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Archive: June, 2008
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| skull tat: owc |
Shock and Ew
Estimated cost of laser tattoo removal for each skin-canvas catastrophe seems to be the only thing missing from the eyesore-fest that is No Regrets: The Best, Worst & Most #$%*ing Ridiculous Tattoos Ever. The book's creators, Aviva Yael and P.M. Chen, scoured tattoo parlors and stalked their patrons for the yearlong wild ink chase behind this gem.
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| his inner chatch |
While it's mostly a picture book, the captions layer more comedy onto the images, sometimes offering personal insight — beneath a tattoo tribute to a video game controller rests the caption: "My ovaries just peed themselves out and flushed themselves down the toilet" — and sometimes stating the obvious: A stomach tattoo of the word "hungry" comes with the caption, "Clearly."
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| r.i.p., o.d.b. :( |
Many of the featured images are celebrity or character likenesses, running the gamut from Chuck Norris to Zach Morris and including a worrisome stalkerish trinity of Gwen Stefani tattoos on a single rabid fan.
Still more are likenesses of a lesser-known celebrity in a near-forgotten role — David Spade as "Joe Dirt" — makes an appearance. If you can't imagine why someone might ink that image across their person in full-color, full-size glory, the book will likely amuse or deter you.
Sometimes the images aren't as wild as their placement: Dr. Phil beams knowingly from an area best viewed under cover of clothing.
The vast majority, after celeb tributes, are videogame tributes, though there are also references to aliens, Christianity and odd sexual fetishes thrown into the mix, sometimes all in one ink job.
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| Weezer self-titled (The Red Album) (Geffen) |
As a devoted fan of a fan of a band hasn’t delivered a truly satisfying album since 1996, I highly anticipated Weezer’s third eponymous-titled and sixth studio album, Weezer (Red Album). Would eccentric frontman Rivers Cuomo execute a return to form?
The answer is no, followed by a snarky scoff.
Aside from the buzzsaw guitar-rocking single “Pork and Beans,” the album ostensibly consists of slower Death Cab-lite tracks that diverge from Weezer’s trademark power pop ballads. There’s the nostalgic “Heart Songs,” where Cuomo opens his 10-track mind to namedrop his favorite childhood artists (from “a Cat named Stevens” to ABBA) in a more forgettable version of the Blue Album’s “In the Garage.”
In a creative decision to play musical chairs with their instruments this time around, Cuomo’s vocals are MIA on several songs, which may distress fans. By the sixth track, Cuomo has vanished from the forefront, replaced by guitarist Brian Bell, and subsequently, bassist Steven Shriner, making the listener suspect they’ve been tricked into buying some band’s record.
Another curious exclusion is the absence of a single guitar solo, a reliable constant in their previous hit anthems.
The best thing one could say about Weezer (Red Album) is the band’s refusal to repeat themselves, which it could be argued the band has attempted unsuccessfully in the past. The Green Album tried to reproduce the good-natured gawkiness of the Blue Album. Maladroit aspired to duplicate the shrill punk-alt edge of Pinkerton. This time, it’s a new color but may be the wrong hue.
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I remember when. I remember when.
I don't have a good pic, but no pic would do it justice. Gnarls Barkley. The crescent moon setting up shop behind the stage. The lights from Patco and Regional Rail darting across the night sky like comets. The first breeze of the hot summer night. Beautiful.
How do you feel about The Odd Couple?
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| Original photo by Jeff Shaw, B Fresh Photography |
I don't know whose fault it is and it really doesn't matter. Yesterday in the basking hot ass sun, we waited for the blastermaster, KRS-ONE to take the stage. He was supposed to be on at 7 p.m. said the Odunde offices that I called a few days ago. 7 came and went. I didn't stress, because it's a hip-hop concert and they always start late. I didn't stress because the sun went down and it wasn't AS hot as the afternoon. I didn't stress because I enjoyed walking around the festival before KRS and connecting with family and friends.
7:55 p.m....nothing.
After an hour of old and new school mixes, some dope poetry by Just Greg and a host that kept throwing bottles of water and juice in the audience (just a suggestion...not a good look when you have a crowd of people hot, sweaty and waiting because if one of those bottles would have hit someone or their child, it would have been your ass), someone came on the mic and started screaming for the hundredth time, "Are y'all ready for the Blastmaster?", "When I say KRS, you say ONE"..blah, blah, blah. After awhile, no one call and responded. The cameras were on stage ready to film, people had their cameras out, the hype music started playing and then it happened.
Dead silence. I'm thinking - What? What? Hell no...what? Did the sound go out? Equipment overheated?
The DJ put his hands up like he didn't know what was going on and swarms of people just starting leaving, including us.
In the distance, we heard some woman get on the mic and say, "This not Odunde's fault", and she seemed sincerely upset. Good try, but at that point - it was too late.
We walked back to the car and got some food. On the way back to the car, we heard someone say that KRS had a previous commitment and that is why he was late getting down here. Who knows?
I don't even know if he came on after we left. Yes, it was free...but still.
Did I mention that it was NBA Finals night and I was with a sports freak?
As we were walking back, we heard a collective of musicians just vibing through percussion instruments and saw people dancing and enjoying themselves....feeding off the spirit and sun of the African culture and of Odunde. So that is what I walked away feeling.
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| Photo l Deesha Dyer |
| Get down girl, go head - get down! |
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| Photo l Deesha Dyer |
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