Pass the Bucket: New Guitar God = John Mayer?

Uh… so yesterday I was walking down the street when I noticed a poster for the new issue of Rolling Stone pasted up on the side of a plywood wall. The cover line read, “The Top 20 [sic] The New Guitar Gods [sic]”.

So who was on the cover of the daring proclamation? Uh… JOHN MAYER as “Slowhand Jr.”, of course. WHAT? WHAT? WHAT?

rolling stone

As you can see above, the cover photo he’s shot from above, lying in the middle of John “The Visionary” Frusciante of the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Derek “The Jam King” Trucks (of the Derek Trucks Band), clutching his guitar over his chest a la Xtina circa 2002:

It all reeks of mediocrity. Zzzzz. Yawn. Chris Music Snob was equally upset by the cover.

I don’t care how much you want to dress him up in cool duds and style his hair and wrap the latest big-boobed ingenue around his arm. He will forever live in my mind as the man who dared to make strides for Casual Fridays by perform at the 2003 Grammys WEARING KHAKI PANTS:

Oh well. But I think of all people, blogaholic John Mayer is laughing the hardest about this ridiculous title.

New York Times Popularizes the Term “Blipster”–Guaranteed To Offend Just About Everyone

In a article about indie music lovers who happen to be black, published on January 28th on, included the following passage:

There is even a new word for black fans of indie rock: “blipster,” which was added to UrbanDictionary .com last summer, defined as “a person who is black and also can be stereotyped by appearance, musical taste, and/or social scene as a hipster.”

Bahr Brown, an East Harlem resident whose Converse sneakers could be considered blipster attire, opened a skateboard and clothing boutique, Everything Must Go, in the neighborhood in October, to cater to consumers who, like himself, want to dress with the accouterments of indie rock: “young people who wear tight jeans and Vans and skateboard through the projects,” he said.

Uh… is this like how things were so “deck” and 30-somethings were “Yupsters”? Another horrible made-up word to piss off everyone? I think hipsters have a hard enough time using the word “hipster”, let alone trying to break themselves up by ethnicity. What’s next? Asiasters? Indie-Indians? Whitester?

I guess it’s one of those things you just have to laugh about…take an comment by 360 Curl in the post below where I first mentioned the article:

frederick douglass was such a blipster

Rob Sheffield Reads from His Book, “Love Is a Mix Tape” at B&N Tonight

Check it out! One of my favorite music writers on the planet, Rob Sheffield, will be reading from his new book, Love Is a Mix Tape, tonight at 7pm at the B&N at Astor Place. If you have ever read Rob’s stuff in Rolling Stone, you know that he has a passion for music and has a unique and unfailingly truthful way of expressing his love for music and life in general.

From the Random House press release:

It was also when a shy music geek named Rob Sheffield met a hell-raising Appalachian punk-rock girl named Renée, who was way too cool for him but fell in love with him anyway. He was tall. She was short. He was shy. She was a social butterfly. She was the only one who laughed at his jokes when they were so bad, and they were always bad. They had nothing in common except that they both loved music. Music brought them together and kept them together. And it was music that would help Rob through a sudden, unfathomable loss.

In Love Is a Mix Tape, Rob, now a writer for Rolling Stone, uses the songs on fifteen mix tapes to tell the story of his brief time with Renée. From Elvis to Missy Elliott, the Rolling Stones to Yo La Tengo, the songs on these tapes make up the soundtrack to their lives.

Rob Sheffield isn’t a musician, he’s a writer, and Love Is a Mix Tape isn’t a love song- but it might as well be. This is Rob’s tribute to music, to the decade that shaped him, but most of all to one unforgettable woman.

Can’t make the reading? Buy the book.

The New York Times Gets Around to Correcting Their Errors…One and a Half Years Later

Way back in June of 2005, I had a hissyfit when in a Jon Pareles article about Coldplay, Pareles wrote that Travis and Embrace were influenced by Chris and co. I commented on the article in their forums (which I NEVER do) since I was so outraged, having been a fan of both Coldplay and Travis.

The original inflammatory passage:

“‘Am I a part of the cure/Or am I part of the disease,’ Martin pondered in ‘Clocks’ on ‘A Rush of Blood to the Head.’ Actually, he’s contagious. Particularly in its native England, Coldplay has spawned a generation of one-word bands–Athlete, Embrace, Keane, Starsailor, Travis and Aqualung among them–that are more than eager to follow through on Coldplay’s tremulous, ringing anthems of insecurity.”

The New York Times attached a correction to the article (originally published June 5, 2005) on December 24, 2006:

Correction: December 24, 2006

An article on June 5, 2005, critical of the band Coldplay referred incorrectly to the groups Embrace and Travis. They released records before Coldplay did; they were not part of a generation of one-word bands spawned by Coldplay. A reader’s e-mail message on Dec. 11 pointed out the errors.


Thanks to Fo for the blood-boiling link.

Am I Too Old to Completely Enjoy SPIN’s Year in Music Party?

So as you might have noticed, for the last few months I’ve been Captain Super Boring, rarely going out to see *gasp* concerts and even less frequently going to dance/club nights of my friends. On one hand that makes me feel like a bad person, on the other hand I am an old lady and I reserve the right to be a curmudgeon.

But this weekend I took time out of my busy schedule of blogging about Fall Out Boy/ looking up NY state B&Bs/ adding movies to my Netflix queue/ ordering holiday gifts online to head out to 1. Baby Girl’s holiday party in Westchester 2. birthday party on the Lower East Side 3. Oohla’s acoustic set at Sarah‘s apartment and on Monday, 4. SPIN’s Year in Music party at Hiro Ballroom.

Baby Girl‘s annual holiday party was a blast, as per usual. I got to hang out with lots of old friends who I hadn’t seen in a while, which is always great. Not to mention all the tasty treats that filled up my belly.

When I got back into the city, I headed to Revolver on Rivington Street for my friend Jesse‘s birthday party. It was our one last night of illegality. Things will never be the same. When her roommate (and emo uberwriter), Emily, cut up the chocolate cake, they kinda looked like birthday cake turds, but they tasted deeeelish, so whatevs.

I popped over to Casa de Ultragrrrl to try to check out the Oohlas, but as soon as I walked in the door I was greeted by a WALL OF PEOPLE. Sweaty sweaty hipsters, but thankfully no smoking inside. Already pooped from lack of sleep and lack of oxygen, I headed out before the Oohlas got to play. (I’m old, remember?) But Audrey stayed, so check out what she had to say about their performance.

The next day I dragged myself out of my zombie-like state and headed up up up to Hiro Ballroom for the SPIN party where Girl Talk, Cold War Kids, and Gogol Bordello played. I missed the much hyped Girl Talk dance party, but I caught like 2 1/2 songs of CWK while I discovered that there was no more free beer, much to the sadness of…well…everyone.

I’d never seen Gogol Bordello before, but the SG told me that they were one of the best/ crazy/ ridiculous live acts he’d seen. They certainly did NOT disappoint. When they came on stage, everyone ran up to be part of the fray. Even Nick Zinner of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs (and resident DJ for the night) could be seen off to the side of the stage, looking on with absolute awe/ shock of the incredible spectacle before him (above).

It was a cornucopia of crazy on and off stage. Lead singer Eugene Hutz was dressed up like a gay circus pirate, with neon green and black skin-tight striped pants, a shmata with a System of a Down patch sewn on, black tshirt, and white button down gauzy shirt with yellow smiley faces running down the front. The crowd was basically apesh-t crazy, jumping ’round herky-jerky like a bunch of pogo sticks with Tourette’s, screaming back at Eugene every chance they got. I ended up climbing on the stage to steer clear of any elbow-to-the-face related injuries and so I could take photos, so if you thought you saw me up there, yup, it was me. Several times I thought I was going to get wacked with a bass guitar/ drum/ mic stand. Luckily I did not. Simply off the wall.

Who knew gypsy punk so so spirited and bad-ss??

By the time it was over I was indeed ready to go home, although I’m sure the night continued on without me…Maybe my New Year’s resolution should be to not be so damn old…

Read more about the show on

Critics…Critics Who Rate Critics

Time Out New York‘s latest issue takes New York critics to task by dissecting their knowledge, style, taste, and influence and ranking them.

For music critics, The New Yorker‘s Sasha Frere-Jones comes out on top, with a 4.98, and New York Times critic (and favorite TMA villian–yup, still pissed about that Strokes review like 3 years ago) Kelefa Sanneh.

Thankfully no ranking of music bloggers…probably all the comments would be something like this: “pretentious…” “seems to sometimes write drunk…” “seems more interested in style than substance…” “does not show a broad knowledge of music…” “reads like a press release…” “impossible to read at times…” “shows a weird fascination with Carrie Underwood…” “Zzzzzzzzzz…”

Albert Reveals His Love of Raisin Bran and the Location of His Apartment

Check out this NY Magazine article about Albert Hammond Jr.‘s favorite places to eat in Lower Manhattan.

When Albert isn’t eating Raisin Bran, he eats at some pretty great places like Brown, Frank, and La Esquina. But anyone else happen to notice this little nugget?:

I had Japanese that night — I go to Esashi. It’s literally across the street from my place. If I could afford it, I’d eat Japanese every day.

Errr… whoops??