By Danny R. Phillips
Prior to August 4th, it had been eleven years since I had last joined the tattooed masses as an attendee of The Vans’ Warped Tour. I was younger then in both body and mind. Standing on the boiling pavement this year watching the crowd pass me like a pierced, dyed, rainbow bedazzled tsunami, I saw two distinct classes, scratch that, generations, go by.
One was an older, punk-appreciating culture with fading tattoos and greying hair that grew up on Bad Religion, The Descendents, Fugazi, Bad Brains, The Zero Boys, and the Circle Jerks (I, obviously fall into group A) and the other was the day glo “skittle core kids” who worship The Devil Wears Prada and Attack! Attack! like they were the Dead Milkmen or The Ramones.
Dragging myself between five stages and countless bands, it dawned on me (and my trusty photographer) that at 15, the Vans’ Warped Tour was experiencing a midlife crisis of sorts and was, in fact, no longer the festival of years gone by. It is clear that I am a dinosaur stuck in a tar pit named Hot Topic. Like Danny Glover in the Lethal Weapon flicks, “I am too old for this shit!”
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By Less Lee Moore
Maybe he’s grown up a bit since the days when the Memphis music scene dubbed him “Little Lord Punkleroy,” but thankfully, Jay Reatard hasn’t become boring.
In a recent article on the Matador Records blog, he noted:
“A lot of bands these days, they approach the making of an album like it’s collecting songs, they don’t think about how all of the songs are going to work together. They sequence their albums on iTunes, wondering what songs sound best next to each other rather than putting them together as they were written. That’s not an album.”

If these songs were written in the order they appear on the album, then Watch Me Fall is a great achievement for Jay Reatard. If you listen closely enough, you can actually hear the sound of an artist evolving.
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Interviewed by Megashaun
I first heard of The Darkest of the Hillside Thickets at last year’s Penny Arcade Expo. The band was there and had a booth set up because they were playing at one of the concerts during the convention. Around this time, their song, “Shhh…” was introduced as downloadable content for the video game Rock Band. Although initially drawn to them by the visual aesthetic of their album designs and the scruffy yet handsome appearance of the band’s members, I was pleased to find out upon listening to their album Cthulhu Strikes Back that the band has a great deal of musical talent and that their music has a lot more going for it than catchy hooks and bellowing vocals.
When I later listened to The Shadow Out of Tim, I was even more impressed. The album’s dark undertones are a perfect complement to its catchy, even poppy, foundation. It’s also just a little bit scary, but more importantly it kicks a lot of ass.
The Darkest of the Hillside Thickets are known for their energetic live shows. While I’ve sadly never had the opportunity to see them play live, I can tell just from looking at photos that the shows must be a great deal of fun. That, and Toren Atkinson, lead singer of the band, tells a good story about the origins of their live shtick.

Photo from thickets.net
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By Christian Lipski
SPOILER ALERT: I saw the movie, and am going to refer to specific things that happen in it. If you are looking for an article that will let you know if you should go see this film, here it is:
Yes. Go see it.
The rest of this article will be about my impressions of the movie and its major topics.
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By Christian Lipski
“You can’t run away from your legs, because that’s what you’re trying to run away from them with!”
—unknown SubGenius
In “Waste Of Time And Money,” the second track on the new Electric Six album KILL, Dick Valentine sings: Take this back to where we started. It’s not possible to avoid your origins forever; eventually you’re going to have to accept that your beginnings are part of what makes you unique, and embrace them. Or in Electric Six’s case, you just plug them in and dance along with them.
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By Ann Clarke
Now That’s Class, Cleveland OH
March 14, 2009

Photo © 2009 Julie Finley
Wanna hear something sad? I’ve only been to one concert this year! I love going to concerts, too. I’m usually hired to shoot the live shots for a plethora of them, but every show that has taken a dump through Cleveland has been absolute shit. So shitty, in fact, that I haven’t been motivated to let the shutters go wild. I hate shitty concerts, and that’s all we’ve had in Cleveland since last summer. . . all but the one show I did attend.
That show? Was motherfunkin’ Blowfly! How awesome is that?
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By Ann Clarke
Just when I didn’t think young musicians had anything left to offer (because they’re all either fake and talentless or just fashion plate hipsturds), along comes Patrick Wolf. Granted he is fashionable, and has done some modeling for Burberry, but he is quite alluring, and it’s nice work if you can get it! (It definitely helps finance some lucrative projects.) I had first heard Patrick by accident when stumbling upon the video for “The Magic Position,” and was immediately totally addicted. I rarely ever seek out a new artist, but there are times when something grabs you by throat and won’t let go until you give in, and with “The Magic Position,” such was the case.
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By Ann Clarke
I’m rather surprised Jarvis Cocker has already released another album since his self-titled one really wasn’t out that long ago. He must be on a creative spurt lately, since he’s been all over like the place like horseshit during a parade! Check out his five-day stint at a Parisian art gallery. He and his band exhibited themselves playing music under many different guises.
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By Lisa Anderson
A network TV season has ended, and as usual, the battlefield is littered. Some shows have been renewed, some have been axed, and some have found homes on other networks. One survivor among new shows was Parks and Recreation, a sitcom co-produced by and starring Saturday Night Live alum Amy Poehler.
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I haven’t bought a new Cheap Trick album since their 1997 self-titled release on the then soon-to-be-defunct Red Ant label. Now that I’ve copped to this embarrassing admission, the next one should be easier. I hate writing record reviews. That old chestnut comparing the ridiculousness of music writing to “dancing about architecture” worms its way into my brain and I start to panic. Panic turns to dread as deadlines quickly approach.
Look, it’s not that I don’t love the latest release from Cheap Trick (cleverly titled The Latest), it’s that I don’t know if I can properly convey how much I love it, or perhaps more succinctly, I don’t know if I can convince you to love it as much as I do.
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