The Contrarian

The Most Revolutionary Piece Of Music Production Software Ever.

If your a musician or producer, you must watch this video all the way through. Hell, even non-musicians should check it out:

I'm totally getting this the second it becomes available. I''ll never have to play but a single chord again. (I'll still do my rippin' leads the old fashioned way).

Hate The Innacuracies on Wikipedia?

Then you definitely won't want to check out Uncyclopedia — your wiki source for misleading and possibly libelous information.

How the hell did I miss this?

Marketing Turd Heads = Hilarious Web Comic.

Our web-buddies at Mysterious Glow/Texas Tarot posted links to some awesome cartoons about self-important advertising jagoffs.

Have a look. See anyone you know?

And before you get on my case for picking on those poor lil' creative wunderkinds, understand that I am totally jealous.

Old Friends, Hot Band.

Went to see Carrigan last night at DC9 — they're in the middle of a 15-date tour that will slingshot them out to Ohio and back.

Although I've been friends with these two guys for a long time, I have a complicated relationship with their music, which has occasionally struck me as a facsimile of other admittedly awesome acts.

Guess that's all in the past, 'cause this performance was fresh and original.

For a two piece, Carrigan sure conjure a lot of sound. Front-fella Zach Martin often moves from guitar to keyboard to mini trap kit to effects pedals to laptop several times within a single song. He's actually trimmed down his arsenal considerably — In the old days, he'd even play xylophone, a la Tortoise.

Throughout their seven-year history, Carrigan has struggled to find their true sound. In the past, they aped Kid A-era Radiohead, making extensive use of moody guitars and atmospherics. This comparison was only furthered by Martin's warbly, Thom Yorke-esque tenor. At least they never sounded like Muse, Thank Fucking Christ.

I'm happy to report that Martin is finally coming into his own as a singer, with emotive phrasing that can produce goosebumps. 

Carrigan's arrangements are likewise evolving; compelling detours and sonic flourishes make you forget that most of the songs are built on two-chord progressions. Dynamics really go a long way.

Drummer Ken Johnson's propulsive rhythms keep things moving. Without him, it might sound like a dude dicking around with a buncha cool gear. As a timekeeper, Johnson is rock-solid, and may someday end up giving Battles/Tomahawk percussionist John Stanier a run for his money. I just hope they mix up the beats a bit more on their next record, 'cause the krautrock-meets-John Bonham thing is getting a little stale. I mean, it is almost 2008.

I love that Carrigan's excellent Young Men Never Die has developed a life beyond the disc. The original versions, while terrific, are the result of a good deal of studio fuckery. Onstage, the band relies on chemistry and sheer musicality to put the songs across, with much success.

One thing I noticed is that Carrigan has no trouble winning over new audiences. I must've overheard a half-dozen conversations in which awe and/or admiration was expressed.

It was fantastic seeing these guys really nail it, and I'm sure they'll only continue to do so.

For a taste, visit Carrigan's MySpace page.

You can purchase their latest record on eMusic and iTunes; the latter also carries their self-titled debut EP.

This is an article I wrote about them a while ago.

And some less-than stellar pics from last night's show, taken by yours truly:

It's Sunday. Go see a movie.

I suggest Superbad. It's the funniest flick I've caught all year, and, like all Apatow Productions, it's also oddly sweet. Even those of you who don't prefer jokes about genitals must concede this is a high school comedy for the ages — right up there with the esteemed Fast Times at Ridgemont High.

Ignore the trailer, which makes the movie look like a slightly naughty Nickelodeon program. The best bits can't be shown in the ads; there's way too much tah-tahs 'n' va-jay-jay talk.

Fresh-faced Michael Cera, from the excruciatingly self-aware and occasionally funny "Arrested Development," is a nascent comedic genius. And Jonah Hill is perfect as a chunky, porn-obsessed dweeb.

Co-writer and cameo king Seth Rogen is, well, Rogenesque. And SNL alumni Bill Hader, who plays his cop sidekick, reminds me of our own James P. Caldwell but with a gun and a badge.

McLovin/Fogel (Chrstopher Mintz-Plasse) ranks right up there with Long Duck Dong as one of the best side characters in TeenCom history.

So just go.

Medium sized news and a major two-front blog update on the 'morrow.

A Real Kick in the Crotch. For (Im)Mature Readers Only.

Back when I was still an angry young man (read full account here), I maintained an up-to-the-minute Balls Kicking List.

What's that, you may ask? Well, it's just what it sounds like: a complilation of individuals who had crossed the line from merely annoying to potentially detrimental to society, and from whom retribution was due. Curiously, they were all musicians, which shows you where my head was at.

And the grand tradition continues: Chunklet wants you to share your own BKL with the rest of the world. You're not restricted to pop artists, so feel free to get creative. All aboard the nut-knocking train!

For me, acts of fantasy sac-vengeance no longer have the same appeal as they once did. But my inventory circa '92-93 is pretty telling:

Dave Pirner and Soul Asylum

Anthony Kiedis

Scott Weiland

The wee lads kids of Silverchair

Madonna (Don't tell me she doesn't have testes).

Lenny Kravitz

Candlebox

Natalie Merchant

Bush (The band, not the president[s]. Although they're all fair game, really).

Blind Melon

The Flaming Lips

Hanson (Of course, it's debatable whether or not their balls had even dropped by this point).

Ugly Kid Joe

NYC Hardcore

Popular House Music

The Crow Soundtrack (Line the guilty parties up against the wall of a fog-shrouded urban alley at midnight).

It's interesting for me to consider which of these offenders still deserve a good marbles-mauling and which would be absolved due to irrelevance.

Were I to make a list right now, I'd likely target my toes on the bollocks of piano-plunking momthrobs and mascaraed "emo" acts. Oh, and Dane Cook. But that goes without saying.

As promised.

Here's The Contrarian's cover of Barbados-born pop hottie Rihanna's unstoppable summer jam, "Umbrella." Couldn't get Jay-Z on this version, but it was still fun to record. I resolved to take only a single day to track, mix and master, hence the lame-ass drum programming. There are a few other flubs as well, but with an undertaking this silly, who cares?  I only did it to get the damn song out of my head. Didn't work.

The Contrarian — "Umbrella" MP3

Ever forward.

We've decided to christen our chinchilla Zbigniew — Zbig, for short. What's that? Why yes, he is named after famed geopolitical realist/ex-National Security Advisor/semi-hawk statesman Zbigniew Brzezinski.

Here's some pictures of him sleeping in his pimp cage. I'll take some action shots later, when he wakes up.

 

Guess what I've got?

After four and a-half hours with my ass stuck to the concrete of an uncomfortable DC sidewalk, I now have... obligatory drumroll, please...  an iPhone!

This post will be short, 'cause I just gotta keep playing with it. So far, it's plain amazing.

I had fun in line with my fellow humans. One guy a couple of spots ahead of me was an Army Captain in full camo and sporting rank. When a couple of bystanders ridiculed us for waiting around to pay $600 for "a phone," he told them that since being shot and nearly killed in Iraq, he decided that life was too short not to buy the shit he wanted.

Amen, brother.

More later...

Frere-Jones and Caldwell: BFF.

Intrepid Contrarian contributor and Big Apple-dweller James Caldwell has big-time balls. He recently decided to cut to the chase re: Sasha Frere-Jones' online beg-a-thon to repair a faulty hard drive. The following is their e-mail exchange in its entirety.

James writes:

Sasha -

Look, you're probably a very nice guy. And you're a public target and
I'm not, so, granted, I've got protection and don't have to endure
strangers emailing me. But I've got to say, asking people for money
for your hard drive is shitty. Money? Actual money? I'm not trying to
be a dick, but man, think about that...Unless you were kidding, in
which case it was fucking funny.

Here's Sahsa's reply:

Well, today's post is pretty much a full admission--in the guise of
light comedy--that it was a truly dumbass idea. Having learned my
lesson, I now intend to save my dumber moments for private, intimate gatherings. Like, when I'm asleep.

Yours,

Sasha

Let it never be said we can't get to the bottom of Important Issues.

In other news, you can pick Hillary Clinton's campaign song. I suggest you post your suggestions in the comments, and James will forward them to Ms. C. 'Cause they're still pretty tight, even after the whole Vincent Foster affair. I mean, um, nothing.