This is the post to introduce you all (is anyone reading this shit?) to a new component of the WBG entertainment: literary reviews. But when I say “literary reviews” what I really mean is: graphic novel reviews. Graphic novels are better than books, and I think I can say that because I’m an english literature major. It’s a bound, paper book that has both story, dialouge, and art! Unfortunately, it is not really considered seriously in either school of thought and therefore slips through the cracks of scholars and gentlemen. But fuck scholars and gentlemen. The world knows of Salinger and Tolstoy, Van Gogh and the Dali, but how many are aware of Sim and Claremont? And even with the current trend of comic book movies like X-Men, Sin City, and Ghost World, many of the sincerely good books are unable to travel outside of the web that is comic book dorks.

I have no problem admitting I am one of them. No, I don’t fantasize about fucking Lois Lane, nor do I even care for Superman, but goddamn there is nothing like a good comic! And yes, I’ve been told that they talk about comic books on the O.C., but do you think the people who watch that who run out and pick up the new issue of Batman? Fuck no they don’t. So I’m gonna try to get you boys and girls turned onto comics: let you know which ones are the good ones and which ones to stay the fuck away from (cough, couch Archie, cough). So…yeah! Enjoy.

Phone London

February 10th, 2006

I know that I, as I’m sure many of you, love ingenious band names. I also enjoy generally good bands, but that’s a completely different subject. So believe my surprise when I stumbled upon a band that upholds the best of both worlds.

When I first saw Page France, I immediately thought of Sage Francis. I don’t know why exactly, because they sound nothing like the emo-bohemian rap that composes Francis’s sound. Instead, I found a wonderful blend of melodic acoustic pop, with a male and female vocal spectacle leading the way. They remind me a little of the Jolly Rogers/Oh No! Oh My! as far as their ideals to stick to simplistic, thoughtfully composed folk tunes are concerned. Upon further listening, the vocal work is quite reminiscent of Death Cab or even the Decemberists, if such a combination is possible to imagine. Either way, I think I prefer these guys. And they’re from Maryland, hooray!

Page France
Chariot (MP3)
Rhythm (MP3)

Goblin somethin’ delicious

February 9th, 2006

Ahh… the first post. Let’s start it with some fun.
Love Pinback, but would rather spend more time rocking out than listening to music that could put you to sleep easier than energizing you? Have a secret love for metal, but you don’t want your friends to make you into the outcast you secretly are? Well, here’s the band for you.

Rob Crow (Pinback, Heavy Vegetable), has come out with his millionth side project, and it may be his best this month. Goblin Cock is for all the hipsters out there with a sense of humor and a thirst for crunching melodic metal. So, for the two of you, check out Goblin Cock for the best cover, best band name innuendo, and best indie metal since…

Goblin Cock
Stumped (MP3)

February 9th, 2006

Let’s see what you got, Leor…give’r.

The Cavalier in Drag

January 16th, 2006

The cavalier in drag today arrived too soon to the cabaret
His windows wept, and swept the washing fluid away but
Alas his timing, all right he was rhyming,
The rhythm of which makes the riddlers twitch
And a notch of the stich in his briches was kitsch,
But his timing, oh right, I believe it was night
Yes, the dawn had not yawned before he was in sight
Insightful I guess, but the cabaret dress! It was wrinkled
And sprinkled with a melliferous mess,
How will the damsel remain in distress if
Her corset keeps losing control of her breasts!
But the cavalier’s timing was apauling at least,
I’d consider him fired if not for the feast.
His fingers can fly when they’re flipping the yeast
And yelling while cooking, telling the fellows to
Find their utensils,
and looking over all of our bookings in brooklyn.
I need him around when there’s work to be found
And my can he work, like a willing young hound
Holding things, moulding rings perfectly round.
The rotundas are stunning as well as the crown
But the king isn’t here, he’s cringing in fear
“crying won’t help, when my time is near”
said his father to try and make everything clear
but the king cradled bibles and prayed to his idols
that his old man not perish by the sword of his rivals.
“nonsense, young lad! You should be glad,
this kindgom is yours and its all that I had!”
if his fashion was as good as his timing was bad,
than the cavalier might’ve reconsidered the plaid.
But perhaps that mis-hap with with one of our mousetraps
Will lead us to leasurely fill in the gaps…
There was never a rodent stuck in there at all,
But a spy sent to monitor all the king’s calls.
Now we had a hostage locked up in our prison,
But he knew a thing or two about cueing a prism
To spasm and spall up a sizeable chasm
In the floor boards to make an astounding escape!
But as he was leaving, what did he hear?
The early arrival of our reliable cavalier!
He caught the bad guy, and the king’s father did die,
But not by the rival who hired the spy
So that’s how he clumsily saved the day
And now he’s the director of our cabaret!

Poem For Eating Dinner By Myself

December 22nd, 2005

A list of broken words.
A sound of lost and found.
My own, a heart of broken hearts.
My guitar of strings unwound.
A life of letting down my guard.
A life of letting go.
A love of endless luminescence.
A loveless life of saying “no.”
A nervous touch of gold,
But just when the gold is ripe.
And underneath my afterwards,
A writer with no type.
A loneliness of simple nights.
The ugliness of those.
A man of 85 I am,
With whiskers in his nose.

the only way to catch a frog

December 16th, 2005

i came across it once or twice
i offered ample bowls of rice.
it flares it’s lungs and looks away
and hops out from my lonely cay.
but late in the chilly afternoon
it hopped back out to greet the moon.
it seems to ponder deep and long
as if its assumptions had been wrong
about me, and life and everything.
its eyes reflect the pondwater rings.
it croaks to ask that i forgive
and i come outside with rice to give.
its gentle palpitating skin
cannot keep warm in this bitter wind.
so i cup my hands to let it sit
and it trusts me without overthinking it.
the comfort took me by surprise
i wondered if it was some disguise.
i brought it into candlelight
keeping quiet to be polite.
the rain came running with the storm
so i boiled water to keep us warm.
today a friendship has emerged
how unlikely our species to converge.
it’s cold and i must cherish this
for in sweetness, there’s warmth and holy bliss.
but there’s nothing sweeter, i believe,
than frog leg stew on an autumn eve.

burn, giraffes, burn.

November 20th, 2005

Real update coming…soon.


I just wanted to tell my two beautiful babies, Sacarny and Ethan, happy 21st birthday because I love you. Twenty-one is a big age. Are you two ready? Now you can buy a gun and get a fifth of jim bean! Finally you can order an escort in all 50 states! Real men. Big men. Men with honor, fashion, and hot bodies to boot. You are the strength of this generation. You are our only hope! Go out and be merry. And do my bidding. I love you.

You like Gogol Bordello? You like World/ Inferno Friendship Society? Do you follow them around like a creepy band of Mansonesque stalkers? Well there’s a new band for you crazy fuckers. Straight out of BC the band THEY SHOOT HORSES, DON’T THEY? (possibly named after the Horace McCoy novel) is a marvelous combination of brass and shouting and sweating and light-hearted violence, and well, you get the point.

I saw them play in Montreal. It was great. Seriously. They had twenty large cardboard tubes that they were beating on the ground to start out their set. This turned into them beating eachother with shards of tubing and the audience participating in thte destruction. Then we started to toss them at Chris, the keyboardist. He was giggling and screaming like a little girl. I was amazed that 5 guys and 1 girl from Canada could generate such goofy chaos among seemingly normal human beings. They turn the sane insane and cows into moose. I don’t know what cows or moose have to do with it. Probably nothing. Unfortunately, they really only play Canada, so bundle up and take a drive up to this icy hell hole and warm up to the retarded giggling that TSHDT invokes. Or you’ll have to take my inarticulate account of the show. And if that’s not good enough for you…well…fuck you. Sorry.Also, you can’t hear them on the website. No MP3 sample. If you are a myspace nerd (like me) then you can check out a sample on their myspace page. But the website is really interesting, as are the linked sites. Sorry.

PS: If you like raccoons and rudimentary graphics, check out Robb’s (member of the band) website (click the link i guess.)