V into this sudden trend of bands like Queens of the Stone Age and Death From Above 1979 making holiday/winter themed gear. 15 year-old me would pee over this one, though.
St. Vincent announced her new album today and, while I am completely beside myself with excitement about the prospect of new material from Annie Clark, I must admit her promotional image is making February feel so much farther away.
I was drawn to the vibrancy of her first three albums and her lyrical creativity, but her last solo release was the “Krokodil” 7”, which was unrelentingly heavy by comparison. I’ve been essentially wondering if that will carry into her next album for the last year and a half, and this photograph confirms a cool aversion to the floating potpourri of sounds she’s recorded in the past.
I have a feeling that dark crystal, day-goth Annie is gonna throw some serious bows.
Contest: Win Listen Before You Buy’s Top 31 Albums Of 2013!
The site I write/edit for is doing a great year-end contest where you can win a bunch of free vinyl. Check out the contest guidelines and be sure to stop by our Best Of page as we reveal a new album each day in December.
I could have never predicted that, in a year with so many incredible albums, I would mindlessly navigate to Paramore’s self-titled for almost two weeks straight. Maybe I’m just now realizing this, but Paramore aren’t just Warped Tour dropouts, they’re an important rock and fucking roll band. At leats, they are as r-n-r as anyone can be in 2013, much of it stemming from Hayley Williams’ voice; an instrument of equal parts power and angst.
"Fast In My Car" is a reminder that there are so many great albums you still haven’t heard. It’s a reminder to drop any stigma attached to artists and dive into their music headfirst without any expectations, to step outside of your routine every once in a while. But, at the core of it all, "Fast In My Car" is fucking fun.
This new Paramore album is a problem.
Tally of all the unfortunate deaths and injuries that have ruined the holidays for Black Friday shoppers; violent shootings, pepper-spray accidents and shocking tramplings.
Hey, so this is embarrassing and terrible.
ALL I WANT TO DO TODAY IS READ THE HUNGER GAMES AND DRINK SMOOTHIES AND LISTEN TO PARAMORE GAWD
If the extent of your Amy Winehouse knowledge begins and ends with Back To Black, you’re doing yourself a major disservice.
I’ve been listening to Frank, her debut from 2003, which is, like, equal parts Etta James and Eve and completely feral.
Playing it on repeat just reminds me that nobody’s really filled that void since her death; there are no artists like her right now. So far the only half-baked fart of an attempt seems to be Lana Del Rey, who would be chopped up and snorted if the two had ever crossed paths.
I guess my point is that Frank is a perfect album for the unnamed weeks between fall and winter, when it’s cold enough to lose feeling in your ears. Before you’re surrounded by family for one day too long. Amy’s version of “(There Is) No Greater Love” sounds like witnessing early onset holiday frenzy but from a distance.
Amy Winehouse is everything.
In the men’s room at work it’s not uncommon for people using the stalls to be on their phones. In fact, I once went in to wash my hands and heard a guy watching an episode of Top Gear at full volume. No shame. No harm done.
A few moments ago I went in and, in the dense silence only a public restroom can allow, I heard a guy accidentally access Siri. Before he can turn it off, someone farts, and Siri says “Call Steve? Calling Steve.”