Hello friends and guess what? I went and got myself cut loose from my jobby-job so I could better focus on eating cereal in my underwear, watching stoner cartoons, and having stupid, 10-hour-long dreams in which all the plants in my hometown are missing and I'm way unprepared for an imminent production of Annie. Nobody wants to hire me to do anything right now, not even make sammiches at Subway (I asked!), so I figure I'll just relax and enjoy my vacation while President Awesome fixes America and everything will be cool again in a few weeks. J/k, I am fucked. At least I still have my irrational commitment to music journalism.

R.I.P. Lux Interior

Clio reported on Wednesday that Cramps frontman Lux Interior passed away last week, and I just wanted to stop and acknowledge the death of one of the last embodiments of punk rock greatness. I've always loved frontpeople who respect that mental third wall and read more as otherworldly creatures than some skinny guy in tight pants who's probably going to walk his dog later; we go to rock shows to be transported out of mundane circumstances. Dude was like a zombie Elvis from hell, and made music more slithery and exciting than anything that's come out since. Of course it's sad that he's gone, but he got to fuck shit up until the ripe old age of 60, which is more than can be said for most legendary punk rockers. I'm pouring some whiskey out for you right now, Lux.

This isn't the best video, but I love his clear affinity for the mental patients:


Live at Napa State Mental Hospital


Lips on the Lam

If you thought a tour of a conservative South Asian country might spell trouble for your favorite band of blues-punk miscreants, well duh. According to their myspace blog, the boys narrowly escaped arrest by the Tamil police and a plot which involved "a mysterious man" and someone who
worked for the band's Indian booking agency by fleeing the country.

In what actually sounds like a relatively tame show for them, guitarist Cole Alexander riled up the crowd by shouting "when I say weak-ass, you say bitch!", exposing his buttocks, tenderly kissing band mate Ian St. Pe, and diving off the stage. For a few days Vice Records had no clue where they were, but publicly stated that they were probably fine. A less exaggerated version of the story appeared on Vice's blog last week, letting everyone know that the band is safe and sound in Germany, working on an EP with kindred spirit in mayhem King Khan. These guys are turning into the rock and roll version of the Road Runner.

Here's some exclusive video of how it went down:




The Pains of Being Pure at Heart

In these strange times of three-second news cycles and blog-based insta-fame, a band can seem like it's been around forever even before releasing a proper album or going on tour. The Pains of Being Pure at Heart is one such band; I've been digging their sweet shoegaze-pop since I first saw them play my friend's house last year, and their debut full-length is finally out on Slumberland Records. They're touring much of the U.S. and Canada in the near future, so you'll have a chance to see what's got everyone so dreamy-eyed. Their music reminds me of hand-holding and agonizing crushes and awkward make-out sessions conducted while my mom slept in the next room, and also sad things like romantic rejection and puppies with casts on their legs. I put at least one of their songs on all the mixes I make for boys I like, and if you buy their albums, you can, too. Maybe you'll get laid! Or just listen alone in your room whilst hugging your pillow (something I have never, ever done). It's up to you.

You can legally download three songs here, and two more here.


Everything With You


Animal Collective=Yes

I know a lot of smart people have already discussed this at length, but the new Animal Collective is way fucking good. As beautifully messy as ever but now with even more pop structure shining through, the album has cracked the Billboard 200's top 20 and is already being hailed as the best release of 2009. If you've got no idea what I'm talking about, now's a better time than ever to jump on the bandwagon, as they're touring extensively, probably to where you live. You can thank me later, once your mind is blown.


My Girls

Also, big props to sofreshsoclean for turning me on to the Frankie Knuckles remix.


Big Moz Strikes Again

I'm not sure what to say. I've gone through my whole life thinking Morrissey's sad, mellifluous voice was unattached to anything so vulgar as a penis, and who knows, maybe it's not. But this picture makes it a lot harder to pretend. Why'd you do it, Moz? You know Rule Number One of our perfect, platonic marriage is we must never see one another's naughty bits. Oh well, I know you all want a peek, so feast your eyes on this (click to enlarge, heh heh). Just know that your imaginary relationship with him will never be the same.


Iran So Far Away

So I just got word that Kyp Malone of the greatest band of our time's side project, Iran, has a new E.P., Dissolver, coming out this month. I'll write more once I've fully absorbed its brilliance, but suffice it to say it features Malone's great pop voice singing catchy tunes swaddled lovingly in that hissy, lo-fi production that made TV On the Radio's early bedroom recordings so beloved.


Hunter is a Brooklyn-based writer currently contributing to Vice, The New York Press, Impose, and The L Magazine. If you email her at hunter.suicide AT gmail DOT com, chances are she'd love to add your publication to that list. Seriously, she's got some time on her hands.