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Announcement and First Review

October 12, 2009 Leave a comment

Dear valued readers: We’re starting to notice some dedicated traffic here. We’re sort of bewildered as to why you care about our opinions, but hey, who are we to complain about site traffic? So here’s the deal: We’re looking at ways to diversify our topics. One proposed idea has been the inclusion of some creative writing. In addition, I’m (Ironspork) going to be reviewing one CD a week for this blag. The reviews will be something that I hope is an accessible genre, and something that my user base may be able to enjoy. An example review would be the following.

Album art for the Plushgun album Pins & Panzers

Album art for the Plushgun album Pins & Panzers

Plushgun seems to be a new emergence to a wonderful genre; that of Electro-Pop. It’s a fairly soft genre, with sometimes powerful emotions countered by fluffy and enjoyable songs. A comparable band for them would be Postal Service, or Owl City (sans auto-tuning). Their first studio album, Pins & Panzers is a powerful first album, enough that I can see this band going fairly far.

Their sound can be described as a deeply thought out and well constructed melody, backed by synthesizer and wonderfully executed rhythm. Their powerful vocals seem to be ones that can be related to by the masses, and this aids their music greatly.

The album opener, “Dancing in a Minefield” brings a powerful melody into union with a beautifully executed piano line. The two blend incredibly well, and the song is a definite must hear. The band’s songs are fairly catchy, with enough diversity to keep the album interesting the entire play through. I’ve had this album in a playlist that’s been shuffling for at least half of the last two weeks, and I haven’t gotten sick of their songs yet. The vocals are performed excellently, with enough genuine emotion to capture the listener’s attention.

Overall, Pins & Panzer’s rates an 8 out of 10 on the Spork Scale, and is definitely recommended as a must-listen.

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Two Songs

July 5, 2009 Leave a comment

I hate to sound like an old fogey at eighteen tender years of age, but I really miss the seventies.

I miss the long hot summers. I miss the protests. I miss the impassioned young people screaming about justice. I miss the wicked guitar solos.

In 1970, Neil Young produced a song called ‘Souther Man’. This song pertained to the attitude towards and treatment of blacks in the south, at this time still prevalent, despite widespread controversy. This is a song that bespoke the rage and despair felt by those who were aware of and in opposition to the situation in the south;

Lily Belle,
your hair is golden brown
I’ve seen your black man
comin’ round
Swear by God
I’m gonna cut him down!
I heard screamin’
and bullwhips cracking
How long? How long?

Four years later, Lynyrd Skynyrd (notoriously proud southern boys) released a song you might have heard of as a response. It was called ‘Sweet Home Alabama’;

Well I heard mister Young sing about her
Well, I heard ole Neil put her down
Well, I hope Neil Young will remember
A Southern man don’t need him around anyhow

Rock stars used to have balls. Or ovaries, respectively. And they used to write about interesting things, such as, oh I don’t know, opression, and corruption in the government, and stopping unjust wars. They also wrote about girls and getting high, but at least many of them did so with finesse.  Remember Jimmy Hendrix? He wrote about girls AND being high at the same time. And he died of a heroin overdose. But he did so while chewing through wicked solos and lighting his guitar on fire. Which, as far as I know, isn’t really an artistic statement of any kind, but by God it’s still awesome. ‘Rock Stars’ these days are pre-packaged and over-polished twelve-year-old boys who think that owning a nifty pair of converse implicates musical talent.  Their music is overproduced and bland, and the worst part is that if it’s in the ‘indie’ section of the record store, fashion-crazed hipsters claiming to be individualistic and bohemian will clamor to get their hemp-bracelet and nail polish encrusted paws on it.

Yeah. I miss the days when rock stars actually fucking rocked. Remember that? Neither do I.

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