Big L – Lifestyles ov da Poor & Dangerous (1995)

Vs.

Black Star – Mos Def & Talib Kweli are Black Star (1998)

The Game is simple… if only one could exist which would it be?  What’s more important… personal relevance, cultural significance, or simply being the better album all other things aside? Choice is yours…

This Saturday we will be celebrating the release of our Fall 2009 collection with a monster of a party and you’re all invited. Bands, Djs, drinking, dancing & of course goodie bags for the attendees. A raucous time will be had by all!

All you need to do is RSVP for admission by clicking this link.

Vice & Colt 45 Present The Mishka Fall 2009 Release Party
Bands: Lemonade & Screen Vinyl Image
DJs: Nick Catchdubs & Lauren Flax
Visuals: The Vidiot

Glasslands
289 Kent Ave
Brooklyn, NY
Doors at 11pm

Arctic Monkeys - Humbug (2009) [Domino] // Grade: C-

I was recently told that the sound of the Arctic Monkeys doesn’t translate to an American audience, that you need to have shared the experience of growing up a bored Northern English youth to fully appreciate the band. Maybe there is some truth in this statement, because hard as I try, after three studio albums, I still don’t get the appeal and frenzy associated with the Arctic Monkeys.

Humbug, the newest from the Brit rockers finds the Sheffield quartet teaming up with Queens of the Stone Age’s Josh Homme for production duties on a slick, but ultimately unfruitful third studio release. The band dials down the rock, favoring a Morrissey-like introspection that feels forced and will bore even the most hardcore Arctic Monkeys fans. The album’s biggest pitfall is its lack of melody, a claim that would not hold true for their previous releases. The allure of the Arctic Monkeys lies in the youthful exuberance present throughout their 2006 debut, Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not. Age and maturity seems to be leading the band in a new direction, but they needn’t give up their spark along the way.

The Arctic Monkeys abandon nearly everything fans are accustomed to with Humbug, but songwriting has always been their strongest suit, and if you can get past the album’s lack of hooks, their lyrics are as potent as ever. “Cornerstone” gleams, a single ray of light radiating from within the otherwise dismal Humbug and the intensely dark, “Pretty Visitors” grinds with rowdy fervor.

Humbug is the followup album no one expected from the Arctic Monkeys. The band shifts gears too drastically to successfully bridge the darker, self-reflective sound of Humbug with their earlier work. If the Arctic Monkeys can find a way to merge the euphoric and the subdued on future releases they will easily create the best work of their career. But until they can strike that balance, their one-sided sound will continue to fall flat.

Episode two and the Season of Change continues. Even though he didn’t get along with him pre-dementia, Don takes a bullet for Betty in episode two, inviting father Gene to stay in the Draper household. I’m sure he doesn’t actually want Gene living there and pouring his beloved booze down the sink during Prohibition flashbacks. But Don wants to change, he wants to be the good, faithful husband. He needs to be more than ever, with Betty’s fuse becoming increasingly shorter. When the Drapers are awakened in the night to Gene stressing “the heat is on” and dumping the booze, Betty sighs and returns upstairs. It looks like Don might be playing nurse to Gene more than Betty.

At Sterling Cooper, Kinsey and Campbell are trying to reel in Madison Square Garden as a client, who are intending to tear down Penn Station. Campbell summons his old blue blood charm for this meeting, which I really like watching. A lot of people hate on Campbell, but I think he’s got more in common with Don than people like to think. He’s damn good at acting when it’s required. Things seem to be going alright until Kinsey opens his fat, pompous mouth and preaches how sacrilegious it would be to tear down Penn – comparing the act to the Romans demolishing their own antiquities. Kinsey, ya blew it. For some reason, he’s not reprimanded for such a brazen outburst towards a potential client. Don and a distracted Roger are sent to lunch with MSG to try and salvage the account, and Don works his magical powers of fantasy as usual:

“I was in California. Everything’s new there, the people are filled with hope. New York is a city in decay. With Madison Square Garden, it’s a city on the hill again.”

Needless to say, it’s persuasive and MSG is won back. But the tides of change come in again and snatch MSG in the form of Pryce, who blows it in his own way; he forgot to check with London, who doesn’t want the MSG account because the turnover won’t be fruitful for a few years. Don bluntly asks him why London bought SC in the first place. Pryce uncertainly replies, “I don’t know.”

We made up for last week’s lack of Peggy time with some impressive plays by SC’s most unassuming tramp. Cosgrove and Peggy are working on the new Patio diet cola account – an actual off-shoot of Pepsi in 1963, until becoming Diet Pepsi in 1964. Peggy doesn’t understand why Pepsi wants to replicate the Ann-Margret’s energetically creepy opening of Bye Bye Birdie. Because it’s awesome, Peggy, you damn prude. Later that night, Peggy does her own rendition of the Birdie song using a comb-mic. Then the next night, she picks up a messy eater in a bar (using Joan’s best zinger – “It’s so crowded in here, I feel like I’m on a subway!”) and goes back to his place for some heavy petting. She leaves, only stating ambiguously that she works on Madison Ave. Will she see this sap again? I hope so. I kinda liked him, even for an adult male who is “still growing” and doesn’t keep condoms in his apartment.

It looks like were’ going to see the mother of all ’60s social changes this season, with Roger’s daughter’s wedding scheduled for the day after JFK’s assassination: November 23, 1963. It’s going to change everything.

Pissed Jeans - King of Jeans (2009) [Sub Pop] // Grade: B+

As much as I enjoyed Pissed Jeans previous albums, there was always this nagging feeling that something was missing… some potential left unfulfilled. It wasn’t until I got through King of Jeans and subsequently played it again and again that it hit what the missing ingredient was.

Pissed Jeans play the role of sloshed Hardcore party monster ridiculously well. Limbs and strings flailing akimbo, they’re chaotic while thanks to Matt Korvette’s lyrics still meaningful. And as instantly intoxicating as their frenetic rush may be, that nagging thing I couldn’t ever put my finger on before is that they had a tendency to wane a little too long into the dissonance. Unnecessarily elongating and unraveling what up until then been meaty and bombastic attacks.

And while that may have been the case on Hope for Men, it isn’t with King of Jeans. Like all good Jedi’s eventually master, Pissed jeans have finally learned control without neutering or caging that monster within we all fell in love with.

Matt Korvette still sounds wasted in the studio, sharp and apathetic as ever in his sneers at life’s minutia. While Brandon Fry leads the band in a much more calculated assault than ever before, the result is a not only a better bridge between the Post-Hardcore of Jesus Lizard and grunge of Mudhoney, but their best album to date.

I got to see the trailer for Law Abiding Citizen (starring Gerard Butler & Jamie Foxx)  for the first time while taking in Inglorious Basterds. Watch the trailer… am I the only person who thinks that this looks so ridiculously over-the-top stupid that it could wind up turning into another Taken? I hope so!

Black Meteoric Star – S/T (2009) [DFA] // Grade: B

If you’re little more than a casual fan of house music, someone who appreciates it but doesn’t necessarily listen to a lot of it at home, you’re probably better off skipping Gavin Russom’s acid house solo project altogether. Not to dismiss its quality—Russom, also half of the ambient Delia and Gavin, shows some serious brilliance here, manipulating both vintage and homemade machines into an album’s worth of single live takes. It’s just that BMS is so deeply immersed in repetitive TRAX-era beats, it can be difficult to hear anywhere but the dancefloor.

But it doesn’t seem like Russom intended the album for much else. Black Meteoric Star builds exactly like an hour-long live set, from the steady Moroder-influenced intro “Death Tunnel” to the frantic climax of “Dominatron” and “Anthem” and then the sleazy, 18-minute comedown “Dawn”.  The aggressive arpeggios and driving Roland 303 beats develop in that slow, almost imperceptible way that makes the most sense in a club (unless you’re inclined to the decoding of Russom’s processes and machines, in which case you’ll listen to this thing  at home for hours on repeat). Sure, other producers work around the same issues—Legowelt and Kill Memory Crash, for instance—but where they but where they take the DJ Pierre inspiration and turn it into something slightly more accessible, Russom seems to care only about making BMS authentic. Which, in effect, makes the album both polarizing and utterly captivating.

BMS does have a few undeniable weak spots, though, even if Russom totally succeeds on the authentic tip. The almost sweetly emotional “Dream Catcher” may be a necessary breath of fresh air after 35 minutes of intense freneticism, but it drags on long enough to feel less like a respite than a serious buzzkill. And the stripped-bare “Death Tunnel”, however decent a track on its own, doesn’t stand up to the complexity of the rest of the album. Still, BSM accomplishes what it sets out to do: conjure the intense, drug-fueled underground Chicago scene of the late 80s with minimal modern embellishments. And any issues aside, the album often feels worth it for that effort alone.

Pukka Orchestra - Might As Well Be On Mars

Trashcan Sinatras – Obscurity Knocks

Ultravox – Dancing With Tears In My Eyes

This Final Frame - My Blue Heart (efc version)

New Order – Perfect Kiss

Here are the first 2 pages of my very first shoot for Penthouse Magazine, appearing in the October issue.  I shot a Girl/Girl 10 page editorial of Renee Perez and Asa Akira. Two sexy girls making out by a pool in the Valley.

I have been dying to shoot for Penthouse for 5 years now, and it’s finally happened.  The issue doesn’t hit the stands ’til September 1st so check for it then.  Even the lovely Ryan Keely is Pet of the Month in this issue.

After the jump you’ll see a NSFW outtake.

(more…)

In Bobcat Goldthwait’s fourth feature film, World’s Greatest Dad, a subdued Robin Williams plays Lance Clayton, an English teacher and failed science fiction writer. Lance also has the world’s worst son, Kyle (Daryl Sabara). Kyle is obsessed with porn (moreso than the average high school boy), constantly calls his father a fag, and has one friend, who he also refers to as fag. Lance takes this all in stride; he says he doesn’t “like” Kyle, he “loves” him because he’s his son. Then Kyle dies. I’m not going to give away how, or what Lance does when he discovers his son’s body, but it sets off a bizarre ripple effect through the high school, changing the lives of students who once loathed Kyle and forcing Lance to examine what it truly is he wants in life.

The above paragraph makes World’s Greatest Dad sound like an inspiring affirmation of life. There’s some of that in here, sure. But it’s the darkest, funniest, most perverted comedy I’ve seen all year. Bobcat keeps up his track record of subversive, disarming movies – his last feature, 2006′s Sleeping Dogs Lie, was about a woman who blows a dog – and delivers his most polished feature on the human condition yet. Williams leaves behind the schtick most of the planet has grown to hate and is perfect as the lovable loser in his mid-life crisis. The arc of Williams’ character from lovable loser to most hated man on campus is played out perfectly, although the ending didn’t really feel all that satisfying. Sabara is completely over-the-top as the 15 year-old scumbag Kyle. It’s a nice touch that he’s sweating in every scene; adding to Kyle’s off-putting personality. Remember kids in school that were always dripping sweat? “Sweat Rags,” we used to call them. Bruce Hornsby plays himself.

Bobcat has done a great job here as both writer and director and I hope this leads to some more serious scripts in his mailbox. It’s nice to see comedians outside of the Apatow and Happy Madison camps making critically successful comedies. The movie is currently playing in New York and will hopefully be seeing a wide release in the near future. It’s also available On Demand for about $7.