They Might Be Giants
The biggest bit of news this month, I suppose, was the announcement of and offerings in next year's They Might Be Giants' Instant Fan Club, although, when set against their 2012 IFC, they pale in comparison. 52 new songs* (one arriving in your inbox every Tuesday of the year), their new adult and kids albums (plus a disc of any of those 52 songs not included on either album), two tickets to any TMBG show, a live DVD, t-shirt, balsa wood glider (?), and some "super secret surprises". Not a bad deal for a hundred bucks, but, again, when stacked up against the 2012 offerings...I cannot imagine anything will ever be as cocksmackingly amazing as receiving a They Might Be Giants song...featuring one's own name.
The next membership level (the Super President level) includes all the above stuff but with some vinyl thrown in along with a commemorative coin and your name in the liner notes of somethingorother. Not really worth the $250.
Yes, I've already signed up.
And you can too, for another few days, anyway.
Cake
CAKE HAS NEW SHIRTS, Y'ALL!!!
Reviews this month include delightfully-energetic-and-fresh-yet-perfectly-reminiscent-of-the-best-aspects-of-90's-female-fronted pop-punk Brooklynites, Chumped, with their debut album, Teenage Retirement, the latest from gauzy synth king, Daniel Woolhouse (AKA Deptford Goth), Songs, and the newest squirt of shit from "ambient sound artist", Dirty Beaches, Stateless. As it so happens, this is Dirty Beaches' (Alex Hungtai to those who feel silly calling a grown man "Dirty Beaches") final album. I am comforted by this fact and wish him well as long as he stays the fuck away from any and all things that could even be considered a musical instrument until the day he dies.
And, god fucking damn it, I fucking pre-ordered the motherfucking new fucking piece of dribbly shit Marilyn Manson album.
FUCK.
No, I didn't get punched in the face by Manson's laughing cock, I fell down some stairs.
FUCK.
Coming soon (yet also wildly overdue) are my reviews of the brand new, utterly spectacular TV On The Radio album, Seeds, as well as their show at the Apollo Theater.
I CANNOT BELIEVE I PRE-ORDERED THE FUCKING THING! "VOTE WITH YOUR WALLETS", I CRY, AS I BEND OVER AND TAKE HIS SHIT COCK IN MY ASS WHILE PAYING HIM FOR THE PRIVILEGE.
Leave me alone now. I need to conference call my therapist and priest so they can berate my stupid, consumer-ass ass.
* Although I'm anxious, as the word "new", when it comes to TMBG, can mean a lot of things...some of them distinctly not new.
No comments:
Post a Comment