Aug 17, 2006

Our Lord and Saviour...

...might just be J Robbins. A serious moment of clarity, if you will, occurs every now and again-- not especially often one might say.

I got the new Channels CD to review for my new job (internship, more aptly), and there are 11 straight moments of clarity. This CD should save rock and roll, but everyone's so busy worrying about whether or not Jay Z's comeback or Papoose's one good line in each of his songs are going to save rap, whether twee-pop is an actual genre, or whether or not they can dance to the newest faux-hip "indy rock" garbagehole bullshit. Indy-rock is dead. You killed it. Whether or not you care, people still try it out every now and again. Hey, I like Tapes N Tapes as much as the next dude, but c'mon. J Robbins invented kicking ass. Hell, he helps over 50 bands a year do it better. If you can't like it, that means you're stupid.

I've spent the last 8 months being nice when people have told me about their love of Sufjan Stevens, the Moggs, Man Man, Devendra Banhart, (full disclosure: I like those bands from time to time) and all the other fly by night 700 member assface fuckknob bullshit hippy nuveau art "rock" bands. I've stood idly by and tried to defend my love of terrible mixtape rap and hip-hop. I've even given a positive review to a Jewish wedding band-- a hipster klezmer band, friends. I've done it all without contempt, and I can't do it any more.

If you can't feel the love (in September) for a man that has battled politically, musically and personally to try and absolve everything that is terrible about the digital age of underground music, then fuck you. You deserve the best vague lyrics and dancy jam band bullshit life has to offer. When Channels' Waiting for the Next End of the World drops, where will you be? I'm drawing battle lines. I'm ready to battle for the good side of music, and I don't care what you think. I like all that other shit too, but it's time to draw the line-- what will be remembered of us when our generation's underground culture is measured? Bullshit vagueries of experimental potsmokers? Or some of the most straightforward and accomplished songsmanship of our time?

J Robbins help us all. Save us, Channels.

With that, I'm off to a funeral.


1 comment:

Anonymous said...

them jawbox records really whip my ass with a belt