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The two dominant sounds of mainstream pop in 1999 were undoubtedly the melodic perkiness of teenpop (Britney, Aguilera, Backstreet Boys, and NSync) and the shouting misogyny of mook-rock (Limp Bizkit), while the underground saw the beginnings of the short-lived robo-synth hipster fagginess of electroclash (Le Tigre, Fischerspooner, Peaches). The ungodly spawn of this threesome is now making headway onto American pop radio a decade later in the form of the horribly named bands 3OH!3 and Cobra Starship. 3OH3+30H3

Pictured above is 3OH!3, named for the area code of their native Boulder, CO. Don’t they look like they come from Boulder, CO? And they make music that sounds like it too. (Doesn’t blondie look like beardo Jesse McCartney?)

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And this is Cobra Starship, named for no reason that I can see except that they contributed a song to the Snakes on a Plane soundtrack.

3OH!3’s “Don’t Trust Me” and Cobra Starship’s “Good Girls Go Bad” have both incredulously peaked at #7 on the Hot 100, which is apropos considering they both feature synth-fueled rave-ups supporting standard issue emo boy whine-vocals which undercut the bravado both songs/bands aim to project (main goal: treating girls like shit) while also shoe-horning cheerleader chant middle eighths that are completely unnecessary.

“Don’t Trust Me” is interesting in that in seems to aim for Lady GaGa-esque metajokeness and falls as flat as GaGa in the clever sweepstakes while also lacking her natural songwriting talent, but there’s something nearly breathtaking about the song’s (and the band’s) commitment to being Completely Wrong but sounding as if they’re Having Fun doing it. Sample lyric: “Don’t trust a ho/Never trust a ho/Won’t trust a ho/’Cause the ho won’t trust me.” Charming. And why would she?

“Good Girls Go Bad” is, in contrast, a joylessly shouty piece of braggadocio featuring actress Leighton Meester, who fulfills this song’s apparent need for a female voice to repeat the protagonist’s point of view, reinforcing his awesomeness (and her complete lack of agency, so who better than a Gossip Girl star?). Look, bravado is fun and great when people like Beyonce or Courtney Love or Tupac or even Toby fucking Keith do it, but this lead singer kid named Gabe Saporta? He has negative sexual charisma, so his boasts need a little bit more color to be convincing. And he doesn’t even provide that. Sample lyric: “I make them good girls go bad.” Oh? How? “You heard that I was trouble but you couldn’t resist?” Why is that?! “I make them good girls go bad.” Classic example of tell-not-show writing.

Both songs don’t hold a candle, however, to the repugnance of 3OH!3’s current song “Starstrukk,” which flopped so bad on release that they decided to do a remix with Katy Perry (as if this wasn’t hate-worthy enough). It sounds ugly, for one, and also has the jaw-dropping lines “I think I should know how to make love to something innocent without leaving my fingerprints out now/L-O-V-E’s just another word I never learned to pronounce.” This has none of the supposed Fun of their previous hit, and instead shows that any attempt at humor or self-awareness in “Don’t Trust Me” veiled exactly how much these two were actual sociopaths.

When I first heard these songs I thought, “Popped-collar music.” But these two bands’ self-presentation indicates how far scenesterism’s American Apparel
stunted-growth appeal has drifted into mainstream culture, now becoming Cool and Edgy. Because hipster men have always been misogynists (what do you think Exile In Guyville was reacting to?), and now the mooks are wearing the same clothes and highlighting the gross anti-woman subtleties of scene culture. And making it seem “fun.” 3OH!3 is much worse though; if Cobra Starship is just some frat dude hounding you at a bar thinking he’s all that (and calling you a bitch if you turn him down), 3OH!3 is that dude using his peculiar charm to bring you back to the house to get gang-raped. In your ears especially.

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I know she professes to be some kind of “performance artist,” but she’s gone too far this time.

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Video here. If you can make it past, oh, let’s say the one minute mark, you win unlimited blowjobs for life by Rachel Weisz and James McAvoy.

So Russ Feingold likes Bon Iver. Great. Okay. The government should basically just become Pitchfork because who cares about anything else, and they are annoying and should just have iPhone ads plastered all over the place. I look forward to John Kerry waxing poetic about Vampire Weekend’s nostalgic properties, Dianne Feinstein’s breathless review (including pics) of Deerhoof’s show at the Bottom of the Hill, and Chuck Schumer interviewing Julian Casablancas and asking what the hell was up with that last record???? IT SUCKED.

By now we’ve all seen Spike Jonze’s trailer for Where The Wild Things Are, which for its duration turned me into exactly the post-grad corny indie fuck I have worked so hard to grow out of being. Also it’s the best argument for the Arcade Fire that will ever exist. I think it is clearly the time for a new genre of filmmaking to emerge, one that mixes auteur theory with hipster music and childhood nostalgia. Here are some FREE suggestions. You’re welcome, America.

  • Are You There God? It’s Me Margaret. directed by Todd Haynes. trailer music: Sleater-Kinney’s “Call The Doctor”
  • Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs. directed by Michel Gondry. trailer music: Belle and Sebastian’s “I Could Be Dreaming”
  • Le Petit Prince. directed by Gus Van Sant. trailer music: anything by Steve Reich
  • The Giver. directed by Alfonso Cuaron. trailer music: Scott Walker’s “Cossacks Are”
  • The Giving Tree. directed by Kelly Reichardt. trailer music: Neko Case’s “Timber” which then segues to “Look For Me (I’ll Be Around)”
  • Island of the Blue Dolphins. directed by Paul Thomas Anderson. trailer music: Slint’s “Good Morning, Captain”

DO IT.

…because I need the fucking money in order to travel back to my anti-gay marriage writing-discrimination-into-the-constitution home state. Oh, but it’s so beautiful there!

It’s an interesting concept and I’m all for the gay community mobilizing in such a widespread way and good for everyone who “calls in gay” today. I’m not actually convinced that this is the right vehicle, though. First, it’s ONE DAY. African-Americans didn’t take the buses for like eighty years in the 60s. Also, linguistically this sort of connotes “gay” with “sick,” no?

“Hello Mr. Bossman I’m calling in gay because I’ve got seven cocks in my mouth and *ACHOOO!!!!!* ugh semen keeps coming (heh) out of my nose and I’ve got a fever at 699 degrees.”

That would be like the best illness ever, really. Unfortunately I’m single and at work.

Like every douchebag who works in douche(mid)town Manhattan I get the bulk of my dumb news by avoiding eye contact on elevators to look at whatever crap headline or picture is being displayed on the Captivate Network. It’s captivating in the sense that you’re held hostage without food or air in a tiny box with no room to actually move like you’re veal or pre-Prop 2 California chickens.

Anyway this dude saw this headline and BUST THE FUCK UP and we were all like “?????????” and then I saw it and understood. The headline was this:

George W Bush hits out at Robert Mugabe

I like this part:

“In Zimbabwe, a discredited dictator presides over food shortages, staggering inflation and harsh repression,” he said. “We look forward to the hour when this nightmare is over and the people of Zimbabwe regain their freedom.”

Ain’t that the pot calling the kettle a horrible politician scumbag unable to effectively mend severe problems afflicting his nation?

Another blog, another planet. So this blog became defunct or something because of some internet bullshit that I don’t understand even though this guy tried to explain it to me (tell ’em to jump farther), and this blog is hibernating because I’m not one of those people who talks about the Hot Stove, much in the same way I don’t play fantasy sports, BECAUSE GEEZ YOU GUYS. I don’t enjoy abstraction or hypothetical when it’s something like sports. You wanna talk problems of essentialism in ethnography then I’ll yak all day, no problem.

This here bloggggguh won’t be as reductive as Music Thing or Gay Baseball Crushtimez because, as seen (though no one read it, and why would you, seriously, there’s a 329071907-word deconstruction of AVRIL LAVIGNE fer Chrissake) with the music thing, I hardly ever wrote on it unless I was sad/on drugs or totally obsessed, and even when I was obsessed with something I still couldn’t be bothered to write about it sometimes (great lost post: connecting death metal to a strain of contemporary folk music, but not “freak-folk” because wtf is that). As far as gay baseball crushtimez, oh who cares. Also there are times when I try to talk to people about whatever the hell thing I’m interested in for that five-second period, and the response I get is “…” or “ha” or “isn’t this why people get blogs?”

Oh, is that why?