Strange Rumblings from Central City East

Gotta say it: Vampire Weekend is the best band ever to blow their trust fund at Guitar Center. They've got it all. Pretty boy preppy attire? Check. Noodling guitar work a 12 year old could ape? Check. Pretentious songs and lyrics about jerking off to the Oxford English dictionary? Check. If you like this band, you probably eat at Ruth Chris every day and and enjoy hitting the homeless people outside of Food 4 Less with your rolled up bank statements.

At first I went to one of their shows by accident. I was fucked up and thought I was going to see that gay vampire movie "Midnight" or whatever. The plan was to take a few rails of Extenze, put my John Thomas into a hole in the bottom of a popcorn tub, and offer nubile single mothers a sloppy handful of imitation butter substitute and wang. Instead I seemed to have stumbled into the musical equivalent of a middle school talent show without the perk of being surrounded by underaged prepubescent schoolgirls with daddy issues.

They're the only band I've ever seen pull off the Reverse Cash Grab. "What's a reverse cash grab?" you ask. It's selling your parents' house in the hills to go slumming in a Silverlake apartment full of whitebread failed abortions who say shit like "cool beans" so you can try to make it in the world of high-finance, Music Connection-inspired dance pop fuckery. It's making a video featuring the guy from Bubble Boy playing tennis with a Jonas brother and taking pulls from what looks like a bottle of maple syrup. It's about pointless references to a culture you probably know nothing about (i.e. Japanese culture) and making a 5 minute long video that is a glorified ad for American Apparel. Of course, this video is supposed to be making fun of those things. You know, IRONICALLY. But is it? Or is it just the wet dream of the indie hipster who does everything ironically, so that he's now incapable of saying anything anymore except "I make shitty music?"



So Bruce Springsteen won a court case against Ticketmaster. I guess his fans were tricked into buying tickets to his concert when they really wanted to stay home and not hear some dried up old fuck trying to look cool in skinny jeans and play "Born in the USA" again for the millionth fucking time. But at least he won that case, so I guess that's the end of Ticketmaster then...oh wait, that's right. They still own everything. So I guess from now on Bruce is going to have to play all his shows in non-Ticketmaster venues, which means he'll be playing the Cahuenga Chili Cook-off and Craft Fair for the next 6 months on his "Going Fucking Nowhere" tour. Looks like you're going to be trying to sell your own tickets at the door, Bruce. What's it like being on the same level as a member of Shiloe?

Listen fuckos, there is no greater evidence of the Illuminati than the continued media coverage of that dead-eyed wasp woman St. Vincent and her songs about her fucking cats. Only a powerful secret organization with an agenda to bring down all of our standards with brainless wannabe folk music could explain how this she could end up being in nearly every goddamned magazine when no one really gives a shit about her sub-Lilith Fair tampon party bullshit. If I want to see pictures of someone who is pasty, effeminate, and has the body of a heroin addict I would open up the Wikipedia entry for Pete Doherty. At least he knows where to get the best Speedballs and Thai prostate massages.