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I am a Los Angeles-based twentysomething. I have a profession, and I have a secret life in music, and this blog isn't about any of that. I like Blogger because I can't read what you're thinking.

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Thursday, February 4   >>


In Rainbows is a really, really, really good fucking album. It's good to let go of artists you've been enamored with for awhile--a Ross and Rachel "break," if you will--because then you'll learn and realize what stands the test of time. This is the record I'm going to look back on when I'm 65 and say, without an ounce of excited hyperbole, "Kids, if you don't like this, there is something seriously deficient in your soul."


It's often hard talking about The Beatles and Radiohead with people who are passive music fans because the argument always heard is that these mega artists are "drastically over-rated."

What I want to do is justify the hugeness of these bands' existences and roles in society by outlining why their technical innovation in composition is so crucial to explaining the DNA of culture that followed their art. For most people, records and singles are just these tangible toys that musicians without real jobs put together because they didn't grow up to learn any other trade, but the reality is that people who put out records on their own literal and figurative dime have very serious agendas.

But try telling that to people who simply reduce music to "Eh." "Eh" is a huge void in the ability to justify anything, really.

I hate it when people say, "Eh."


I've been asked by some of you readers how I got the shit kicked out of me a couple weeks ago.

Considering that these cases have a shelf life of two years, it's something I'm going to have to avoid talking about for legal reasons, and until it's all said and done.

Plus, it would result in some degree of character assassination. Most people who know me personally can put the obvious pieces together, but I'm not going to go on a campaign and tell everyone who's the asshole who beat the crap out of me on a drunken rampage.

The truth always has a way of revealing itself: sometimes in repeated mistakes, and other times in reputations catching up in the worst ways possible. I'm not a Mexican grandmother, so don't count on getting hot gossip out of me anytime soon.