Sunday, September 30, 2007

Jes wins Rock of Love; Hope for Good Girls on the rise


So Rock of Love ends with Bret Michaels channeling the wisdom of King Solomon (!!!) and choosing Jes, upon realizing the younger, spunky one loves him more since she's not willing to share. Lovely. How educational, though the Poison singer is no Newman and these are no bikes.

Jes should have won anyway (her Myspace dating status was "In A Relationship," 'member). Though was there really much debate when you pit, as Terence said, a 23-year old hairdresser from Chicago against a 31-year-old stripper from Vegas?

Overall a pretty lackluster finale with a yawning opening 20 minutes. The sloppy seconds shit from a way-haggard Heather was pretty funny (but what the fuck was with the yellow dress, Whiskey-bathed Amazon woman?), as was her calling Bret out in the limo ride home. Haha, she's got his name tattooed on her neck. Whoops! Hey, I have a hockey team logo tattooed on me, to each their own.

Bret Michaels continued to look absolutely ridiculous the entire series, I don't even know what to say about this guy's wardrobe. I got nothing. Does Vince Neil dress like this too? What about the guy from Kik Tracee? Shit at least Taime Downe wears all black and fishnets now. My God Los Angeles scares me sometimes.

But whatevs, season two of "I Love New York" starring the amazing and wonderful and talented Miss Tiffany Pollard airs next week. I guess it didn't work out with Ninja Turtle Tango, winner of the last series. Shocking. Though I wonder what religious morality tale we'll get out of that one. More to come tomorrow, after this weekend finally dies. Jennifer knows how to host a birthday party. Happy birthday lady.

Your Friday night plans, Oct. 5

Saturday, September 29, 2007

The NHL wants to kill itself

OK, real quick: What the fuck is with the Los Angeles Kings and Anaheim Ducks opening the NHL season in London, five days before the regular season starts? The Devils have a preseason game tonight, and two West Coast teams are playing on the other side of the Atlantic in a country where hockey is nothing more than slang for a toothless Camden tranny. Playing in Japan makes more sense for these two teams than playing in England.

And now the game is delayed because the fucking LIGHTS in the arena don't work. The announcers are baffled – they’re talking ragtime as the arena tries to GET THE LIGHTS TO WORK. This is an NHL game, and the lights don’t work. I didn’t know the Long Island Ducks were back playing in Commack Arena.

Jesus, what the motherfuck is wrong with Gary Bettman? Why does the NHL have such a death wish? What is happening to this sport? At what point do I just not care anymore?

Thursday, September 27, 2007

OZ's Adebisi wins Uni Watch raffle!


Paul Lukas’ Uni Watch Blog is one of the best daily reads on the Internet, and the former Village Voice writer occasionally does uniform-related pieces for ESPN.com. Well, imagine my shock tonight when I saw that none other than Simon Adebisi, one of the most ruthless killers (and greatest characters) on late ‘90s HBO series "OZ," won a Uni Watch raffle! What in the name of Tobias Beecher is going on here:

“Meanwhile, Uni Watch is happy to announce that reader Simon Adebisi is the winner of last week's raffle. Simon, who was randomly chosen from among the respondents who knew that Mathias Kiwanuka is the Giants player who likes his jersey very tight up top but fairly loose at the bottom, will receive some free Giants swag from Jints equipment director Joe Skiba (who co-starred with Uni Watch in last week's video report). Hang tight, Simon -- you'll be hearing from Joe soon."

Not good news for Joe, who might wanna skip that encounter. Or at least get Kareem Said to defend him. Said did the unthinkable and killed Adebisi around Season 3.

Hiss & Chambers & Freezepop tonight


Quiet day today, other than the word that the Weekly Dig fired its editor, Michael Brodeur (No relation to Martin). But tonight is action-packed, it seems: We have Hiss & Chambers at Hennessy’s in Faneuil Hall, which is the best bet but a bitch to get to; the world-famous synthpop trio Freezepop is hosting their CD release party at the Mid Easy for "Future Future Future Perfect" (which hopefully is better than the VNV Nation album of a similar name); there’s also the indie pop of One Happy Island opening for the Lucksmiths at TTs, which I wrote about today in the Herald.

I think I’m gonna hit up Hiss & Chambers, who are as dark and sexy as their name suggests. They’re at the pill in November, but I want a sneak peak while I’m off the clock, if you will. Their new album, "Making Eyes," is pretty solid and a few songs have already graced the pill dance floor the past few weeks. Then again, staying in to continue the ambitious construction of Cat City, which will make architects in Dubai blush like whoa, is also fairly appealing.

Boston Music Fun Fact: Hiss & Chambers’ drummer, Ryan Dolan, used to play in the Sheila Divine, joining the former Boson indie luminaries in 2001 or so. I did not know him when I got the Sheilas back together for New Year’s Eve a few years ago; life is funny that way. What's everyone else doing tonight?

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

File under: Ouch.

Links from the amazing world we live in:

Boy survives 2-hour flight in Russia by clinging to the plane's wing. Russia says nothing happened.

Student in Australia survives having metal chair leg thrust into his eye socket and down his neck.

Oh, and a "dead" Venezuelan man wakes up under the autopsy knife. This is the craziest news day ever.

Meanwhile, I can’t decide if I should go to Lowell to see the Devils tonight. First World Problems. Also a RIP to the worst owner in pro sports, the Blackhawks’ Bill Wirtz. As a friend said to me today, his funeral will be televised nationally, but blacked out in Chicago.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Not there yet, but getting close

New York Magazine calls out some of my friends, and preaches Up with Grups. Oh boy. Edit: Danielle astutely points out this was published months ago. I looked for a date but couldn't find one. It doesn't make it any less terrifying. And I'm looking at you, Carl.

The meerkats have come to a Boston suburb


I was driving up 93 north of Boston last week for the first time in ages. No Woburn reporting beat, no depressed-older-artist ladyfriend in New Hampshire and no residence in Slumerville all have contributed to me not having to deal with that horrendous stretch of highway in quite some time.

But as I broke free from the tunnel and Zakim bridge traffic, a sign on the side of the road caught my eye, and for the first time it wasn’t for Amazing.net’s porn DVD sale.

It was for the Stone Zoo, the dilapidated concrete jungle and once-proud owner of Major the confused-as-fuck, sedated-as-fuck Polar Bear (he died of cancer in 2000, and now swims in an Al Gore montage in the sky). This fall, the Stone Zoo has... holy animal planet!... meerkats! Did they cut the town’s elementary school busing to make this happen, or was more taken from the Fire Dept’s budget again?

Wherever funding came from (yeah, I know the esteemed planning board wasn’t behind this, the zoo is state-funded) this plain old sucks on several levels. One, yeah I used to watch that show, "Meerkat Manor," with a certain special somebody who is now dead, so now I’m wikked depressed.

Two, more living creatures are forced to live in Stoneham. If they make Flower parade around Town Day and sell subscriptions to the Stoneham Independent, I’m never visiting the arena or theatre ever again, not even to cut across as a shortcut to Melrose. My short stint as editor of the Stoneham Sun wasn’t exactly fruitful, though my expose on gay sex late at night at the Sheepfold off the Fells could have won a NEPA.

Anyway, so yeah, I’m on the fence about this. My love of meerkats predates the lame ass show – When it first aired, my mother elatedly called me and said "There’s a show about your favorite animal! You’re always ahead of the trends, Michael!" Of course, I loved meerkats around the age of 14, before I aged onward and gravitated to other, more mythically enchanted creatures like giant squids and teenage pussy.

If I go see the meerkats, I’ll think of the dead ex. If I go to the Stone Zoo, I’ll think of someone else, a person who I went to the zoo often with, many times as a late-Sunday afternoon pit stop from Salem. But I’d really like to see some motherfucking meerkats. Why does everything come with ghosts? Do I need to live in Vladivostok to get some tabula rasa up in this piece?


The zoos in New England suck cold dry shit out of a dead dog’s ass, and I’ve often lamented why the Hub of the Universe doesn’t have a giant animal park, instead settling for a zoo in a halfway house town with a mini-Route 1 cutting through it and another "park" bordering the most dangerous areas of Boston. (That park only has a giraffe and camel, anyway. You’re better off looking for wildlife off Blue Hill Avenue.)

I wish I didn’t see that sign in 93, and I wish the Stone Zoo didn’t have meerkats. The website said they came from San Diego, so I’m sure they’re stoked as shit being holed up around here for the fall. Let me tell you, that koala bear they had a few years ago didn’t seem to like his concrete cell, and wasn’t buying the tree mirage painted on the walls. Dude was pissed. But then again, koalas don’t really haul ass like meerkats do.

Roxy Music

No updates yesterday, as I was cracking the case of who's gobbling up all the Avalon or Axis shows and spreading the good word about Thurstun Moore, the recognizable dudes in Tulsa and just what a Canadian band is doing reppin the New Sound of Boston. But that didn't seem to make it online so just take my word for it.

Sunday, September 23, 2007

The mystery of Idaho’s love for Kevin Curtis


So I’m winding down from an Action Jackson weekend of not much (Outside of Friday’s pill and the Information show) and I decide to check up on Week 3 over at espn.com. I enter their SportsNation poll for Player of the Day, this regal Sept. 23. The deserving candidates:

- Donovan McNabb, PHI, 381 passing, 4 TD
- Brian Westbrook, PHI, 221 yards, 3 TDs
- Tom Brady, NE, 311 passing, 4 TDs
- Kevin Curtis, PHI, 221 yards, 3 TDs
- Joey Harrington, ATL, 361 passing, 2 TDs


I voted for McNabb, like any sane person, despite him personally raping my team in the YKHII league. But the vote-by-state breakdown caught my eye (Go to espn.com, scroll down to bottom right to score at home), and not just because it’s more colorful than my ex’s shiny new gay pride flag just purchased off www.monthsoflies.com. But apparently:

- Everyone in New England voted for Tom Brady. In each New England state (Massachusetts, Maine, Vermont, Rhode Island and…uhhhh… Oh, right New Hampshire) the majority of votes went to Brady, even through Moss was the best player on the field today at Gillette. In Vermont, 61% of voters are absolutely sure Brady was better than McNabb (and Moss) today. This region is fucked.

- Harrington is still worshipped in his native Oregon, where he also starred as a shitty-uniformed Duck in college. He took home the leading 44% of the vote, topping Brady who netted 8%. What a difference a coast makes. He also must have seduced Alaska with starry eyes and while ruining the Detroit Lions franchise, because he got 36% there too, tops around the mountains.

- Michigan can’t decide between McNabb and Kevin Cutis. Each has 25% (More on Curtis in a sec.)

- Overall McNabb has the rightful lead, at 39% overall, topping Curtis at 22 and Brady at 16, taking home every state but the ones mentioned above… and Idaho.

- Idaho is the undisputed president of the Kevin Curtis fanclub. 30% of Idahoans think Curtis’ performance was the best. That’s pretty fucking random.

Curtis, who I just learned is white (and related to Reggie Willits), grew up in Murray, Utah. Why no love from his home state, but a hand job from the one directly above it? Murray is located beneath the Salt Lake, so it’s not a border city. 2003 3rd Round Pick Curtis went to Utah State, so what in the name of the immortal Keith Van Horn is going on here?

If anyone knows anyone in Idaho, please ask them why they love Kevin Curtis so much. And why is Utah hating? Is this Andre Kirilenko’s fault, too? I’m open to suggestions. (Cowboys, Pats Super Bowl, for the record)

"You all suck, you're running for nothing"

This was shouted by an oversized black woman pushing a stroller along Brighton Ave., as scores of runners flew by as part of some ginormous road race. After frustratingly sitting in traffic while blocked out of my neighborhood for said Road Race, and the Allston Village Street Fair, this made my weekend. She's right: Why do we run?

More to come later, as this weekend's been a doozy.



Edit: Ok, no Rock of Love finale tonight. Thanks, VH-1. You give us a clip show. A fucking clip show. It's cool, I really didn't want to watch any intellectually-engaging television tonight anyway, as I'm exhausted from making lemonaide all weekend. Not even remarkable successes by Marion Barber III can help. Not that it's likely.

May the transition from Summer of Hate to Fall from Grace 2007 commence. Grab a pencil and notebook, kids, life is getting interesting. But not for those who run for something.

Friday, September 21, 2007

The Information & The Herald's "Rock the Hub" competition

The Information play Great Scott tomorrow night, which means I'll probably skip Yacht Rock at the Bulfinch to stay local and see the 411. Last time they played at GS, I did way too many drugs beforehand, tried to hide it from the ex, kinda freaked out in a sweaty mess and left before they even went on. So we're hoping for a better presentation tomorrow evening. I'm also curious to check out Heath's new band, which he discusses in my Herald column today, and Barnicle, who are pretty redonkulous and were the subject of my first-ever Hotline column.

Speaking of the Information, I nominated "A Simple Plan" as one of the best local songs of the past 25 years. I came up with this "Rock the Hub" competition, and myself, Kerry Purcell and Brett Milano picked a bunch of songs to face off against each other in a NCAA-style tournament. Check out the preliminary list here on the Herald site. Readers can submit their own songs to be included in the bout, of which voting begins Oct. 5.

Just imagine: The Information's "A Simple Plan" vs. The Pixies "Here Comes Your Man"; Gang Green's "Alcohol" vs. Bon Savants' "Between The Moon and the Ocean"; Protokoll's "Moving Forward" vs. New Kids On the Block "Step By Step"; Bobby Brown's "Every Little Step" vs. Til Tuesday's "Voices Carry"! Craziness!

This could get interesting...

Thursday, September 20, 2007

The NJ Devils make everything better


Just got home from the Devils preseason game against the bRuins up in Manchester. It was kinda surreal being at a bRuins game without being called a faggot by some drunken townie, and Verizon Arena is probably the best thing to happen to Manchester since the Rover opened.

As for the game, it was a fairly textbook 3-0 win. But we were without the services of Brodeur, Langenbrunner, Pandolfo, Madden and a few other regulars. However, I got a look at the new top line of Elias-Zubrus-Gionta, and I’m fucking psyched. Zubrus brings the same physical element that Arnott brought to the A-Line, and should clear a ton of room for the wings. Just seeing him on the ice was imposing, and an upgrade over our short stature last season.

David Clarkson is a fucking monster. He fights, hits and drives to the net. What a player, though they took away his 27 for a more rookie-fitting 48. Maybe this means the Devils will retire Scott Niedermayer’s number one day, who knows. But Clarkson must make the team (look at that face!). Vishnevsky comes as advertised: hits everything in sight, and gets caught out of position as a result. I think the goals came from Pelley, Rachunek and someone else, I forget.


Hockey season is back, and I’m fucking psyched. The Brent Sutter Era will be a fruitful one – he’s already got the guys playing with intensity. There’s a lot to like about the 2007-08 New Jersey Devils: a good mix of youth and veterans, a solid two scoring lines (with Parise-Zajac-Langs on the 2), a great checking line, a grinding 4th, and Marty in net. We don’t have a stud N. 1 D-man, though Martin isn’t that far away. Andy Greene should have a good season, too. Opening night can’t come soon enough.

As for the new Edge jerseys, I really couldn’t tell the difference, though the arms are clearly tighter and the back end flap looks like an untucked dress shirt. Then again, I was watching two of the best jerseys in the NHL tonight. I wish I didn’t despise the bRuins, they look really good in those throwback sweaters. And Tuukka Rask is going to be an All Star within four years. Unfortunately for Boston, it’ll probably be with another team.

More to come tomorrow, I’m exhausted. Just meeting the infamous Blue Eyed Devil took a lot out of me.

Yacht Rock finally hits Boston


So I know I'm a bit late to this party, but I live in Boston so a 2-year delay on shit is kinda expected these days. If you haven't checked out Channel 101's Yacht Rock series, then you've already not as smooth as you think you are. I guess these Yacht Rock parties are popping up all over, inspired by the funny-as-fuck videos fictionalizing the songwriting process of Michael McDonald and other commercial rock luminaries in the late '70s.

In today's Herald I wrote about this Saturday's Yacht Rock show at the Bulfinch, starring Three Day Threshold, Okay Thursday and others covering the likes if Steely Dan, Kenny Loggins, Toto, etc.

What will hipsters think of next? Is the world officially out of shit to parody? Regardless, this shit is pretty funny. But I keep forgettin' -- I'll be at the Information show when this goes down. Fuck you, Loggins.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Pela live at KEXP in Seattle


There are worse ways to start the day, so thanks to the indispensable Jenny A. from World’s Fair for hooking me (and now you) up with a bunch of clips from Pela’s June 11 in-studio performance at Seattle’s KEXP.

Every Pela song is phenomenal, as few bands capture passionate, grandiose rock music like these four Brooklyn lads, but “Lost to the Lonesome” and “Tenement Teeth” always stand out for me. There’s so much crap music out there today, it’s almost shocking when I find a band I truly love. Jenny gave me Pela’s demo almost two years ago, and it still hasn’t left my music rotation. I’ve already booked them twice at the pill, but I’m sensing they’re getting a bit too big for the Great Scott stage. Even better, all four are among the best people you could ever meet. Enjoy, and go buy Anytown Graffiti.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Meteor crashes in Peru, everyone sick

Why can't shit like this happen in Massachusetts?

Bonds ball destined for space?


Oh boy. Fashion designer and Yankee fan Marc Ecko, who incidentally was not the owner of Chinatown's Ekco Lounge when we did the pill there, wants you, the general public, to decide the fate of Barry Bonds' record-breaking home-run ball. He's set up a website where you can either vote for it to go to Cooperstown as-is, be marked with an asterisk then sent to the HOF, or shot into space using some sort of rhino-decaled rocket. I say send it out into space, though that's not as cool as blowing it up, which some Chicago restaurant did to the Steve Bartman ball after the 2003 Cubs-Marlins NLCS. Finally, though, we can get Jennifer Stuck's opinion on a baseball matter.

Monday, September 17, 2007

Lacey's band, Nocturne


More "Rock of Love," I know.

Well, we said goodbye to Lacey last night, but lookie-here, it's her band, Nocturne. Starving artist, haha! It says they've toured with King Diamond, Dope, Pigface and Bile. (Here's a random fact of the day: I think I make a cameo appearance in Bile's video for "URA Fucking Loser," which was filed around 1995 at the Shoppe/Voodoo, one of Long Island's finest industrial clubs.) But back to Nocturne -- Lacey sounds pretty much as I thought she'd sound. Weird. Didn't this stuff go away in like '01 or so?

Sunday, September 16, 2007

One last thing, re: Rock of Love

Alright, Jes' MySpace page reveals she's "In a relationship," while Heather's states she's single. A possible hint as to who wins? Should I just stop drinking?

Rock of Love down to 2


So it’s a beautiful Sunday night in Boston, the Sox are grueling it out with the Yanks over at Fenway, and the Patriots are saying Fuck You to the NFL by trouncing the Chargers at Gillette. And I’m watching an EPIC episode of "Rock of Love" on VH-1.

Finally evil faux redhead Lacey is gone, meaning buxom stripper Heather is left to catfight with cute-as-fuck wallflower Jes. This could be a really dull finale next week, and if Leatherface Michaels doesn’t pick Jes, well then… ah I really don’t even know. I don’t care who wins, but it’s been an entertaining show. I mean, Jes should win, but is ending up with Bret Michaels “winning”? I had “Look What the Cat Dragged In” on cassette too, and I think “Open Up and Say Ahh” was my first black/charcoal cassette, so that was quite a badge in 8th grade. But it seems Heather’s a better match. What do I know about matches, anyway. Other thoughts:

- Heather’s dad is an alcoholic. I bet that man was happy as shit being able to slam free beer after free beer. He was in the background of every scene just nailing ‘em down – under a tree outside, on the stairs inside the house. Excellent work by a man who looks like he shops with my dad and is thrilled to be divorced after all those years.

- Now, I had lunch at the Saddle Ranch Chop House on the Sunset Strip, so yeah, I was mega offended when Lacey’s douchebag dad with the trophy milf ragged eating around a mechanical bull right in front of Bret. I mean, to say that only a few days after Sept. 11 is way out of line. Very Un-American.

- How can "Rock of Love 2 with Tommy Lee," which my NYC spies say is now quietly casting in NYC, top this shit?

- Season one of "I Love New York" on DVD goes on sale Oct. 2. A few days later the second season begins. I'm kinda obsessed with VH-1's craptastically amazing celeb-reality programing.

- "Rock of Love" has been good lately, but I still miss Samantha. What a jewel, and she never got into the "dancing field."



Best Sunday in a long time. And I didn’t even leave the apartment.

Song of the Day: The CSS remix of the Wombat’s Kill The Director

Wait... what?

Jenny Lewis of Rilo Kiley was the chick in the 1989 Fred Savage movie The Wizard? It was about a Nintendo prodigy or some shit, and I admit to seeing it the theatres and remember getting wikked excited when they unvieled the Powerglove, which gave the sort of advantage at Rad Racer that comes with a futuristic glove that controls steering.

Lewis was also in Pleasantville and 10 episodes of "Brooklyn Bridge"?

Is this common knowledge?

Saturday, September 15, 2007

friday night promises


Every Friday night around 8 p.m., as I'm getting ready to head over to Great Scott, I promise myself I will abstain from two things at the pill: drinking too much, and spinning "Heartbeats" by The Knife. By midnight, I realize I've failed at both. Someone once said that I continually "ruin Saturdays," but it's 6:22pm Saturday evening and I'm wondering what I missed had I been fully healthy and functional at 11am this morning. Who knows. But, the Perennials and Retrosleeper are playing the spiffy-assed O'Brien's tonight, so perhaps the afternoons are as overrated as I suspect. Something has to have some redeeming value to be ruined, no?

Friday, September 14, 2007

new pill flyer


Sonja asked why there weren't many blondes in the pill flyer series. I spared her the explanation that the most popular (and never to be used again) pill flyer model was in fact, a blonde, but she prefers to dye her hair black to match the color of her soul. Undeterred, Raph's flyer shelf life ended with the Lie Society gig, so Sonja agreed to lend her German charm to the fall poster. What can brown do for you?

Thursday, September 13, 2007

More images of the new jersey...


Pretty cool slide show at the Devils' official site showing off the jerseys, some media shots and other stuff from the first day of camp. I think I want a Vishnevsky jersey, or maybe I'll finally spring for the Langenbrunner. Either way, hockey is almost here, and the Brent Sutter Era is going to be entertaining. Our rivals got better, we got smarter (and tougher!).

New Jersey Devils jersey leaked


I found this EA Sports jersey gallery in the bulletins at Paul Lukas' always-entertaining Uni Watch Blog. Now as practically every team has redesigned their own Reebok Edge jersey, looks like the Devils will be identical, joining only about 5 or 6 other teams that didn't change their look.

Every new look team team had a press conference showing off their new kits, and Vancouver even conned a few thousand fans to come to the rink to be reminded their favorite team is "from Vancouver." Meanwhile, the Devils roll along with business as usual: no fanfare, no major announcement, and most importantly, no changes. (The Devils are only one of three teams to never have a 3rd/alt jersey, btw.)

As far as the new jerseys, I really like the Bruins new look, and they'll really look good losing 50 games this season. I'm glad Washington went back to the "Capitals" crest, ditching what was the ugliest jersey in the league. Others I dig: Calgary and Columbus. Jerseys I think look like shit: the new Avs, Stars, Isles and Sharks, who once had one of the coolest logos in sports until they Disneyed it up. I could live with the Canucks sweaters if they two-toned the lettering with green, making the stripes look not so out of place.

There is hope for Boston after all



“A Global terror they say, We are at war / But I ain't got time for that cos / These bills keep dropping through my door" -- Hard-Fi "Suburban Knights"

The fall in New England is a glorious time, and suddenly every week is action packed with dope shows. Look at this shit:

Sept. 13: Eagle Seagull at Great Scott
Sept. 21: Rilo Kiley at Avalon
Sept. 21: Eli “Paperboy” Reed & the True Loves at the pill
Sept. 22: The Information, Barnicle and Astor Twin at Great Scott
Sept. 27: Freezepop album release at the Middle East
Oct. 4: Patrick Wolf at the Paradise
Oct. 5: the pill’s 10th anniversary
Oct. 9: Gliss at Hennessys
Oct. 10: Digitalism at the Middle East
Oct. 11: Shit Disco at Great Scott
Oct. 18: the Hourly Radio at Great Scott

Then in November: The Enemy, the Blakes, Semi-Precious Weapons, Hiss & Chambers, Superdrag, Emergency Music, Battles. Jesus fucking Christ.

Cool note about Astor Twin. It’s a new NYC-based band from Heath Fradkoff, former bassist of the Information. I hooked him up with my boy Jay, former BM Linx drummer, and Astor Twin was born. I haven’t heard them, but when does Heath Fradkoff ever disappoint?

And I just found a cool YouTube clip of BM Linx’s performing Understanding Orange at the pill last year.

The Enemy hits Boston Nov. 3, with DJ Michael V.


The NME has blown about 4 cover loads on the Enemy, who have a pretty catchy tune in "You're Not Alone" and seem to be gaining huge buzz in England.

So props to Randi at TTs in snagging them for a quick US tour in November. And even greater props for enlisting me to spin the dance party after the show. Expect the usual pill bullpen mix of electro-pop, synth-wave and Britpop classics. I'm sure a few modern indie cuts will find their way into the set as well. (DJ Ken will be over at the Superdrag reunion show then throwing down at the Commonground across the river, so I'm flying solo on this one.)

Another local band should be added between now and Nov. 3, but tickets are already on sale through TTs website. I've been a shit ton of awesome post-wave Britpop shows at TTs this decade (Franz Ferdinand, JJ72, Gene) and this should add to the list.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Spin.com Artist of the Day: The Blakes


So a cool thing happened late last month. I was writing about this band from Seattle, the Blakes, for Spin.com and I told Carl, who does booking at Great Scott, to nail these fuckers down if they ever came to town. I seldom make these requests, but Carl's practically in bed with KEXP Radio out of Marinerland so I figured why not.

The next day, he forwards me a message about the Blakes looking for a Boston date. Some quick negotiations sorted them out, and now they're playing the pill on Nov. 23, the day after Thanksgiving.

So while the gig is still a few months away, check out the Blakes' dirty-ass rock n' roll through my Artist of the Day piece for Spin.com. A line about snorting Keith Richards' ashes was edited out, but it still gets the point across.

Let's liven this up a bit...

So those precious few of you who've actually read this thing have said there's not enough images. Yes, I view this as an outlet for my written word (the good and the bad), but I suppose there could be better visuals, aside from my cat.

So this will be a showcase to my hidden life as a dance night flyer photographer. Though much of Boston is mired in the too-artsy-to-fuck club flyer, I prefer a simple aesthetic: cute girls with Bernard MT condensed font text. All of these images below have been shot and designed by me, though now that my ex has left me I kinda need a camera to shoot with. An upside down baseball cap acting as a charity plate will be passed around shortly.

Anyway, here are a few flyers for the pill, all original art and design:

Shannon:


Deb Info:


Lindsey:


Leaura:


Raphaella:


Abby:


Amanda:


Jennifer:


Vicki:

Lola



So it's been a fairly rough week, with the Editors bassist controversy, a near fist-fight with a Store 24 clerk and Day 12 of the realization that life is completely different again. So while I jumped in bed at 6:30pm yesterday never to re-emerge from my bedroom, I awoke with my pet kitten (she's now about 7 months old, still a kitten?) named Lola cuddling up with me. Really, that's all it took to snap out of this funk and realize life is... in fact... better than it was a month ago.

I raise a glass to the best lady in my life, the one and only Miss Lola Bear String Bean!

the pill’s 5th annual Halloween show

The pill's 5th annual Halloween show
Wednesday, Oct. 31 at Great Scott
Tickets on sale now through Ticketweb.com

Halloween shows at the pill have become stuff of legend. What began as an idea among friends in 2003 at the Paradise Lounge has evolved into a yearly celebration that has caught on citywide. That year, the Information performed as the Cure and the Cignal resurrected the Happy Mondays. In an instant, the bar was set and a legacy was born.

Many of the pill's Halloween performances are still talked about. Bands don't just play a thin cover set – they become the band, with visuals making as much of a mark as the sounds. These shows are performances at their best.

Were you there when Protokoll turned Great Scott into a smoke-filled catacomb as Bauhaus in 2005? Did the rousing impression of Jarvis Cocker by Thom of the Bon Savants get you closer to Pulp than ever before at the Middle East Down in 2004? Did you feel so extraordinary when Lifestyle closed last years set as a raved up New Order? Or maybe it was Suede and Echo & the Bunnymen last year, or the Velvet Underground and Joy Division before that, or Depeche Mode, Blur and Primal Scream in 2004?

This year, the pill welcomes back one familiar face to headline the 2007 show, as well as three newcomers looking to make a mark on the pill's vaunted Halloween tradition.

For our 5th annual event, we welcome on Oct. 31 the King of Glam Rock at his absolute apex, one of the undisputed leaders of the Britpop revolution, the visionary creators of the Britpop revolution and a phenomenal post-Britpop act that met its demise all too soon. We are proud to present:

David Bowie, performed by the Daily Pravda
Blur, performed by the Lie Society
The Stone Roses, performed by Mako
The Libertines, performed by the Perennials

Tickets are on sale now through Great Scott's www.ticketweb.com outlet. The show begins at 9 p.m., is 18-plus and admission is $10. Costumes are encouraged, with prizes for best attire.

Before, between and after the bands, DJ Ken brings the dance party to the midweek with another sterling mix of Britpop, Modern Indie and Beyond. See you then. Look bloody sharp.
xoxo the pill

the pill www.thepillboston.com
The Daily Pravda www.thedailypravda.com
The Lie Society http://www.theliesociety.com
Mako www.myspace.com/makoband
The Perennials www.myspace.com/perennialsareforever
Great Scott www.greatscottboston.com

The Molestation of a Hot Pocket

By Michael Vanya

Before I get into this, let's get one thing out of the way: I have terrible eating habits. I'll drop $12 on KFC for dinner, about $9 worth of grande soft tacos and quesadillas at T-Bell for lunch and now, thanks to the 24-hour Tedeschi food market across the street, I'll buy a half-pound Hot Pocket at pretty much anytime day or night.

But my joys of procuring these Hot Pockets, and the subsequent unbridled, orgiastic bliss that follows from slamming down the traditional the ham and cheese variety, has been detracted by the litany of heavy-finger store clerk at the Ted (as we so affectionately call it).

On any given day, I'll casually stroll into the Ted with about $4 in hand, looking for an unhealthy snack to wage holy war on my now-cast-in-steel innards while getting me through the night (usually this occurs anywhere from 11 p.m. to 3 a.m.). My appetite has proved to be rather insatiable over the years, being raised on McDonalds and pizza upwards of five times a week during my early years of life back in Long Island.

A combination of the famed half-pound ham and cheese Hot Pocket, a 99 cent bag of Party Mix and a 99 cent Arizona "Sweet Tea" Iced Tea (still the best bargain since the 50 cent newspaper) does the trick flawlessly and allows me to sleep undisturbed by the growing groan in the pit of my stomach graveyard.

Since I'm a man of consistency, I always dart straight for the Hot Pocket section, and choose only the most fittest of 'Pock before grabbing the chips and drink. I inspect the Hot Pocket for cuts or seams – if the Hot Pocket is ripped, the cheese will cook faster than it should in the microwave, and spill over onto the plate before crisping up and ejaculating into a desert sea of burnt fat. It ruins the Hot Pocket experience like you could not believe.

But despite my efforts to secure a fully-enclosed, way-it-meant-to-be H-Pock, my fears have skyrocketed recently as I approach the cash register. You see, every time the clerk grabs my beloved meal-in-a-wrapper to be scanned, he aggressively fondles and manipulates the packaging as if it were a mouthy 11-year-old altar boy. He impatiently pressed the bar code, printed on cheap plastic material that will no doubt last until the next millennium, up against the scanner, running fingers across the bread, pushing, releasing, jabbing, releasing, caressing, releasing, molesting, releasing, sodomizing, releasing… until the fucking thing finally scans.

Each time I can see my Hot Pocket breathe a sigh of relief as it lay back on the counter, breathless, mangled and deformed, the bread crunched to the point of bare recognition, screaming for the halcyon days when it was a pure, unadulterated fatty delight shipped from a warehouse in Wisconsin or wherever.

I look up at the cashier, but it's clear he knows not what he does. Or does he? These are vengeful people, at times, ones who will not ring you up if you don't say hello or who will refuse to sell you a Hustler Magazine at 4 a.m.

I can envision them gaining great pleasure in destroying my meal, in telling me "In the Middle East we have no such luxurious snack food!" I can see high-fives exchanged in the back as I cross Cambridge Street like a modern day Frogger, only with broken flies in the basket of sorrow. I can see their cold, apathetic faces as they request the $3.97 in debt I've built up, unaware that my $1.98 Hot Pocket is rendered useless, a mere shell of its once gooey, ham-soft light-breaded self.

Do I ask, good sir, oh why do you fondle my Hot Pocket? Do I ask for another, at the bewilderment of the clerk as I race back through the store? I do not ask these things.

Instead, I take the wounded bear home, gently unwrap him, survey the damage like a wartime doctor and try to make do with what I'm left with: A beaten and disturbed quick-fix meal, one that didn't deserve to be finger raped by men who just don't care.

If they treated scratch tickets as such, there would be riots in the streets of Allston. But the voices lay silent for the Hot Pocket, the latest victim of heavy-handed savagery.