Record Reviews by Spike, You Fuck!

....I swear, wait let me wipe off my Sergei's upper lip...Damn you're messy! Anyway, as I was saying, If i have to listen to another hipster fuck wax on about how the Spikester doesn't have his ear to the ground and his dick on the pulse of the youth....I'll have to up my rates and that means no more space coke parties for you and the San Bernardino sword swallower you met off of craigslist. So the fuckos want album reviews....well maybe I'm too busy trying to silence the nightmares - barking dobermans and crying babies - with a bottle of ether and black mamba. Oh but not just any record review..."NO Spike! We don't want record reviews from the vault of a meth-faced piss collector from the year '82." Shit you future doorway dwellers are
demanding, everyone knows that music died in '84...and then was sodomized by the necro twinkfest supergroup Faster Pussycat in '86!




So shit, give the people what they want!




Normal People - Soft Crash Lp (shoulda been a CD-R), S.S. Records, 2010
3/10
Normally I would give a 5 stars or a stepped-on pinched gram for trying...you know for the scag money forfeited while transporting the fill-in drum machine to practice and the coke-fueled nights trying to jam the master real-to-reel into the cd player - but this shit is worse than an ambien footjob. Lo-fi garbage fronted by a vocalist...a vocalist that may or may not be a feral cat with its nuts in a vice and ordered at knife point to scream disinterestedly into the mic or his hog supply will "dry up". 12 useless tracks sure to make your hipster fuck ass proclaim, "This is heavy man, this is heavier than that michoacan or that tied stick". Remember when you were 12 and you turned up the reverb on the amp to 10 in order to hide the series of miscues on your recital of "Jimmy Crack Corn"? Well replace "Jimmy Crack Corn" with 12 bar blues and then stab it with an ice pick right before you drain your meth filled bladder on its rotting corpse. Almost sounds good right....its not. Truth is, this is garbage and drugs can't make this any better.





Julian Cacablancas - Phrazes for the Young, RCA, 2009
6/10
So apparently Julian has stopped the booze and the charlie and my cash flow has dropped off a solid 40% in the 4th quarter of my fiscal year (which started when I dropped your ass outside of the Rainbow Room and celebrated with a rail off of a hookers ass...Lemmy was there, just ask him). Like I said, he's cleaned up and hes off the booze and apparently riding Stephin Merritt's johnson....or DICK in laymens terms. So if you're into bagging 24 year-old psychology post-grads with daddy issues, poor self-image, a fleeting interest in french flicks, and a sanrio collection...buy it and go hog wild! Just make sure to thank ol' Spike. Ludlow St. tries to mainline some David Bowie Low before it gets into a barfight with Garth Brooks and the Disneyland Main St Electrical Parade. I was impressed that he sang an Ode to Glass - tina, go, biker dope, crank, ice, hawaian gardens baby maker, assbump, palm springs meet-n-greet, speed, 8-ball.....oh wait its about a girl...fuck this, no homo. The latter part of the album picks up a bit but nothing really stands out to Spike. I guess this is good enough to earn a residency at the Palace theatre and now I know why. You wouldn't want the crowd to go too crazy with all the antique velvet and god forbid someone needle a draino/mud/darvocet chaser and swing from the chandelier thus earning a lifetime ban from the oh so great Palace...sorry flashback. Hopefully the new Strokes album is better than this....SANS KEYBOARD!





The Ruby Suns - Fight Softly, Sub Pop, 2010
1/10
Lets see, According to the Hipster fuck manual of making a records we have the following: 1. A band name with some celestial object as the focal point, check 2. Ironic Paradoxical album title, check 3.Released on Sup Pop after the year 2001, check. Whoa, fuckos, we have the tri-fecta, sort of like a pegged pant wearin kid from Reseda buying a snort, some percocet, and a go with Sergei for $20...or as I like to say, a great times! So, the ad-wizards at Microsoft think they know how to find good music....they think they can pick any brown-eye teaser off the street and make them famous. Well, the joke is on you because not even slapping on a fake mustache and a "le" at the front of the band moniker can save this pile of dumpster seed. Forgeting that the first track, Sun Lake Rinsed, was ever made we settle in with the caucasiantastic ghetto fabulous intro to Mingus and Pike before it OD's on downers and Tijuana raver drugs. "But Spike, this is pop...this isn't the Pico Rivera thrash stylings of S.M.D....put your feet in the water..everything's fine!" Fuck you! The music could be a soundtrack to a scene titled, The Beach - its a sunny day, the waves are crashing, xanax is peaking, and the malibu trust fund bunnies are biting on your sweet gig and on the way to the rest room she pulls out her johnson and you say to yourself alright, I did a double dose of amyl just in case...and then you notice it is uncircumcised - guaranteed urinary tract infection. Back up the bus, shows over! After crying ol' Spike to sleep inside the shower stall at the Y, Spike has this to say. Ahem, go find a depeche mode album and a crap DJ album at Amoeba, listen to them simultaneously, get bummed, fashion a shank out of the plastic cases and then go have some real fun! Fuck this band!

Ruby Suns shimmy the money maker for Microsoft:


Microsoft: bend over now!

Ruby Suns Manager: Hey, you can't talk to my band like that...they have principals

Ruby Suns: Well wait...how much cash are we talking?

Microsoft: Um, well since we'll just be using roughly 5 seconds of your song, lets just say year long charlie supply?

Ruby Suns: Throw in some Valtrex and we'll sign away our entire back catalog.

Ruby Suns Manager: ......fuck.

Microsoft: EXCELLENT!