. They might all be the same, I don't really know.

In recent-ish news, Paul Newman fought the cancer and the cancer won. Some of you might be familiar with him because of his tasty snacks and salad dressings, some of you might be familiar with the amount of money he donated from the post-tax profits of his tasty snacks and salad dressings sales (over $220 million) and his encouragement for corporate philanthropy but some of you might be familiar with him because of his acting:

Megan would want me to say that some of you might be familiar with Paul Newman because of his pretty serious case of the hot, but I feel yucky thinking about Paul Newman being hot because he and my dad kind of looked alike back in their heyday. You're calling bullshit, already? Well, check out this fine picture of an issue of Playgirl my dad was in back in '77 when he was like 30:

Yeah, I found that shit on Ebay. Look at that fucking jumpsuit, dude. Or is that a romper? Either way, dudes don't got steeze like that no more. Now before you bobcat (male cougars) hunters get all worked up, he now looks like a cross between a fat Mikhail Baryshnikov and Bob Kelso from Scrubs, acts like a cross between Matlock and Robocob and enjoys Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, yachts, anti-wrinkle serums, Jesus and posting on San Diego Chargers related-forums. Oh, and textually harassing his tech-support girl.

God, I don't feel like writing any more about my weird dad even though I know you guys are chomping at the bit and some of you have been for years. No, I won't give you the issues of Playgirl I found in the garage. No, I didn't look at the dick pics, I shrieked like a banshee and threw the box across the garage and have yet to venture to that side again. No, I won't scan them in for you guys. UGH.

Anyways, The Jealous Girlfriends have a new video out for "Organs On the Kitchen Floor" and DAYUUM am I into it:

Organ On The Kitchen Floor - The Jealous Girlfriends

Time to go inhale my steroids so I can pump some iron,


Saturday, September 27, 2008

Fact: Rivers Cuomo is friendly to bears

Last night I hosted a presidential debate party for members of the ponygirl club as well as members of the ponygirl society for musical appreciation. I mixed up a pitcher of the 2008 election's signature cocktail, the Sarah Palin rape kit. It's sort of like a Long Island but with some of that probiotic yogurt that makes you poo; it's expensive and it cleans you out. I also baked up some fucking delicious pumpkin bread and we settled in to our easy chairs to watch John McCain get Baracked. I wouldn't mind getting Baracked myself, but that's another blog for another time.

Somehow the evening turned, as all evenings must, into a backyard jam session which in turn turned into an epic campfire sing-along. Sometimes it can be hard to think of songs that everybody knows. We'd gone through the Beatles, the Doors, the Rolling Stones and (ugh)Nirvana when somebody said, "Hey, do you know any Weezer?"

The same somebody also said, "Weezer is basically metal, am I wrong?"

I don't know man. Usually I like to pretend that nothing after Pinkerton really happened. Watching videos this morning I decided to concede that the Green album is also real, if only because of the incredible pandering to girls that takes place in the "Island in the Sun" video. Cuddling with a bear, Rivers? Are you fucking kidding me? Kitties and puppies? Holding hands with a god damn monkey? Shit makes me squeal like a twelve year old, and that's what you want isn't it?

Not the squealing. I meant the twelve year old girls. That's what you want. Here's the thing: I know you man. One time when I was sixteen you drunkenly lurched at me but an Asian girl (probably also underage, let's be real) got in the way. You probably I don't remember. I barely do. My best friend and I had missed the last train home during your concert so we decided to prowl around Irvine all night because there wasn't much else we could do. We met up with some crazy fangirl who had a plush Miss Piggy doll she wanted to give you because of that video where you're friends with a bunch of damn muppets. It's always reassuring to meet a crazier fangirl than yourself. It makes you feel you're still cooler than someone, so we tagged along with her on her quest to penetrate the privacy of your backstage lair.

We watched you from a distance, imbibing party cup beverages in your pagoda with your cohorts. We entered one by one, spacing ourselves out so as to be less conspicuous. Miss Piggy was apprehended by security almost immediately. Girl was crazy. Yet we pressed on. Our eyes met across a crowded room, Rivers. You did the unthinkable. You waved at me. I waved back. You started lurching toward me. I didn't remember this last night, but this morning I have a phantom memory of maybe shaking your hand. Maybe one of my friends did. I don't know what happened to the brain cells where I used to keep this memory, probably paint fumes or vodka. I do remember being kind of shocked that you were really only about the same size as me.

Then you saw Her and the moment was over. We reconnected with Miss Piggy, her friend drove us to Carl's Jr and we passed the night sleepless on benches at the train station. It was fucking awesome.

So you see, I know you man. I know that despite your continued insistence that you give not a hoot, you care all too much. While I must admit that your video for "Pork and Beans" was rather on the lolarious side (although I fear that the song is merely a watered down rehashing of several older songs), I am worried about you. I am afraid that your facial hair is taking over your life. Some guys can have a stache or a beard or whatever without letting it control them. They can grow it out, shave it off, shape it up without losing themselves. Other guys think they're Sampson all of a sudden just because they have a stupid soul patch or whatever and shit starts taking over. They get that dead in the eyes look. You sir, have that look.

Gotta go listen to Pinkerton all day.
I'll bring home the turkey if you bring home the bacon,
megan elizabeth

Thursday, September 25, 2008

The Proclaimers are not, in fact, the only band from Scotland

The Pony Girl stables have been like a damn ghost town lately, despite my promises of grandeur. I have been experiencing my first of probably many serious bouts of composer's block. Usually it gets really close to the deadline and the project gets itself done in a matter of hours, but this time I am legitimately worried. There's just nothing. I feel like that guy in "Forgetting Sarah Marshall." Maybe it's because I hate the director and I think his short film is gay. Oops, said that out loud on the internet.

Personal crisis aside, I was digging around in one of my plastic organizational cubes in hot pursuit of my dignity or something when I found this CD that I was all into in 2000, "100 Broken Windows" by the band named after that secret meeting place in Anne of Green Gables- Idlewild. At least they're honest about their reading abilities, unlike other bands.

There are two songs off that album, "Idea Track" and "Let Me Sleep (Next to the Mirror)," that are still pretty decent. I realized after listening to the CD again that I had this problem circa 2000 where I thought it was cool that EVERY band I listened to sounded exactly the same. Basically, I listened to three bands for a couple years. Another thing I realized is that I apparently didn't care if any of the dudes in the band were hot, I just cared about the music. What was wrong with me? I feel like I need to go back in time and reverse that so maybe today I would be a little more slutty or popular or both since they're synonymous.

This is a video from around the same time for "Actually It's Darkness:"

I'm kind of into the chorus. I like the slightly unconventional drum fill.

I think the only thing about this band that really bums me out is they used to sound like everything today I talk shit on. I mean, they had a song called "Satan Polaroid." That's gotta count for something, right? Lately, they're gotten a lot more R.E.M. and a lot less rock. But they're Scottish, what did you honestly expect? Yeah. Me neither.

Going to Hawaii to meet a receptionist that will inspire me to write my vampire puppet musical,


Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Lovlier now, but dressed for a funeral

Last night I was doing the hipster shuffle (not the actual dance, I was just shuffling around trying to see around some bitch in front of me trying to take a picture. Guess what? IT'S A BLACKBERRY NOT A CAMERA SHITS GONNA SUCK!) at the Silver Jews show when I noticed a dude rocking out next to Jenni wearing boat shoes and man-capris. BOAT SHOES! SRSLY?! AAAAUUUGHHH.

The show was fanfuckingtastic, those of you that were not in attendance should be seriously bummed but the boat shoes reminded me that Vampire Weekend has a new song out for that new movie Michael Cera is in. You know, that one where he's lookin' all kinds of underage and hot:

Yeah, on the right. George Michael Bluth. Fetch my smelling salts!

Back to Vampire Weekend, the original boat shoe band. Megan calls them "the cable-knit sweater band." Both are accurate:

I'm pretty sure these dudes just spend what I make in a year on polo shirts and write songs about Gossip Girl. The new song, "Ottoman," sounds like every other Vampire Weekend song mushed together. They also revisit that line about Peter Gabriel and I thought I adequately expressed in previous posts that PETER GABRIEL IS NEVER UNNATURAL. Above that, who do these bitches think they are? Spencer Krug? Your songs may not "share some themes and lyrics," Vampire Weekend. I mean, they're pretty good and all, I just wish I would have thought of the band name first because my version of Vampire Weekend would be way more brutal. Or it would be a movie about going on a mini-vacation for a romantic weekend and you just turn into a vampire and fuck shit up.

Son, grab your things, I've come to take you home,


Tuesday, September 23, 2008

one trick pony: lovefool

Last night after a rigorous ballet rehearsal, I donned my party dress and braved the dirty saloon in search of birthday drinks. After a couple of strong glasses of cranberry juice, a lady friend addressed this query to me in confidential tones. "Has anyone ever sent you a dick pic?"


"Oh." She looked down at the ring of condensation her glass had left on the bar.

"Did someone send one to you?"

She kept her eyes cast down. "Yeah."


"You know that guy who was sending me the creepy texts?"

"Oh shit, he didn't!"

She nodded.

I cackled with glee. "Oh my god, can I see?"

She flipped open her phone to show me the image of his erect, pink dingaling, his hand wrapped round the base to demonstrate its relative size. She began to speak of her feelings: violated, disgusted, ashamed. "Hold the phone, " I said, "Lovefool's on."

Whenever I hear this song I am in sixth grade again, jumping on my bed and singing along.
The video above is the original video that played in Europe and shit, not the Romeo and Juliet video I remember. I know what I'll be humming all day and for the next two weeks.

Love me, love me,
megan elizabeth

ps The new TV on the Radio Dear Science came out today! I have listened to it exactly 1/2 times, but it sounds good so far. Ponygirls will keep you posted.

I never wanted to have to do this

Tonight there was a fucking crazy fight at the Saloon. Jenni and I were outside, Megan was gone but Abby was inside. A dude got knocked out and shit got serious. I can't really say much more, because I don't know anything for a fact. What I can say is this: our hearts go out to everyone experiencing tribulation in a time that should be full of triumph, and nothing, NOTHING is ever worth resorting to violence over.


Monday, September 22, 2008

Vegan studded belts are a lot higher quality these days than when I was a dumb punk kid

Fall Event is finally over and I can stop doing a fucking "smoky eye" on everyone and their mother, thank you baby jesus. Maybe I can get back to normal stuff, like composing and blogging. Who am I kidding?

We have some crazy stuff going on in the next couple of days, like Megan's birthday shenanigans.

For today (Sunday), I made a few LOLKrugs but I can't decide which one to send. You, readers, must decide.

"They Took a Vote and Said No:"

"Shut Up I am Dreaming of Daniel Day Lewis:"

"Wits or a Moustache:"

"Jason Believe Me, You Can't Trust Your DRUNK Dreams:"

That last picture Megan found on the Listening Party myspace after their summer tour with Wolf Parade. Was Spencer really sick at our show, or was he HUNGOVER? Doesn't matter. Never will.

For tomorrow in birthday week, we will be attending Dirty Monday. Y'all may have noticed we haven't been posting regular recaps, probably because we're all pissed. Not only has it turned into a clusterfuck of people we don't want to see (former lavahhhs, cokey mccokerson, catty bitches, etc) but what the fuck is going on with the music? I am about to re-edit these ponies right out of the Saloon. I know the ultimate goal is to get people to get down because that's what makes an event crackin'. I also know that people get excited by songs they can identify. I'm sick as shit of M.I.A.'s "Paper Planes" right now too because it's on EVERY FUCKING RADIO STATION EVER thanks to Pineapple Gayxpress but it's cool to give a little snippet of the song before catapulting into some ludicrous remix that makes it nearly unidentifiable. Or like, you know, playing the regular song is fine. Not everything needs to make me feel like I should set my internal phasers to "fucking freakout." I'm fine with setting my phasers to "hipster shuffle." You know what else is really cool? The MSTRKRFT remix of Metric's "Monster Hospital." I know it's old, but guess what? IT SOUNDS LIKE AWESOME. Fischerspooner? Always trusty. Trentemollers' remix of Royksopp's "What Else is There?" Genius. MGMT's "Kids?" Fact: People will dance to pretty much anything. Even a 3/4. Fact: "Don't Stop Believin'" is only appropriate in dive bars (eg: Penny Lane) past one something A.M. We're gonna try to suck it up and keep going but it's getting pretty hard to want to. Megan is bitching about starting school again, but I already have and let me tell you, Tuesday morning naps on this bitch suck:

That is one expensive-ass pillow I need to stop drooling on.

Next in birthday week is the Silver Jews show on Tuesday at the Casbah. Megan is working (and doesn't even care about Pavement or related projects), but honorary Pony Girl Jenni and I are going. I also heard the Good Doctor is going. I can only hope the Doctor will not do anything...foolish? I bait you not, Dr. Bubastis.

Rewinding to a highlight of our previous busy week, we stop at Wednesday for the Oddfellows show. Cane's has great sound and the air of Canadian love still wafting about (we could almost visualize Spencer Krug stamping his delicate feet, encased in little Canadian fake Vans upon the stage) but is mostly filled with the scourge of San Diego. The band before the Oddfellows, The Four Kings sucked more dick than Rose McGowan did on the set of "Planet Terror." Not only were they a special breed of earbleed (not even the cool kind) that were out of this atbrosphere (who in their right mind covers the Deftones?), they busted Matt Fitzgerald's tuner after calling his band the wrong name. FUCKING RUDE. I actually linked to their real myspace this time, not the poo button. Go add them on myspace and tell them they're a bunch of fruitcakes. Anyways, the Oddfellows opened their set with this awesome new song called "technical difficulties." That's what happens when you are nice enough to let a guy wearing a muscle shirt AND a headband set your tuner to "suck." I'm just kidding, it's not new. The benefit to starting a set with a bunch of damn problems that you can't figure out is that you turn into a fiery ball of passion waiting to blow your proverbial load of aural assault on your audience. There have also been a few lineup changes since we last visited with the dudes, Ryan Quick and his bunny-soft looking mini-hawk on guitar and a little game of bassist roulette brought us Edgar Chamorro. Unfortunately, due to lack of planning, we forgot to organize the running of the Pony Girl Club gauntlet. Next time. Next time, we'll get you.

The last time I listened to "Accidents Happen" it was before it was mastered and I remember grumbling something about it being mixed too far to one side before Fitz gently reminded me that I'm half-deaf but not much else. They played the sprinkling of the older hits mixed with what I'm going to call "newer songs" and those new songs were really fucking good. I can't say much else about the new songs without hearing them again in the form of a recording, so look out for an album review when there is an album in my hands.

For the most part, these dudes have what it takes to gain a lot of headway in a short amount of time. One thing that is a serious problem is the number of shows they play. The last time I saw them was in February. There was another show sprinkled in there in Santa Monica, but you've got to be kidding me. There are plenty of venues in Southern California that will take you, but you have to take the show. Another issue is the overall appearance of the band being a little off-kilter. Don't look like you just rolled out of bed moments before you went on stage. You're IN a rock band, not PLAYING rock band. And for the love of Satan, face the audience. We don't want to stare at your Costco jeans pockets all night, dude. I heard there might be a video slapped together from that show. Hopefully it doesn't suck ass. I heard someone got a couple really cool shots.

I think it's finally time to wax off for the evening.

Looking forward to falling short of achievement this week,


Saturday, September 20, 2008

the optimists were right/wrong

If you have a problem with feet, you should probably fast forward the first twenty seconds of Takka Takka's video for "Silence".

I'm not an antifootite (unlike some people around ponygirl hq) but just looking at that shit makes me ticklish, and fuck all if I don't hate tickling.

"Silence" is off of Takka Takka's sophomore release Migration. If I had to condense my review into a single pithy quip I would say, this is a long drive for someone with a lot of spiritual shit to think about. If I had a paragraph or so, I might call it the lonesome, crowded East and babble about the Eastern influences mixed up with dashes of Brian Eno seventies shit and what I'm obviously getting at, Modest Mouse. Takka Takka doesn't reach the same kind of climaxes as old MM used to but they definitely know how to get a steady groove going. For example, a song like "Homebreaker" that starts slow and thoughtful with a far-East twang to it but suddenly breaks into a solid hipster shuffle.

I have unlimited space but I like to cut to the chase, kids. Migration is a meditative rock record and I don't say "meditative" as a euphemism for relaxing, nap-time shit. There is a tension, a spiritual anxiety underlying the songs that I find rather compelling. I bought their first album because I loved a live recording I heard of "They Built You Up Too Fast". There are some good songs on that record but I felt kind of let down by some of the songs. Migration is a giant step forward, and to be perfectly honest, I think it's because they have more interesting things to talk about now. My favorite track is "Lion in the Waves" because singing rounds is an easy yet oft overlooked way to get on my good side. Take note! Okay, so I have other reasons too, but it's time for me to go. I gotta get me a fancy cocktail, a big god damn girly drank with umbrellas in it and shit. Tomorrow is my birthday!

I leave you with what the band has to say for themselves and a video of them from back in the day.

"Sometimes this record is about existing in a place you don’t belong. Conversely, it is about where you came from and how you got there.

Sometimes this record is about my mother. She recently decided to become a Pamanku, a Balinese holy person. This has brought us do a fair amount of talking lately, more than I have ever had chance to do before. Some of those conversations made their way into these songs—myth, prayer, offerings, gamelan music (oh such sweet music), poverty, volcanic eruptions, Communist purges, cultural misunderstanding, racism, family and abandonment.

Sometimes this record is about a band experimenting with sound and form, trying to honestly say things in song it has never said before.

Sometimes this record is about not going back and staying in the place you don’t belong."

It's hard to say from this video but I think someone might have a little case of the nerdy hot.
-megan elizabeth

Thursday, September 18, 2008

Fact: Public Displays of Affection are a disgusting social Cardinal sin

I can't count how many times I've written the phrase "I don't like other people" but I can't even begin to tell you how much I don't like when two people are fucking and they need to let the world via hushed nothings whispered and not-so-covert under the table hand-holding. It's really fucking uncomfortable for other people, especially if you're the only other one there. It's unnecessary and socially unacceptable. Don't even try and tell me I'm probably guilty, because it's not true. I'm like Angela from The Office.

One time I totally sucked face with a dude at a bar on the first non-date (is it a date if he shows up outside your work even though you didn't tell him where you work?) because I somehow acquired the magically refilling pint glass and it was full of swampy Double Bastard goodness. So yeah, one time I got really wasted and made out with a dude in a dark corner booth at Churchill's on a Monday around midnight with no one else in the establishment. Fucking sue me.

While I'm on a roll, yeah, I kind of do expect everyone to be like me. Or at least if you're hanging out with me respect me and other people (nearly everyone I know) uncomfortable with PDA enough to stop being fucking disgusting for an hour out of your menial lives.

There are lots of public couples that do not have yucky behavior. Mates of State. That chick and her permanent fuckstick from the Arcade Fire:

Even Dan Boeckner and his wife (they put their rings together and become the Handsome Furs) are acceptable. Why? Because they're doin' other stuff while they're being a little gross. When I say gross I mean totally adorbs:

Although, especially after watching that video of Angela, I must admit that royal blue is kind of whoreish.

This "may or may not be" couple is currently my favorite:

Corrina Repp of...herself and Joe Haege of 31Knots, forming Tu Fawning. In a 31Knots interview I read a while back, Haege mentioned having "a side project back home" with his "girlfriend." Well, well, well.

I'm seriously not trying to turn this shit into a gossip blog, I just really wanted to talk about Tu Fawning. Corrina Repp has a smoky sultry voice that enables her to hold her own with a quiet guitar or soft, droning piano but it's so pleasing to hear her in a more upbeat, fun situation. I feel like every girl that wants to "sing" in a band should have to go to the Corrina Repp school of not sucking, in addition to sitting in the Clockwork Orange video viewing chair watching this video of Repp singing AND playing drums without cracking in the least:

The god-awful shit that passes for singing these days would be gone quicker than a can of Spam in a factory full of Asians. Yeah, I'm talking about The Ting-Tings and Crystal Castles. The good news is: neither of those bands are from America, so I still feel safe. I don't feel like I'm going to come down with a really bad case of the talentless hack any time soon. Just keep those fuckers and their smallpox blankets out of my country.

Tangents aside, Haege uses his strange stamples familiar to 31Knots listeners and the indie superduo recently added horns, piano and violin (as well as Liza Rietz and Toussaint Perrault to play them) to the regular mix. "Out Like Bats" made it apparent that Haege has a signature guitaring (my new wordbination, suck it!) style that he can maintain without the frenetic energy and distortion that is his default in 31Knots. One review of "Secession" (available now through surprise surprise, Polyvinyl) noted the sound was "a little Sunset Rubdown-ey" and that is a comparison I would have never thought to make, yet is one I agree with. Things can be Sunset Rubdown-ey in nature, sure.

I have to go now. I just...have to go.


Wednesday, September 17, 2008

It Was The Best Of Times, It Was The Blurst of Times?!?!

A band like The Airborne Toxic Event just kind of rubs me the wrong way. I had become vaguely familiar with them in the past several months—that is to say more “aware of” than “familiar with”—and they're just one of those bands that you get an immediate, admittedly unfounded dislike for. I'm sure it's happened to all of you: you hear some hype about a band, see ads for their super-hip new album plastered around websites, hear a little more hype...and next thing you know, without any particular reason, you now officially have some kind of bias against them. I found myself wondering if this band would become the next big, over-hyped, mediocre indie darling. You know, the music equivalent to Little Miss Sunshine or Juno. And since the real key to becoming the cute little indie sleeper of the year is apparently paralyzing mediocrity, i'm sure they'll fit right in.

My initial reaction to having finally listened to their music/watched a few youtube videos, was that they were some sort of fat-cat concoction to bank off the growing success and popularity of “indie” bands. You know, because these days all the 17 year old kids who would've been jocks or at most skaters when I was in high school now wear skinny jeans, white belts and listen to Circa Survive.

Seriously, this band just screams of “genetically engineered to appeal to as many demographics as possible.” I mean, let's face it, they've got a pretty solid recipe for success:

-Band name ripped from a popular “lit kid” novel. Sure, I like White Noise as much as the next guy, but to rep Delillo in front of a lit major—or even worse a big post-modern douche bag—is like trying to impress a bunch of Jazz assholes by namedropping John Coltrane. No go hoss.

-Fender Jaguars. And lots of them! (board room meeting: “They all need top of the line Fender Stratocasters!” “Those aren't 'hip' anymore.” “Well then, what is?”) Jazzmasters might be harder to recognize and Mustangs are a little folksy. The Jaguar is a solid choice.

-THE BASSIST PLAYS WITH A BOW. Why? To meet their daily fag quotient? Who knows. But it's a sure fire way to get the lowest-common-denominator post-rock crowd. OMG I LOVE SIGUR ROS.

-Cute girl. If you're going to Frankenstein a successful indie band, you need at least one cute chick with bangs that could slice bread. Let me guess, she plays the violin? Naturally! What else can girls play, the harp?

-They're sure to take lots of pictures of themselves playing with a lot of fog under neon lights. You know, because it's moody and brooding. And shit. It kind of calls to mind My Bloody Valentine. Is there still a big shoe-gaze fan base? Tap that shit, too!

-lyrics lyrics lyrics!! The more cliche and banal, the better! "she walks up and asks how you are/so you can smell her perfume/you can see her lying naked in your arms." Sounds like something straight out of Delillo!

So, the above ranting was all really just me spit-balling about the elements some record exec wanted to see in the next big indie band. I'm probably way off base, right? Turns out, this wasn't some record label's master plan, it was just plain old, human egotism and pandering.

So, this guy, the lead singer. He was writing a novel. I'm sure it was terrific. I'm sure it's main influence was Catcher In The Rye. Wait, no, this is a hardcore lit kid! It was probably Gravity's Rainbow or Infinite Jest! Anyway, that's not the point. He was writing the Great American Novel, but then, his girlfriend broke his heart, his mom was diagnosed with cancer, and he got that disease that Why? named an album after and that dude from The Darjeeling Limited had. So he decided to put his shoe-in for the PEN/Faulkner award off for a while to get everything off his chest in song form. Sound familiar? Vaguely.

Anyway, if this dude's lyrics suck this much, I can't even imagine what his novel was like. He's like that kid in your creative writing class who says he's working on a novel even though he's never written a short story in his life and is pretty much retarded.

"Sorry, I really lost my head
I'm sorry, I really lost my head.
But you know those words that you said
They get stuck here in my head
And this feeling I dread, makes me wish I was dead
Or just alone instead, i'll be alone instead.
I don't need anyone in my bed
Just these ceiling tiles falling through my head."

Fuck dude, forget prose, I think poetry is your thing. It's like we just unearthed the long-lost fourth Bronte sister.

But then again, this guy likes Don Delillo and plays a Jag. Shouldn't I be eating this shit up?

I'm sure their CD has one of those "For Fans Of..." stickers on it. God, I hate those things. The last band on the sticker is always Converge too, as if Converge were the single most unifying and universally appealing band in the last twenty years.

This band is the culmination of the idea that if "you like A and B, then you'll love C!" And I hate that.

endnote: in my research for this post (yes, I do research!) I went to their website and found that they had written a novel-length "response" to Pitchfork's review of their album. Apparently they hate this band as much (or more?) than I do. Anyway, they go well out of their way to say they don't care what reviews say, and that every other review says their album is one of the best of the year! After which they proudly display a feature in NME, which is like a commercial saying that John McCain approves this message.

I need a video to wash all this suck off of me. How about Bill Callahan's serene video for "I Feel Like The Mother Of The World?"

This band is the musical equivalent to a thousand monkeys on a thousand typewriters writing the Great American Novel.



If you're like me, sometimes you really fucking miss the Unicorns. It can't be helped; it's in your system and it's never coming out. That Nick "Diamonds" "Islands'-first-album-was-pretty-good" Thorburn dude is in another band now called Human Highway that just played their first shows with Paul Simon's kid and the chick from Lavender Diamond. They sound pretty good, but what happened to the other guy?

Alden "Ginger" Penner, the Unicorns' keyboard man (is there anything these ponies love more than a keyboard man?) did the soundtrack to the 2005 film The Hamster Cage which you can read all about here. Also, he's been playing in a new band called Clues with a dude from the Arcade Fire and fuck, I want the album NOW.

From their debut concert at Pop Montreal last October:

said the gramophone review

There is a recently posted video of him in the studio that gives me hope for the future:
Alden J Penner

And you can listen to more Clues here.

you're welcome,
megan elizabeth

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Get in my magical flying gondola, Zach Condon

I am still pretty sick and not getting a whole lot better. I am the only person in the entire goddamn world that gets hay fever in fall. I also think I'm having an existential crisis. Oh god.

I found this video:

a long time ago on that site run by frogs (La Blogotheque) that Megan is into, of Beirut doing "Nantes" on the streets of...somewhere. I really like this one and often come back to it, mostly because Zach Condon's voice is so enthralling. The concept of that sound coming out of that skinny motherfucker while he paces around the streets like it's no big deal is mind-blowing. That and I like gypsies. I read that when Zach turned 18, he hung out with a bunch of Balkan gypsies for a while and was a street musician. Dude, that's so cool. I'm not romanticizing gypsies, at all. In fact, speaking of gypsies reminds me that Fitz's mom used to tell him as a child that if he misbehaved she would sell him to the gypsies. I definitely have to use that one on my accidental children someday.

I also really like Zach Condon because I feel like he was also born in the wrong era and would really enjoy having us for tea in his parlor. We would hang out with this dude so hard it's not even funny.

This is a clip one of the extras in the "Elephant Gun" video shot of Zach doing "Postcards From Italy" on his parlor couch:

and this is Beirut in a courtyard playing "Sunday Smile:"

Beirut played in L.A. not that long ago and I really wanted to go, but all of my friends were being assholes and the dude I was kind of dating was being an even bigger asshole. I don't like going to shows by myself and I especially don't like driving to L.A. to go to a show by myself. Needless to say, I kind of regret not going anyways. Maybe someday I'll go to a show by myself but be more schizophrenic and bring someone to talk to that isn't necessarily another body.

Time to go let a Korean woman slap my hands with a ruler.


clap your hands if you think your soul is free

I was laying in bed this morning, stretching my legs to see if they hurt (they don't!) when a most unwelcome thought presented itself to me. When school starts up again, I really can't be dancing around at Dirty Monday all night. Maybe I'll drop in for a beer after rehearsal but I've got class at 9:30 in Irvine on Tuesday mornings. I can't prance about and leap majestically for a couple hours in ballet class and then engage in "dirty dancing" all night like the lowest of harlots. It makes me tired.

If you're tired too, wake up with the new TV on the Radio video, "Golden Age" from the upcoming album Dear Science.

This song is really growing on me. It's got a good beat with kind of a Prince feel to it. If I didn't feel like I hadn't slept in the last week, I think it would make me want to dance. I wish I could explain the shit that happens in this video, but I guess it's just science and baby you know I aint no scientist.

Also, just to review, if you see me in public, you have a few options for how to handle the situation. You may kiss my hand but you may not address me. You may address me but you can not make eye contact. You may gaze upon me. Putting your arm firmly about my shoulders and blowing your rank vodka red bull breath on my cheek is not an acceptable option.

watery with a smack of ham,
megan elizabeth

Monday, September 15, 2008

"I just look up and you guys are hugging on the snack aisle?!"

I have been so fucking sick that I can't do anything but sniffle a lot and seek revenge on my classmates by writing E sharps instead of F naturals and laughing maniacally before collapsing into a coughing fit. And of course, buy shoes and gaze longingly at Victorian ladies' hats on the internet.

I've seen this picture floating around the internet and it makes me so mad I want to paint tiny pentagrams and upside-down crosses on my fingernails:

I feel like that photo alone makes everything that is wrong with San Diego/Riverside County tangible. Maybe I'm just bronley and need bromance and that's why I feel raw, unadulterated hate boil in my veins when I see shit like that. It might just be vodka. After all, I am feeling a little provodkative. With that said, I need someone to help me clip my weave in for Dirty Monday.

Other stuff going on in the not too distant future includes but is not limited to:


Karaoke Contest at Penny Lane Pub in San Marcos. This is the second to last week to snake into the finals. Prize money! Beer! YEAH! (I will obviously be there since I am a judge)

with Rambo Knife and Ed Mudshi at the Radio Room (used to be the Zombie Lounge)


The Oddfellows at Cane's. Obviously, I will be at that show since I am half of their fans. Also, because I have been trying to get Matt to let me play tambourine or some shit for like...years, now. There are two acceptable excuses for not coming to this show. One, is if you are on the terrorist watch list and will probably be sniped entering the venue, two is if you are in Gurtrudestein and are playing at O'Connells. Even then, it's barely excuseable. I'm still raising an eyebrow. It's their last show with one of their drummers so I guess I should stop being such a heinous bitch. I think I know which one, because they use codenames and shit. We talked to him for a while at the last show we went to and he is a pretty cool dude.


These Arms Are Snakes and Lanterns at The Che. This show might be awesome (if These Arms Are Snakes haven't turned into a bunch of fucking fruitbaskets in the last couple of years) but I don't want to talk about why I'm not going.

Tuesday the 23rd: Silver Jews at The Casbah. FUCK YEAAAAH. I told the Good Doctor that if Stephen Malkmus shows up I'll drop trou instantly. Are you a starfucker if you only go after dudes that were in 90's indie rock/early noise pop bands that never really achieved commercial success? I didn't think so either.

Which reminds me, I know it's a little early to start talking about Halloween but I want to make sure y'all get your plans straight. Our friends The Mistits (half of them are in the Emery Byrd) are playing their final show at Bar Pink. Yeah, John Reis' bar. Yeah, The Swami. BE STILL MY HEART! I'll probably be a zombie again, like I am every year. I really fuckin' love zombies though.

mixin' cocktails with a plastic-tipped cigar,


I fucking despair

Robert Smith just had a really bad day, y'all. The Cure released an e.p. with five remixes of songs from their upcoming, untitled double album, remixed by people like Pete Wentz, some guy from Fall Out Boy and Jared Leto. Dudes, this is going to be really hard for you to believe, but those guys aren't even the reason he had such a bad day. Check out this letter he posted to the Cure site:









5 TRACKS FOR £7.99?

















So basically, he's saying buy it for charity but don't pay too much. Just kidding, Old Bob cares about us. That's why we care about him. I think one of their silly English dollars is almost two of our solid, steady American ones, so that would be around $14 for five songs. Fucking outrageous! I fucking despair too! Even though I have no intention of purchasing said e.p., Robert Smith, I salute you. Fight the power!

Sunday, September 14, 2008

make it work

On Friday night 'Stina and I arranged to meet with Doctor Bubastis under cover of night, near to the witching hour. The location agreed upon was a known and well-lit pub, but when we met with him at the appointed hour he swept us up into his carriage before we could protest. "I require more privacy!" He declared.

He drove his carriage on violently, cackling as the wind whipped our manes into a frenzy. As he drove, he vexed us with unanswerable questions. "Who should win Project Runway this season?" "What is your favorite Spencer Krug song?" "How many drinks did you have the night you saw Xiu Xiu?" I reached for my smelling salts a moment too late. I fainted dead away.

I awoke in a parlor that looked a lot like this Beirut video, minus the video honeys.

We had wine and cake. The Good Doctor apologized for his uncouth behavior and we got down to some serious ponygirl business, as after all, Stina and I were decked out in our best business hoodies.

With business taken care of, we fell to chatting and an impromptu autoharp, ukulele and keytar jam. "So," the Doctor said, "what are you ponies doing the rest of the weekend?"

"Not too much, just getting sick and going to work anyway."

"But what about after the weekend?"

"Oh, you mean...."


"DIRTY MONDAY!" We cried, our hearts filled with glee and sparkles of joy dancing in our eyes.

"Why haven't you posted the new video yet? You're in it a couple times."

"Well, we've been feeling a bit under the weather, kinda busy..."

"FEEBLE EXCUSES ARE THE REFUGE OF THE WEAK!" He raged, his countenance threatening violence.

We will be at the Saloon tomorrow evening, faithful as ever, coughing daintily in our hankies.
-megan elizabeth

Saturday, September 13, 2008

You're yes then you're no

Most of you may not know that I was an award-winning world-renown journalist and gave it all up to blog. I also had an extensive ballet career I gave up to blog. Oh yeah, I was a fucking astronaut, too.

Back in my heyday I used to write an advice column because I am the perfect blend of relentless and acerbic. You know where this is going...

If you are just befuddled about something, anything, shoot us an e-mail at ponygirlclub@gmail.com and we'll make fun of you and stuff.

In other news, Katy Perry is in trouble with Jesus:

As my trouble-making super-villain alter-ego Consuela Gorgonzola would say, "Oh guuuuurl!"

Excuse me, I have to go pat my weave and do some probably illegal shit at work since SOMEONE doesn't know how to book appointments without double booking both artists.


Friday, September 12, 2008

one trick pony: the radio's hot sun

We had a pretty good 9/11 party last night, getting hyphy with Jenni, Stevens Seagalll and Devin. I was sippin on some grape drink and Stina let me fondle her weave. Somehow the night went from shaking our dreads into a pretty serious Krug party. We were sitting on the couch listening to "Shut Up I'm Dreaming", silently contemplating the meaning of whatever when I turned to Stina and said, "Question: what's more romantic than a guy telling you to shut up?"

She shook her head and smiled a soft, distant smile. "Nothing."

So, pretty much needless to say, we are suffering from another outbreak of krugfluenza. Ever since he shook his fever (or hangover, I'm not a doctor) sweat on us at the Wolf Parade show, we have been infected. I'm pretty sure there's no cure except more Krug. Unfortunately, neither Sunset Rubdown nor Wolf Parade have deigned to include California in their fall tours. At first I was kind of offended but now that I've had some time to think about it, I understand. After all, it's fire season. Nobody wants to go on tour in a land of flames, especially not a bunch of Canadians who've never seen a fire outside of their own rustic hearths. What do they know of blazes that burn uncontrolled for days and watching the sun rise blood red in an ashy, hateful sky? What do they know about fire? To quote the drunken man I once tried to save from self-immolation in a fire pit on the patio of a local bar, I've been on fire all my life.

When I say krugfluenza, I mean my throat hurts and I haven't really left the house today except to buy kitty litter and pick up my paycheck.

I had a dream last night that might have been a fever dream about the movie theater where I had my first job. I don't remember a lot about the dream except for running around empty theaters and secret passages. A couple years ago I was writing a story about that theater that I should mostly have scrapped except for a few long passages of description of the theater: the theater as it was and is, rundown and shitty, sticky and broken; the secret theater that we knew, the rooms upstairs and behind the screen, the places we wrote our names; the dream theater it symbolized but never lived up to; the theater it wanted to be. It was equal parts gothic castle and strip mall trash. I was thinking about it a lot today. It's a lot like what I was saying about the radio last week, this romanticized vision of pop culture places that used to serve us but they don't anymore. Or just as likely never did. I'm pretty fucking young to make calls like that, but shit if I wouldn't rather watch Turner Classic Movies than drag my ass out to see whatever the shit's out right now.

Which brings me to the one trick pony song of the day, Handsome Furs "The Radio's Hot Sun".

This is easily my favorite track off of Plague Park, because it is kind of unexpected to end an album that is heavily reliant on keyboards and shit by strumming an acoustic guitar and singing a ballad that is as romantic as it is a refutation of those kinds of popular culture places, lifestyles, ideas, whatever that no longer serve us. Or at least that's what I'd say if I felt slightly more confident that I knew what he was talking about.

Fuck it. Let's get a freaking tamale.
megan elizabeth

ps nothing says "let's get back together" like late night calls from a restricted number.


Readers? Gather 'round!

So, the Project Runway designers showed at Bryant Park (the episode hasn't aired yet, obvs.) and I am rooting for Jerell. I like Kenley as a person, but her clothes suck. The designs are always some sort of puffy bullshit in a horrifying print that reeks of the '40s. From what I saw on Jezebel, Jerell is the only designer that showed pieces that made me exclaim "omigawd FIERCE!"

Speaking of fierce, I have been drunk with power ever since I clipped my weave in last night.

There is some stuff going on tonight, but I'm sick so I'm probably just going to sit around drinking tea and bitching. That's what I do anyways but usually it is beer and not tea.

The Casbah: Demasiado, Irradio, Firethorn, Fkenal, $5.

The Che: Snuffaluffagus, Asher in The Rye (TX), Brian Warren (of Weatherbox) and Census, $6.

u-31: Feel the Noise, $5.

Also, the San Diego Sports Club is doing some fund raising pre-party for the San Diego Music Awards, so if you feel like getting roofied, hit it up. The flier said they're "under new MGMT" so either someone is waiting with baited breath for a new record from those Brooklyn fruitcakes that played "Lord of the Flies" in their last video or they're trying to convince the world that dudes won't drop shit in your drink again. Once, at the Saloon, one of the nicer bartenders accidentally dropped my change (quarters) in my drink, but gave me another one, FO FREE, so it's cool. Quarters and tonic ain't that bad.


Thursday, September 11, 2008

Who here is into DEAD CHICKS?

These dudes are:

the Oddfellows @ Dreamstreet

I'm pleased to finally make The Oddfellows Pony Girl fodder, as they are playing at Cane's on the 17th. I know it's a Wednesday, but quit being a bitch. Learn to rage. Learn from us. Matt Fitzgerald (previously referred to as "Fitz"), the singer/songwriter/guitarer is one of my favorite people in the entire fucking universe and is enormously talented. The problem is, the universe won't give him a break. If you like the 90's, drunk chicks and some good old-fashioned shredding, come to this show and hang out with us! If you're a hot dude we'll totally carpool with you! On the flip side, if you're gonna pussy out, at least check out their myspace and maybe pre-order their album, "Accidents Happen."

In other local bands that have members that are acquaintances of mine news, Gurtrudestein put out a video last week (or something, my time table is always a little fuzzy). They play a lot of shows, so if you feel like getting your face melted off and having tinnitus for a few days, hit one of them up. Yeah, it's loud and I'm old and grouchy and complain a lot (about everything) but these dudes (and chick) are fucking rad.

"Negative Field:"

If y'all will excuse me now, we're getting hyphy tonight. I already got my weave in, gotta find my dunks.

goin' dumb at the sideshow,


Wednesday, September 10, 2008

I'll Make Love To You (Like You Want Me To)

So a couple of amigos of mine went up to mother fuckin' LA last night to see Mogwai at the Wiltern. They asked me to go but I said no because Mogwai sucks. The Wiltren is a pretty nice place though—except it's a little big and the tickets are a little pricey and the beer is fucking extortion. I saw the Mars Volta there back in 2004—which if you're keeping track is just before they entered their all-consuming black hole of suck.

Anyway, thinking about Mogwai got me thinking about post-rock. Why do people still like it? I mean, sure, it was pretty cool back when it was pretty new and different and like “totally out there," but that shit got so stale so quick. I think I blame those turd merchants in Explosions In The Sky. They're pretty much the Vanilla Ice of post-rock. Which is pretty tough to do because there's a TON of shitty post-rock out there. Like, a ton. Mainly because it's taught a whole new generation of assholes that they don't need to worry about being able to play the guitar anymore—they can just play a few notes and then fuck with pedals. Sweet! Oh and it eliminates the need for a singer, because I think we all know the hardest thing to find in a high school band is someone who doesn't totally blow at singing. Well, drummers used to be hard to find too, don't know if they still are, mainly because i'm not in high school anymore.

Back to the point: I fucking hate Explosions In The Sky. Like, great, you make music that sounds like a reverb pedal and a splash cymbal thrown into a blender and set to pussy. I swear to god they only have two songs: that one with all the reverb that eventually crescendos and the one with all that reverb that doesn't eventually crescendo. Want to know how they decided to mix it up for their newest release, “All Of A Sudden I Miss Everyone"? They added piano. YEAH, PIANO. Fuck. What, did you guys suddenly realize in the middle of one of your ballroom dance competitions that piano is totally sweet? I'd rather listen to Cradle of Filth's cover of "Hallowed Be Thy Name." “All Of A Sudden I Miss Godspeed You! Black Emperor" is more like it.

This music, to me, just sounds like it was all made with a montage of “main character dealing with hard times” in mind. It's just so fucking vacant to me. It's about as real and emotional as a greeting card or Al Gore. But of course it's sappy and “pretty” and “dreamy” or whatever. Which just means they're going to be the official wedding reception soundtrack for every single scenester wedding for the next 15 years. Congratulations, you're Boyz II Men for the white belt crowd.

And I also hear they're notorious for pussing out on shows all the time—like either canceling or calling it quits after like 15 minutes because “they're tired." Seriously? What, is having to man more than one Line-6 DD4 and a Holy Grail at the same time too much work for you? Are you guys late for a knitting class? Or do you just really miss your fucking girlfriends? Ugh. Maybe they just figure that after more than two songs everyone in the audience will realize that they only have two songs and get pissed. But then again their fans are like 16 and stupid as fuck. They're the same 16 year olds that think the Blood Brothers rule. Does not fucking compute.

But this all comes back to Mogwai. I don't hate Mogwai like I hate Explosions In The Sky. They've been around and they seem like hard-asses. Plus their music isn't bad, it just doesn't do anything for me. “Mogwai fear Satan” is a pretty good song.


I turned back into a white girl at dawn

The Wu-Tangxperiment is finally over you guys! I didn't really think anything happened except you know, like, being angrier and stuff, but the weirdest thing happened this morning when I woke up.

Let me preface this by saying that I NEVER fall asleep in clothes. The last time I passed out in clothing that was not pajamas was also the last time I drank whiskey (it makes me tired), on Walker's 21st birthday, almost a year ago. That night alone qualified as a "bender." The sausage fest and I (seriously, am I the only girl you guys know?) had dinner at Yamashiro in the hills and when I say "dinner" I mean there was a bottle of Jameson circulating under the table. After sufficiently upsetting all the other patrons, we headed to Tiny's. Still, to this day, Tiny's is my favorite bar. It's small, filthy as sin and the jukebox is full of Black Sabbath and Slayer. Fuck yeah. To make a long story short(er), seven vodka redbulls later I was hiding from a really hot guy that asked me to do coke in the bathroom with him, chain smoking American Spirits in the photo booth and shrieking at Fitz that I was "too drunk to move." We had all gotten a hotel room somewhere on Highland (I think it was before Franklin?), so we could keep partying without pissing the neighbors off but I was done for and stomped back (easily13 blocks, it's kind of hard to tell because Highland stops having blocks and turns into bullshit right quick) only to pass out on my back (go figure), sequins and all. After about an hour I woke up, promptly called Adam Scott to scream at him for leaving me passed out on my back and thus susceptible to a John Bonham. He said he wanted to get to In-N-Out before they closed. Fair enough, I suppose. GOOD THING I DIDN'T DIE, ADAMSCOTT!

Oh man, I've been in VH1 Storytellers mode recently. Back to the real story...

I woke up in this pair of jeans that read "Apple Bottoms." Weird. I haven't worn anything besides black skinny jeans for probably two years, save for that one pathetic pair of slight bootcut Citizens. I was sweating like nobody's business and realized I was wearing wedge boots adorned with fur. Half my hair was in tiny braids and I found what looked like barbie hair with clips sewn on clipped onto the back of my head. I had these outrageously long acrylic fingernails with some strange design on them, it appeared to be...zebra print? Was I going to fully "turn" if I had another day left to go? Would there be any turning back?

I'm glad to be back from whatever Wu-Tang werewolf shit was going on there. What was the first song I listened to this morning? Lilly White, by Rocky Votolato. Yeah, I'm a total pussy. I could've gotten out of bed and slid around in my socks, Risky Business style to "Number of the Beast," but no. I go for a whiskey drinking sad guy with a guitar. Not as bad a trying to put the moves on a lady to Joanna Newsom. That shit don't work, probably because she SUCKS. Okay, playing the harp is kind of cool but her voice is a cross between an old asian woman and a child. Like if Bjork gargled a bunch of battery acid and turned eight. There are times you can tell she could have a normal, maybe even pretty voice. Why would you intentionally sing like that? It's not cute, there is nothing redeeming. OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE WHY DO PEOPLE THINK THIS SHIT IS COOL?

Back to stuff that I like, this is a video of Rocky playing at the Casbah, with a band. I've seen him with a band once and twice solo. I like the band better.

"Portland is Leaving:"

This is a video of him solo, doing a song that is kind of...solo. "Mixtapes/Cellmates:"

There is another video from the Casbah that you can hear Jenny K. and I yelling in but it is embarrassing as shit so I'm not posting it.

keepin' it real,


Tuesday, September 9, 2008

Area Man Discovers Horses Do, In Fact, Have Feathers

Dirty Monday was certainly dirty. I heard Jenni woke up still drunk with her cheeks full of Doritos like a chipmunk and Megan woke up with a few phone numbers. I just woke up with a giant-ass fro because I decided at some point it would be funny to turn my head upside down in the bathroom and shake my hair out. Oh shit. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't because I was hittin' the drank like I couldn't miss, I don't get 'faced too often these days. I've got my fair share of horror stories, none that would rival Courtney Love, but trust me, I had my days of stomping around Hollywood, not caring what kind of trouble I could've gotten in. I remember one time Walker and I decided on a "quiet night" that involved a party in the valley that turned into getting lost in the mountains before Walker sprung it on me that he had been drinking during the entire time I was playing real-life Frogger with Los Angeles mountain lions and was subsequently "kinda buzzed." Thank you sweet baby jesus for google maps and verizon mobile web.

Anyways, on to what is really grinding my gears today...

What is it with indie labels and apathy? The new Horse Feathers album is out today and Kill Rock Stars doesn't even mention it on their main page. Are they so painstakingly indie that they only update their website once a week and are currently too busy offering the fucking sheet music to the entire new deerhoof album when you pre-order? I recall another incident in which a band I like (31 Knots) put out an album (Worried Well) and everyone (Polyvinyl, Pitchfork, wikipedia) pretended it didn't happen. Oh shit, I should review it. Regardless of my forgetfulness, I don't understand this fuckery. It's not like these labels are putting out five albums a day or have tons of money to blow- what's the point? Why wouldn't they just make 8-tracks for everybody like that guy Aria from railcars? I know the point isn't to make money, but I'm sure the point isn't to run yourself into some stupid-ass debt hole over street-cred either, is it?

Personally, I would be throwing a serious party if I had an album came out today and so would my label because that's how it goes in the world according to Christina. I'd get like circus animals and shit because keeping wild beasts captive and training them to do stupid tricks is pleasing to me. Oh, and balloons. And a lot of whiskey. I don't even drink whiskey but I know all the cool guys do so I should too.

If I didn't have to go judge karaoke tonight I'd go straight to Lou's after school to get "House With No Home" despite the fact that they probably don't even have it. I lost Justin Ringle's e-mail address like a dillhole, when I say "lost" I mean it might still be in the cavernous pit that is my purse. I think I might remember it. I told myself to wait to do the interview so he wouldn't be touring and it would give us a chance to put our heads together but Megan said she doesn't really have any questions and I just keep forgetting. I'll write the questions tomorrow. Seriously, I swear. One of the songs is up on the 'Feathers 'space and it is lovely as expected and here is a video of a couple songs he played with a band (when they opened for Thao it was just him and Nathan Crockett, the hot barely legal violin prodigy) at some show I wasn't at about a year ago:

(careful, the sound is really bad and gets unreasonably loud at some points but "Blood on Snow" is one of my favorite songs and this is the only place on the internet you can hear it)


You can call me Al

Got dirty at the Dirty Monday last night. And by "got dirty" I mean I was pretty gross already when I got there. Three hours of ballet was just a warm up, bitch. I needs to get down. And collect phone numbers, apparently.

Unrelated: if I get a tip on Saturday, it might take me until at least Tuesday to blog it, especially if I've been drinking too much in the past week and the tip involves me doing some research. Give me time but don't stop giving me tips. Unless you're a dick.

That's what she said.

Moving along, one of the far flung members of the Pony Girl Society for Musical Appreciation recently had the pleasure of enjoying a live performance by Ratatat. I didn't know much about Ratatat except that I always have to double check if I'm spelling their shit right and that I liked their second album Classics. I'm not usually a huge fan of electronic music but I kinda dig Ratatat's video game jams.

Things I have learned:
Ratatat has released two volumes of remixes, like this one of Notorious B.I.G. "Party and Bullshit".

Ratatat released a new album in July called LP3 because it's their third LP. I listened to the thirty second samples on iTunes and I don't know how to feel about it. There's a more international feeling but sometimes it kind of sounds like the songs that come pre-programmed in a cheap keyboard. It sounds to me like there's a lot less bass, which takes things down a peg in my estimation. Regardless, fans of Ratatat seem pretty into it once they get over that "change" problem. Here's a pretty good track off that album: "Flynn"

Ratatat will be in San Diego on Friday at the House of Blues. I will not be there because those things cost money and I just paid my tuition.

Monday, September 8, 2008

I snuck a look inside your skull and said, "don't look now"

This weekend I went on a really emo roadtrip. By myself. To Orange County. For like four hours. As per usual I was having some personal problems resulting from a series of increasingly bad decisions begun in 2004 that took me until two hours ago to resolve. Blah blah, whatever, don't care. I wish I could say that I spent my roadtrip listening to the Shins and tell y'all about how it changed my life, but I mean, do you think four hours in the OC has ever changed anyone's life? COME ON!

I was listening to Swan Lake's album Beast Moans, bringing back 2006. I heard something in June about them having finished recording a new album but I can't seem to find much information on it, probably because even the most thorough googling eventually yields results like this:

I'm just going to assume that is good news for the future of our ballet-in-progress, tentatively called, "Shut Up I'm Dreaming of Ballet".

It was a natural jump from Swan Lake to Destroyer, and really, who better to listen to on an emo roadtrip to somewhere a good forty minutes away from home than Destroyer?

That's at least ten times more appropriate than listening to Destroyer to put a lady in the mood for love, not that I'm talking about anyone in particular here. Just that I might be.

Destroyer put out a new album in March called Trouble in Dreams and it's pretty fucking awesome, if you like Destroyer, and I do. I was surprised to hear a new, clearer version of "Shooting Rockets" on that album, if only because when I hear that song on Beast Moans I don't immediately think it's a Dan Bejar song. I like the new version a lot better than the old one, not that I didn't like the old one, just that the old one comes right after "Are You Swimming in her Pools" and it's hard to get my attention when I'm just pushing the back button as hard as I can. So check that out.

I'd love to stay and chat, but I need to sew the elastics in my new slippers.

Human Interest: Texting, Slutty Knits and Eye Gouging.

Tonight is Monday, so we gonna get dirty at the Saloon. You know, Dirty Mondays. I don't even get off work until 10 p.m. so feel free to go earlier and get us a table.

I think listening only to Wu-Tang is kind of like having a drug problem, there are a lot of ups and downs. With anger comes depression. I'm so gay for Spencer Krug that I have a picture that I took at the Wolf Parade show set as my background on my phone and it breaks what is left of my blackened icy heart every time I open my phone that I can't put on a bandanna and yell along with the accordion in "For the Pier" while I am tearing into the parking lot at school. I have to put on that bandanna and my hoops and quietly mutter "Shame on a Nigga." The flip side to crying jelly bean tears over Sunset Rubdown is that I've been even more intolerant of other people than I usually am. My theory professor is a serious nerd and kind of looks like Falkor, he has managed to go four for four and mention Star Wars in every single lecture thus far. I understand that it's hard to listen and stuff when it's colder than a witch's tit in a brass bra and he drones on about how much it sucks to arrange for American Idol because they want you to double sharp triads or some shit but HOLY FUCK PUT YOUR PHONE AWAY. I got stuck next to this mouth-breather that would alternate between sleeping and texting his probably fat girlfriend, in front of this dumb cum dumpster who kept putting her dirty feet on the back of my chair LIKE I COULDN'T FEEL IT and behind this girl that (was probably raped as a little girl) wears crop tops every goddamn day and is constantly turning around looking for the approval of others. Bitch looks at me like she's Ursula and she's trying to steal my voice to keep in her seashell necklace, but in her case it's a tribal tramp stamp plopped between her freakish back dimples. No, you can't have my approval to keep in your tramp stamp. FUCK ME SATAN. Days like today make me wish I could shape shift into hawk form and fly around the room, scratching people's eyes out. I know I sound like a total sociopath right now but I don't really care, just don't freak out because I said that chick wears slutty shirts because she was probably raped, because I'm probably right. She's at least some kind of a psycho hose beast. I listened to a lot of loveline growing up. I'm pretty much a doctor.

Anyways, I gotta go stick my nails on so I can go to work and stuff but enjoy yet another round of videos I can't watch. This time it's Drive Like Jehu.

"Do You Compute?"

"If It Kills You"

"Hand Over Fist"

Pony Girls buck wild with the trigger,