Blues rock is similar to German porn, in that you either like it or you don’t. I have always had a soft spot for both, but we’ll only talk about my love of blues rock in this review.
I grew up with Lynyrd Skynyrd and The Allman Brothers, and have gone through many listening phases in the course of my existence. And when I hear this stuff, it just makes me smile. These guys have been doing their thing for over 30 years, and never cease to amaze me.

I like a movie I can chew on. When I find one, I gnaw on it like delicious beef jerky. Unfortunately, just like with delicious beef jerky, "intelligent" movies often leave you with that one gristly plot kernel that will just not properly dissolve. Usually, it’s an unanswered question like, "How were all those old people planning to live in John Malkovich together?" or "What the fuck did Bill Murray say to that one chick at the end of Lost In Translation?" Typically, I’m a big defender of the mind-fuck. "Gives you something to ponder," I say.

Okay, you know what? I’m sick of all of these bands doing this goddamn retro late-Seventies/early-Eighties thing now.
"Oh, look at us! We’re wearing tight, faded t-shirts that we paid American Eagle $40 for, and we all need haircuts! We play raw Seventies rock and/or synthesized Eighties pop! Aren’t we cool?"
No. You’re not. Buy a shirt that fits, and get a fucking haircut.

SARASOTA, FL - Last week the Florida Department of Elders' Affairs (FDEA) made a decision to move the population of elderly Americans to the state of Alaska from Florida.
The issue arose in late Spring of 2003 when 342 couples were refused residency in Florida due to lack of space. The decision was made official when it was realized that the percentage of Florida's land taken up by the elderly's buried bodies was higher than the space available for them to live.

A WISE MAN ONCE SAID, "AIN’T NO PARTY LIKE A WEST COAST PARTY." I BELIEVE IT WAS DRE... MAYBE SNOOP. NO MATTER. THE AGGROLITES WON’T ARGUE. IN FACT, ALL THEY’LL DO IS BACK IT UP, 200%. OUR VERY OWN VINNIE BAGGADONUTS TALKED WITH BASSIST J. BONNER ABOUT THE TIMELESS SOUND THEY POSSESS, THE MUSICAL LEGENDS THEY’VE BACKED, AND WHAT’S NEXT IN THIS, THE YEAR OF THE AGGROLITES.
Vinnie: I know you guys culminated from a bunch of different bands, so, if you could, give me a quick "How it all began."

A Deerhoof album is sort of like having a retarded Giga Pet on crack over for dinner. It comes out of left field and, in no time, has you laughing, screaming, shaking your ass, and looking around wondering, "What the fuck?" And Milk Man, the newest LP from this unhinged quartet, is no exception to the rule. The cover alone-- a white figure with fruit stabbed into different parts of its body-- is a total indicator of the Wonka-esque ride this album proves to be.

Unbelievably attractive female + great bass player + ungodly sexy voice + strong songwriting ability + 12 songs full of sexual innuendos + really good backup band = Auf Der Maur
WARNING: This album is not recommended for the sexually frustrated. Take my word for it.

This hot summer night glides soundlessly toward the dawn, like the moonlit reflection of some great mythical bird over a silvery pond. Essentially, that’s all life is; no one will remember you beyond the moment when the bird disappears from view. The record of your time spent here will dissolve up into its wings with a ruffled whisper in order to create room for the next versions of yourself, already born or awaiting favorable circumstances.

I was jolted from slumber by the angry klaxon of my alarm clock.