Edgy, like pulling the wings off butterflies.
There’s this slightly pathetic, socially inept indie boy, see. He idolises women. He wants to be with the women, understands instinctively that he’d have more fun if he was with the women
Ten misconceptions about Collapse Board and Savages. Number one: that we care if they’re manufactured.
This could, I suspect, be called synth-pop without much fear of contradiction.
It is raining heavily in Utrecht, Netherlands, 1:55 AM, a dark and dreary night filled with feedback and grungy slippery guitar overtones wailing from my imagination into my eardrums. I’ve been listening to Leadbelly, Half Japanese and Nirvana. A few minutes ago I finished your 2005 book on that little band from Olympia or Aberdeen or wherever. A million miles away from me, in any case.
Music fills a need. Occasionally, I need to see folk being themselves – selves that I like – to remind me of what I’m not.
Working at Collapse Board isn’t all writing about bands no one’s heard of, not getting sent albums and being refused places on guest lists. Sometimes we get abused as “boring, self satisfied hipster cunts” too
The video is so striking, it’s easy to overlook how rad the music is. And the music certainly is rad.
I looked down at the pile of vomit shimmering in the gutter, shaking and still feeling nauseous. “That’s funny,” I thought to myself, picking a bit of Jodie Foster out the remains. “I don’t remember listening to that.”
This, we’re told, is the Season of The Witch. I beg to differ, at least for the reasons given. I like witches.
Here’s what I’ll be playing, come the day of her funeral.
Sounds like The Pastels to me. Magical.
It costs the same as 3 issues of Mojo, or 6 weeks’ worth of NME’s, and it’s a dozen times more likely to change your life.
Why would we make this music that is The Terror – this bleak, disturbing, hopeless record…?? I don’t really want to know the answer that I think is coming: that WE were hopeless WE were disturbed (but we didn’t have a longing to NOT be disturbed) and, I think, accepting that some things are hopeless…or letting hope in one area die so that hope can start to live in another?? Maybe this is the beginning of the answer.
I have tried to include albums generally viewed as ‘classic’, out of respect to Primal Scream’s tradition of reusing Rolling Stones riffs.
Nice to know there’s a deluxe album but it might as well be a complete fucking Smithsonian Library of Recorded Yeah Yeah Yeahs Burps for all it matters to us, as we sure as shit ain’t going to be hearing it any time soon.
And now I’ve found this, and I’m more than happy. For this is how I remember Olympia, WA. Ask any of my old friends. Magical.
Ultimately, this cover is showing that Tyler knows. And he’s grown. Oh, how he’s grown. From chirpy chirpy creep creep to troubled young resentful mogul.
If they charge by the rhyme, you couldn’t afford the Album. If they charge by the joy, it couldn’t even be sold. This is museum quality joy.
People think now that New Wave means Duran Duran or some shite, but in reality it was this: laddish power-pop, with its roots firmly in the Herman’s Hermits and Small Faces of the past, and totally confused about how it should view the present.
This is more fun than three rounds of fun staring at a wall of Jad Fair papercuts. This is more lo-falutin’ than a disco full of Teena Marie fans dancing to your momma’s collection of Minor Threat demos.
Ah now. This is what I’ve been waiting for ever since I moved to Brisbane five years ago. A new song from Misty’s Big Adventure.
We watched 1991: The Year Punk Broke on videotape. The boys asked me to sing, I never did. I preferred staying hidden behind my instrument with my short dresses.