The Hero Cycle. WRUV. "Stuck in Vermont."

Seven Days' vlog goddess Eva Sollberger filmed an episode of 90.1 WRUV's long-running "Exposure" program for her always fun-tastic "Stuck in Vermont." Playing that day was Burlington indie stars The Hero Cycle. 

Check it out.

Finest hours.

This is could be the funniest link I will ever post:

My friend James is selling his cell phone on eBay. Be sure to scroll down and read the full description. Hurry, before it's taken down!

Listening to the newly remastered There's a Riot Going On by Sly & the Family Stone. It's as groovy, drugged-out and slightly creepy as I remember.

Not sure what's on deck for the weekend. I had plans for some musicking, but my home computer (G5 duelie) is slightly ill. When idling, it just shuts off. There's also a little iffiness going on with booting. I'll take it to Diminutive Canine next Monday. Hopefully, I won't miss my electronic baby quite so much since I'll be gone for a portion of the week anyway.

Live music isn't really my cup o' blood these days, but I was excited to see They Might Be Giants at Higher Ground. Unfortunately, I won't be here. Someone please tell me how it went.

I might check out this Sunday's Guitar Hero II Tournament just for kicks.

Anyone else doing anything fun?

New things.

Took a brief break from posting to deal with some life stuff, all of it potentially good. Firstly, we're getting very close to choosing a replacement for yours truly (if such a thing is even possible, right?)

Secondly, Brooke and I are heading down to our nation's capital next Thursday to look for apartments and *stuff.* We'd previously planned to head out West, but DC was always a possibility. Anyway, I may have just been made an offer I can't refuse. No, it's not CIA. But that's about all I can tell you right now.

Let's get you fixed up with some reading material courtesy the wide world of alternative-newsweeklies:

You can't do windmills with a laptop. (Dallas Observer).

UMaine says "F-U" to RIAA. (Portland Phoenix).

Modern r&b chicks = no shame listening.  Sort of.  (City Paper).

Raccoon eyes does not a feisty "punk" chick make. (St. Louis Riverfront Times).

Some of you may be wondering what is going to happen to your beloved SolidState. Rest assured that Seven Days will still have a  music blog, presumably overseen by the new hire. I have been busy constructing a brand new blog (with all of the old posts and comments intact)  called The Contrarian. URL to be revealed soon.

Still, I'm planning on haunting the 7D music blog, most likely through annoying comments. I highly encourage you to do the same. Minus the annoying, of course.

Where did the week go?

I'm way more behind at work than is typical for me. Must be Short Timer's Syndrome.

More on hip-hop and cocaine, via East Bay Express. Does no one heed the message in Grandmaster Flash's "White Lines," or, um, "The Message?"

Speaking of tight flows, I'd like to nominate "West End Girls" by the Pet Shop Boys as the greatest rap track of all time. Who's with me?

I just bought Season 2 of "The Venture Bros.," and I can't wait to get home and watch it. I'm normally not much of a packaging guy, but I love the design on this thing. It's pre-coffee stained!

I'm just about to review two new EPs by the local band Oak for next week's publication. I can give you a sneak preview: they're both terrific. You might wanna mark your calendars for April 30, when they play the Monkey House.

Looky, looky — Colin Clary & the gang get some UK blog love.

 

OK, talk soon.

Quickie.

My friend Jebson sent me a link to a ridiculous bunch of videos called "Trailer Park Boys." I haven't watched too many of them yet, but they're definitely dumb enough to post.

Fascinating.

I just read a really sad, funny and well-written piece in the New York Observer, a true "salmon-colored broadsheet." It's about how, with all the Big Apple indie music and video stores closing, smart young slackers and bohos are screwed for jobs.

My favorite quote is from a fellow Dusted writer:

"Working in a record store, you save on other things,” explained former Other Music employee Rob Hatch-Miller, 25, over iChat. “Like, you can buy music for yourself pretty cheaply, and for entertainment you can usually go to shows for free …. Plus you get to know people at clubs who’ll give you free drinks and stuff. There are incentives.”

Shit, yeah. It's gauche to admit it, but I haven't paid for a show in, like, 15 years. Thanks local rock stardom, thanks Pure Pop, thanks, Seven Days.

But seeing as that I'm about to give up my superpowers to become nothing more than a thirtysomething dweeb (or to let said condition become singularly defining) I read this piece with great interest.

So should you. It's a five-pager, but I suggest that any would-be, current or ex hipsters check it.

When you're done, enjoy a bunch of old folks singing The Who:

Wonder of wonders.

The new Nine Inch Nails album, Year Zero, is actually *good.* I'd all but given up on Trent Reznor, especially since I'm no longer the teenage misanthrope who got his faux-industrial groove on to Broken.

It's kinda like when Prince releases a record that isn't completely lame: you're half psyched, half incredulous.

The only song on the disc that sucks is the lead-off single, "Survivalism," whch sounds like a more produced (is that even possible?) version of "Wish" and "March of the Pigs."

You can stream the whole album here and here. You'll need to enter an e-mail address with the first link, ostensibly so you can be dragged into the incredibly complex viral marketing campaign accompanying the release.

Read the Village Voice's early review of Year Zero.

And feel free to make fun of me for being stuck in the '90s. But allow me to say screw you: life was way better back then. Well, not really. But it does seem like there were a lot more quality pop records. 'Cause Connor Oberst can bite me.

Friday declaration.

I call classic rock day!

Go to Spitting Out Teeth and rank your favorite Stones LPs.

Listen to "Heart of the Sunrise" by Yes and stop making fun of them forever. Make sure to clear your mind of Vincent Gallo and, um, guns first.

Do you use LastFM? Find out how "mainstream" your tastes are by percentage. I'm around 15%. I think Steely Dan killed me.

Finally, a question of my own: When do *alternative* or *indie* bands become classic rock? There's no right answer, I'm just looking for opinions.

R.I.P. KV.

Cathy Resmer already posted about Kurt Vonnegut's passing, but I can't help but also make note.

Let's talk about what KV did to/for our developing minds when we initially encountered his work.

Me first: I remember the first Vonnegut book I read was Cat's Cradle. I thought, "My God, how can this cranky bastard have such incredible tone?" Actually, it was probably more like, "Wow, now I know why Joe Satriani has a song called Ice 9." Cut me some slack — I was 14.

Your turn.

Backing up.

There must be something in the air. Over at Candleblog, a couple of pals are engaged in a frisky debate about a proposed Blogger Code of Conduct. Murf from False 45th and I are having a back and forth about the validity of backing tracks in live performance. I'm not sure I'd call our exchange a debate — I have a feeling we'll end up making nearly the same point.

But I wanted to put the question out there to the rest of you. When does the use of triggered accompaniment become sonic chicanery?

Here's a helpful list of hipster-approved acts who engage in the practice (partial source: Wikipedia). Not that I'm trying to influence you or anything:

The Album Leaf

Death Cab for Cutie

The Go! Team

Mogwai

Ratatattat

And so on.... I'm sure you guys can come up with more. No diva-hop or club-tronica, please.

Monday trifles.

L.A. Weekly: In defense of '70s radio-pop. No, I wasn't named after Casey Kasem. But I'd be flattered to have been.

Big choices over Zombie Jesus Weekend, namely, which flick to see — The Host or Grindhouse?

We saw the latter. The Robert Rodriguez half was far superior to Quentin Tarantino's. Apparently, Mr. Rez Dawg thinks paying homage to schlock cinema is the perfect opportunity to write boring, self-referential dialog that goes nowhere slowly. The worst part? He didn't even make a grindhouse picture — he made a shitty Tarrantino one.

The fake trailers were by far the best part of the film, surprise, surprise.

False 45th have it out for Lindsay Buckingham and the Burlington Free Press. Who will they attack next — Zombie Jesus? (For more info on ZJ, check your local repository of all things Undead).

Had an illuminating conversation with Mr. Greg Davis on Sunday. Then it was back to Casa Del Casey for another round of "Veronica Mars." Well, there was an hour break to catch the first of the last episodes of "The Sopranos."

I love Christian Fennesz and Ryuichi Sakamoto. You should, too. Have a listen:

Fennesz & Sakamoto — "Oto"

Chasing Amy.

Keith Richards may have snorted his dad, but debauched Brit soul gal Amy Winehouse can't be far behind. You've all probably heard of her by now, so I'll spare you the rap sheet. Anyway, I think she's awesome, as do 99.9% of my fellow music critics. Even the most bellicose scribes have been openly singing her praises.

With the exception for Josh Love from the Raleigh News & Observer, that is. His recent Winehouse dis really pissed off Philadelphia Weekly's Craig D. Lindsey, who offered an impassioned counterpoint to Love's attempt at mounting an anti-Amy backlash.

How 'bout you decide for yourself:

Amy Winehouse — "Me & Mr. Jones"

The new loud.

Punk music is getting good again.

Exhibit A:

Jay Reatard.

Clockcleaner (keep your eyes on these guys — '07 is gonna be their year).

And my personal favorite, Evil Army. Yeah, they're kinda metal, but so what?

The new Andrew Bird makes a fine come down from all the slashing and bashing.

I think I'm gonna go home now and watch the rain through the window of my studio. Isn't that romantic?

"I Snorted My Father."

Of course you've seen this by now. To me, the most disturbing part is that Keith Richards continues to ingest hard drugs well into his golden years. But I almost admire his commitment.

The New Yorker's Sahsa Frere-Jones writes eloquently (and rather emptily) about Prince. What a great job SFJ has. He gets to pen high-falutin' prose about all sorts of *mainstream* music, and he doesn't even have to go to shows. Unless its say, the Purple One in Vegas. Or maybe Radiohead.

Speaking of music critics, here's a guide to our cliché-ridden vocabulary. It's no Rock Snob's Dictionary, but it should prove valuable to some.

Have you ever read Doug Mosurak's Still Single column? It's really fun.

Off to my editorial meeting. Then its back to putting well-worn adjectives in their proper places.

Super Amazing Guitar God Lesson.

Courtesy MGP:

Where It's At, Lately.

As the late Conway Twitty once sang, "Hello, darlin'. Nice to see ya. It's been a long time..."

Married life is going great, but we still haven't quite figured out what happens next. Besides getting good and gone, that is.

Went to see Cccome?, Activists/Dictators The Cripples and Tell No One (etc., etc.) at Burlington Factory Studios last Saturday. It was pretty fun — we got to relive our nuptial glory with our man Jebson. Some fella gave me the "Paulie G.," which is what we call the dismissive click-and-trigger pull of one's thumb and forefinger. You know, like a gun goes boom? Not sure what he meant by it. Say, duder, if you're reading this... What's up?

Hipster kids keep getting younger, and I keep getting older. Skip a few boho shows and the next thing you know the faces have changed. Well, some of 'em, anyway.

Spent today arguing about the validity of Steely Dan with some of my compatriots on the Dusted listserve. The thread was originally about whether or not Wilco equals dad-rock, but it quickly turned into a discussion about the musical worth of Messrs. Becker & Fagen. I think you know my position on such matters.

I also listened to this James Kochalka podcast today. Some truly funny stuff in there.

But wait, there's more: I taped another segment of my ongoing BS session with DJ Charlie of The Point FM. Tune in tomorrow morning at around 8:20 a.m. to hear me make fun of John Mayer for being a cheese-ass, then praise his guitar playing in the same short sentence.

Our pals in Carrigan — including the soon-to-be-self-exiled Daryl Rabidoux — are playing at Club Metronome on Wednesday,  April 11 with The Static Age and  Drive the Hour. Carrigan recently got a nice capsule review on AbsolutePunk.net. Not that they're punk or anything

I just found out that EMI is completely dropping Digital Rights Management. Guess Steve Jobs' recent rant had its effect.

Thanks to Chris M. and >>>Molly<<< for coming over last night to watch Road House  with me an' the wifey. Apologies for the Dio, guys.

I'll be talking with our resident experimental music superhero Greg Davis on Wednesday for what's looking like the cover story for the next issue of Signal to Noise. Shit... that means I have to figure out stuff to ask him... Any suggestions?

OK — class dismissed.