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Archive: April, 2008
Go, TypeRacer, Go!
Dear secretaries and kids in high school in the 1950s, I am happy to report that the Internet has finally created a game just for you.
TypeRacer takes everything you love about typing and adds cool-looking cars to it. Not since my parents bought me Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing (go Google her! She's still around!) for my old Tandy computer have I been pounding the keys so furiously. In the game, you're given a sentence to type and you compete against up to six other people for the title of ultimate nerd. Your car will progress across the screen a la The Price is Right, so you can see how you're matching up.
I had a few good races in me, topping out at 60+ words a minute, but then I got smoked on a lyric from Pink Floyd's Time when some other person cranked out 148 words per minute. I'm pretty sure I was playing againshttp://criticalmass.blogs.citypaper.net/blogs/mu/wp-admin/post.php?action=edit&post=831t this guy.
Go see how fast you can type here.
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| Photo | John Vettese |
Pity the poor South Street goth. No longer is there a gum tree for them to deface, nor is there Philly Deli for obtaining cheap cloves, nor is there Digital Ferret retailing music and wares (though, really, we all know that place has been in decline since it changed its name from Digital Underground). And, after this Tuesday evening, nor is there Al Jourgenson shrieking up a storm and turning the TLA floor into a mob scene. Supposedly.
As we watched the Poconos crowd mix with the Passional regulars, my friend Jeremy posited the theory that Ministry's "farewell" tour would be no more final than any similar claim Kiss has made. At first I was skeptical - it's not like Jourgenson brings his epileptic industrial-metal through town so regularly that it would seem that odd for him to quit the road. But as the show went on, top-heavy with ho-hum material from the band's more recent offerings ("This song is about the fuckin' Patriot Act! And how we sure don't want them spying on our conversations..."), I began to see his logic.
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| Photo | John Vettese |
The stage was wrapped in this Gitmo-esque fence. The main set, an hour and some long, evoked Iraq, Hussein, Bin Laden, middle America and a lotta lotta anti-Bush rhetoric. Jourgenson, a Texan himself, ain't too fond of Dubya. He beat that drum into the ground over the course of the performance - which, thankfully, improved a lot from "Watch Yoursef," that Patriot Act number - and the obvious became even more clear through the smoke and strobes. Ah, yes, I see, It's not a farewell Ministry tour, it's a farewell *Bush* tour. Ba-dum-bum.
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| Photo | John Vettese |
Perhaps. Or perhaps the dude who screams about geriatric fuck fests in "Thieves" is feeling a bit geriatric himself, and needs to just stop. Whichever the case, it left us fucking shit up to classics like "So What," "Just One Fix" and "N.W.O." (which was nicely balanced by the more recent "No W", the best of the new numbers) like as if it wasn't going to happen again.
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
I'm as skeptical as the next metal fan, but after hearing Al Jourgenson's withering voice and reliance on guest vocalist Burton Bell for the most ferocious songs in the set (Just One Fix, Thieves), I have to believe that the last angry man really is retiring.
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| Ballantine, 161 pp., March 25 |
OK, the writing in Bruce Williams' celebrity tell-all Rollin' with Dre is laugh-out-loud awful. The chronology is a mess. But on every page, you never know, there might be some cool detail to keep you reading.
Overall, there's a decent payoff. You get some pretty good dirt on Andre Young, aka Dr. Dre, founding member of pioneering gangster rap group N.W.A., as he becomes a legendary hip-hop producer and brings up superstars Snoop Dogg, Eminem and 50 Cent.
Williams' story goes from his days in the Army to the years he literally held the keys to Dre's West Coast rap kingdom. As Dre's friend and manager, Williams shows how tiring it was to keep his boss focused on the music. Tiring because their one-time business partner, the infamous Suge Knight, does everything he can to crush their spirits through alleged bad deals and violence. As Williams tells it, even Dre had trouble getting his cut of the insane profits generated as record sales and media attention made hip-hop a cultural force.
Along the way, Williams hangs out with more than 15 years' worth of major rap talent, from The D.O.C. to The Game. There are countless women, some bit movie parts, rap beefs and finally, marriage for them both. You'd think all this would be fun to read about. But there's no energy to it - just one-liners and anecdotes stuck together under chapter titles. Also, Williams can't get over how all his hard work for Dre stifled his own acting dreams.
By the time it was over, I was tired, too. And this is a short book. After the endless parties and beatdowns, and painfully rendered attempts to explain just how street knowledge spawned a worldwide industry (an important question), you kind of wish you could just sit back, cue up The Chronic, and let the music speak for itself.
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| photo | aly semigran |
| Storyteller Michael McCarry on groin injuries and practical jokes gone awry. |
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| photo | aly semigran |
| Mount Airy resident Katonya Moseley proves that awkward silences aren't always a laughing matter. |
The awkward pause has made quite a comeback over the past few years. Ricky Gervais set the gold standard for uncomfortable silence with "The Office" and "Extras," but some of our fellow Philadelphians have had equally squirm-worthy moments.
Now celebrating its second year, First Person Arts' Story Slams allows regular folks to share various stories (the theme changes every month). The storytellers have five minutes to tell their tale and are graded on theme and performance value.
This being my first Story Slam, I decided to sit on the sidelines (a move I later regretted, as I have some truly horrific awkward encounters under my belt) and listen to what painful moments others have endured.
The evening featured some profoundly good storytellers (it was a mix of First Person veterans and newcomers) with tales of unfortunate last names, mistaken sexual identities, inappropriate first-date requests and drug trips gone terribly awry.
My personal favorites came from Michael McCarry, whose story of a groin injury and a cruel prank was so sharply funny you'd think he was a pro, and Katonya Moseley (both pictured) from Mount Airy, who stopped the crowd dead in their tracks with a painfully truthful tale of racial divide.
The most telling thing about the whole evening, though, was the camaraderie among Slammers and listeners. The space is far too small to host all the people who show up, but it feels just right. Nothing awkward about it at all.
—Aly Semigran
Can't stop the rock
Ok, so I like to think of myself as a pretty dexterous person. I was pretty good when I played baseball, and I'm way into rock climbing, which required subtle hand work. When it's come to the guitar, I just have never been able to make it work. I actually own a stratocaster knock off, but it's been collecting dust for years in the corner of my apartment. Whenever I've tried to play, it really just winds up looking like I'm strangling an ostrich.
That said, I've shied away from the Guitar Hero franchise. I love music, but I've been terrified of looking like an ass in front of friends. So, high on the Flyers putting away the Capitals tonight (I hope Ovechkin knows the rules of golf! So long, caveman-looking jerk!) I retreated to my office to try my hand at Super Crazy Guitar Maniac Deluxe Three. After faring well after one song, I realized I am awful at anything music related, save for listening to it.
Much like Guitar Hero, you mash buttons corresponding to notes as they reach a certain point on screen. You get points for doing so and bonuses for linking a bunch in a row. I was never able to get past the "cool" level, so I can't tell you what comes next, sadly. One of the neat things about the game is that it features original music and links you to the band's site. It's not my type of music, kinda new metal-ish, but I suppose that's what's needed for rockin'.
Check it out here.
Hey. The levels after "cool" are i think "Crazy" and "Maniac"
I havn't played it in awhile so im not quite sure.
but it is a awesome game. =]
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| Viking, 242 pp., April 11, 2008 |
Keith Gessen’s debut novel, All the Sad, Young, Literary Men, is a 242-page look at three guys from the current generation of self-obsessed intellectuals. They are (together, not all) Jewish, Harvard graduates, one’s married, the other two aren’t, and they’re in and out of grad school and New York City pursuing sex and publication as they stumble into their 30s and — gasp! — delayed adulthood.
Gessen co-founded highbrow lit mag n+1, but he keeps things light here. Yes, his characters obsess over Hegel, Israel and their own places in history, but hey, check out the funny photos in chapter one. The writing is compressed and breezy, with the dry, self-effacing humor you’d expect from a book named after F. Scott Fitzgerald's short story collection All the Sad Young Men.
Likewise, this novel has sections, one per character. The result is a little awkward. We see Keith (the author, thinly veiled), Sam and Mark grumbling, blogging and half-loving various women, including former students. Their experiences blur together. The conflicts are 99 percent mental, and this gets boring. Strangely, the three guys never meet.
The central joke is that even Ivy League grads surf online porn, prefer younger women, fret about sex, don’t like office jobs, and know that law school isn’t a bad option. It takes Gessen 200 pages to get to a so-so punchline, when the guys begin to change.
The standout chapters are “Isaac Babel” (Keith sees a mentor — and one possible future — crumble in a well-written scene) and “Jenin” (Sam’s visit to Israel and Palestine dissolves his grad school pretensions). Mark’s future is a mystery, though on the eve of defending his thesis in Russian history, he discovers, “Ultimately these historical parallels were of limited use in figuring out your personal life.” The joke being, well, duh.
Gessen gets points for making fun of himself. Hey, intellectuals act like idiots, too! Sad? Yes. Funny? Sort of.
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Eff it - I don't care if he's one of my friends, Imma say it...Reef the Lost Cauze is one of the best MC's to come out of the city in the last 10 years. Hell, as I sit and write this, I'm not really sure I can think of 5 MC's that I've been exposed to that can be put in that category. Read the last part of that sentence again before getting hype...I said "that I've been exposed to."
This week, 215hiphop.com's (who just won best website at the 2008 Philadelphia Hip-Hop Awards) MP3 feature of the week helps solidify my opinion. Produced by Haj (of Dumhi), Reef rhymes it out on "Squeeze". The track is off of his upcoming project, Long Live the Cauze, Volume II: I Am Legend mixtape, which will be released this Friday at the Money Folders Party.
I don't like doing album and single reviews - - especially of people I know, but this is a REVIEW blog, so I'll keep it simple...this song is dope, dope, dope. The lyrics, the vibe, the beat, everything. From the beginning to end, "Squeeze" is fully blasted and perfectly crafted...yes yes! Go listen for yourself, and no matter what you think - I know I'm right (slight sarcasm, mainly truth)! 215hiphop.com tends to change the MP3 often, so don't miss the boat.
"This is therapeutic/this is cherished music/yet animalistic" - Reef the Lost Cauze, "Squeeze"
Respect!
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| Photo | John Vettese |
One knotty-haired, shirtless, sweaty Israeli dude belting out a hymn-like Hebrew melody to an awestruck crowd at 1 a.m. Another held aloft by a crowd while still playing his drum kit, also held aloft, his buddy dangling upside down from the rafters and nearly clocking him in the head. Band and crowd seemed to enjoy fucking with said drummer. He managed a continuous attack with his sticks, even as the floor tom and hi-hat ascended basement steps, as they were shifted from one end of basement to another, even as aforementoned knotty-haired shirtless sweaty Israeli dumped a recycling container over his head and poured beer on his snare so the stick would smack the snare and the beer would mist up in both their faces. I think it was Sapporo. Singer dude also tossed toilet paper around the room like a streamer, tied it to his leg, rolled it around the floor, doused it in lighter fluid, struck a match. Guitarist got off easy with his hypercomplex bass heavy Kyuss riffs. But I guess when you've got to follow up a band like Dark Meat, and you're only three guys, this level of insane is necessary.
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
The room is wide and deep, a good thing for Dark Meat, since they've got frickin what like 20 people in the band. No exaggeration. The horn trio, the numerous percussionists, keyboards and trinkets, violins and bugles, guitar-bass-vox whatnots. The sound is big, its deafening, an audio conundrum of riffs and growls and the swish of flailing long hair cutting through stagnant basement air. Its like the Mummers if they weren't a parade. It's like Man Man if they were more southern gothic and less Jim Henson. There's a chilling soprano at the other end of the room and I run across through the confetti rain. There's a tambourine gets kicked across the non-stage, rattling, chattering. There's bits of ceiling debris falling down on the keyboard. There's a plea for merch purchase "cause we're pretty fuckin broke." I'll bet; touring north from Athens, Ga. with this kind of epic lineup to play an $8 basement show doesn't seems the most fiscally sound move. But they're such a tremendous troupe, I hope they made out well enough so as not to be deterred from future visits this side of the Mason-Dixon.
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
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| Photo | John Vettese |
Psych-rockers Dead Meadow assaulted Johnny Brenda's last night with their Orange-powered fuzz army. Pictures Ensue:
To read more on Dead Meadow and their new album Old Growth(Matador), check out their Pick in this week's issue.
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| photo: Nate Adams |
Illinois were their usual jovial selves. Opening their set with “Oh Asia” from their Revenge of Some Kid EP, the five dudes cruised through a set heavy with old favorites like “Old Saloon,” “Nosebleed,” and “Screendoor.” Lead singer/keyboard player/banjo plucker Chris Archibald was as animated as ever, jumping from keys to strings, playing drums on his beer bottle and grinding up on visibly uncomfortable bass player Martin Hoeger.
The band played a song from their upcoming July release The Return of Kid Catastrophe, a droning number much darker than their usual fare. Can’t help but wonder what that album is going to sound like.
As Nada Surf took the stage, looking old and, in the case of their bass player, terrifying, I decided I’d give them three songs to impress me, or I was out of there. They played two before launching into “Whose Authority,” my favorite track off their ’08 release Lucky. I figured that earned the band at least three more shots.
> Two songs later, while playing “Inside of Love” from Let Go, the band led the crowd in what they described as a “’50s style Motown dance.” I figured that earned them another three songs. Before I knew it, I was having a good time.
It was hard not to like this indie-pop band best known for their one mid-’90s Weezer-esque hit “Popular.” Lead singer and guitarist Matthew Caws has got to be one of the most charming dudes in pop music. His quick tongue, polite demeanor and festive attitude won me over in a matter of minutes. He and the band played a long set, consisting heavily of later, peppier stuff from Lucky and This Weight is a Gift.
It wasn’t until the encore that Nada Surf really brought the house down. Opening with “Blizzard of ’77,” the band fired into older, more rocking classics from their angry ’90s days, most notably the awesome “Hyperspace.”
I left the show with a whole heap of CDs to buy. Best of all, they never played “Popular.” Rock on, Nada Surf.
I'm wondering how I can contact the author of this article, Nate Adams, directly. Please forward him my email address. I'm interested in discussing an article, where he had mentioned a band Saudi Arabia from West Philadelphia. Thank you, Desiree
This Nada Surf take the stage,and looking too old and, in that case of their bass players, terrifying, that they decided to give them three songs to impress me,or as I was out of there. Then they played two before launching into Whose Authority, my favorite track off their 08 release Luckily. I figured that have earned the band at least three more shots for them. ============================================================================ smith Illinois Drug Addiction
Nada Surf rocked through an amazing set that included two new songs, Whose Authority and I Like What You Say which can be found here as part of a live acoustic show. The new material sounds great; Certainly they fit well with the Nada Surf library of music.Nada Surf really brought the fire to this show. Maybe it was because this was the last date of this tour, or maybe because of the great crowd, but they played at a whole new level. Every transition was sharp. Matthews voice sounded better then I've ever heard. They were clearly having a good time on stage. ----------------------------- jennifer Illinois Alcohol Addiction Treatment
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