Wilco To Form Own Label, Zzzz Records?

As reported by Pitchfork mag based on what Wilco hired-gun Nels Cline said on a recent radio show, the rock band Wilco seems to be in the process of forming their own label after parting ways with Nonesuch Records, the Warner affiliate that saw to it that WEA pay the band twice for the same record (Yankee Hotel Foxtrot).

Seeing as how every record since YTF was snoozier than the one before it and, thus, sold less and less, I'll bet you those smug bastards at Camp Tweedy blame the label for "not promoting their music effectively."

Looks like Wilco is a tad high on their own fumes, or coffee, rather. Seeing as how Wilco has been whoring their "brand" left and right - they're not just a band, they're a way of life, after all - we'll no doubt soon be seeing more of their songs pop up in commercials. It'll be songs from their WEA days, of course, while the stuff they put out on their own label gathers cyber-dust.

I love seeing these delusional bands that are on the verge of getting dropped because their last three albums sucked leave willingly, then declare "We wanted our freedom." Yep, we recognize the ol' "girl breaking up with you first because she knows you're gonna dump her" trick when we see it.

Let's face it, Wilco made one goof record, Summerteeth. The rest of their albums all suck to varying degrees, with Tweedy seemingly going out of his way not to write a hook. On Summerteeth, for some odd reason, he finally gave in to the inclination and made a fucking great record.

Even with their last few records being total cures for insomnia (whatever you do, don't operate any heavy machinery while listening to A Ghost Is Born, whatever you do), Wilco remains a band whose every move gets covered in the press. It's not like every move Kid Rock makes - which is stupider, but more interesting to read about - hearing whatever knew thing Wilco is up to is like someone watching molasses dry and giving you a play-by-play.

How about Wilco stop with the sandwich shops and the coffees and the starting their own labels and just make a good goddamn record that's worth listening, to...how 'bout doing that? If and when they do, feel free to wake my headless torso out of its cryogenic sleep and say "I told you so."

Until then, zip it

Our Greatest Rants Revisited, Volume One: Heavy Metal Midget!

Last February, we wondered aloud:

How many times had he cried himself to sleep, wondering why guys who have it all still feel the need to belittle him? They've got girlfriends who ask them to get things down for them from the upper shelves, and when they get in the car, their feet actually reach the pedals. Why any normal person would rub that in the face of a little person doesn't make any sense. It'd be like Peyton Manning making fun of you because you can't throw a football 80 yards.

Read the ENTIRE POST HERE.

DO NOT TRY THIS: Going The Whole Day With An Accent!

Okay, none of this really happened. I don't work in an office with other people, I work by myself as a superhero...guardian of justice, if you will...and was simply doin what we in the funny papers call "riffing".

From the moment I was old enough to understand what people were saying to me (beyond the incessant "boogie boogie boo", that is), I have been fascinated by accents. I have also laughed hysterically at people with HUGE accents who honestly think they have none. At least the British are self-aware enough to admit that much.

So, on a bet with a co-worker, I agreed to talk the entire day yesterday in a thick southern accent. If you were to be derogatory, you might call a "hick" accent. If I were to slip up in doing so, I would owe my office mates $5 each. That's TWENTY GODDAMN DOLLARS!

Anyhoo, I actually started warming up the night before, trying out my new accent on my girlfriend. She did not like it one bit and was convinced that my IQ had dropped fifty points since taking on the accent. I contend that I was already this dumb, but that my sophisticated accent covered it up. She laughed while grabbing her pillow and padding off to sleep in the guest room (which sounds great if you say it with a British accent, but I digress).

The next day at work, I said "HAY-ELL-LOW!!" (with mental buck teeth glistening in the wind) to the receptionist and off I went.

My buddy Ian was literally amazed to see that I did not drop the accent when talking to customers, remaining utterly convinced that this decision was costing us business! By the end of the day, I had myself quite the tidy stack of fives.

Unlike other accents, the southern accent is kind of hard to drop. Forgive me in advance for saying that it's a lazy accent and that if you devote too much time to employing it, you will become addicted to the drawl, the sauntering-with-a-straw-in-the-mouth cadence, and you won't be able to stop.

Now, I am not saying people with southern accents are LAZY. Delete that email now, my southern brethren, for I meant no disrespect. Lazy, hell, I dream about being LAZY. God bless anyone who actually achieves a state of heavenly LAZY bliss!

I stop by the Thai restaurant to pick up some food and find myself ordering in the same crazy southern accent I've had all day. I know it, they know it, but damn if I can stop it.

Once home, I go to kiss my lady and whisper a sweet "I missed you, baby", but the accent makes it sound like Jethro putting the moves on Elly May. Eww.

Moment killed. No matter what I tried to say, it all came out in that accent. It was so I was afraid to open my mouth. Heck, I even let her watch one of those dreadful pawn shop shows that I hate because I didn't want to say "Give that fucking remote or pack your shit" and not have her take me seriously! Just kidding!

Anyway, shit, it's tough...I still haven't shaken it. Good Lord Peterbilt, how I have tried! This infernal southern accent is killing my dreams!

More Deep Thoughts: Puddle Of Mudd Is Ugly Kid Joe!

From the moment Puddle of Mudd hit the big time with their sneering Nirvana rip-offs "Blurry" and "She Hates Me", I could not get past the unnerving feeling that I'd heard these guys before.

Years pass by and every new Puddle of Mudd radio hit leaves me slack-jawed and introspective (as a BITCH!) over that same nagging feeling. Who do these motherfuckers remind me of?

Then today it hit me! Finally.

Puddle of Mudd fucking remind me of Ugly Kid Joe.

You don't remember Ugly Kid Joe?! They were a band back in the late 80's, pre-Nirvana, that managed to score a hugely MASSIVE MTV video and radio hit with the sneering hair-metal anthem, "Everything About You".

Then, because they were fresh out of new ideas, the band covered Harry Chapin (Cat's In The Cradle) and were never heard from again.

Like all 80's one-hit wonders - okay, TWO hit wonders: "Cradle" hit #6 - Ugly Kid Joe went away.

Puddle of Mudd are eerily similar to Ugly Kid Joe in that they were both a one-dimensional approximation/regurgitation of the most popular rock genre of the previous year delivered with zero dynamic. They can play the music, they just can't feel the music for the tongue planted so firmly in cheek.

Of course, instead of going away after giving us the one song (that we didn't know we needed but they gave it to us anyway) for which they'd always be known, they just kept right shoveling that one-dimensional "this is our streamlined version of what was popular last year" even though they haven't gotten anywhere close to the Top since "She Hates Me" back in 2002.

That's right, it's been almost ten years since they had a HIT, but they just keep on pestering us with the same joke. Those damn "Ugly Kid Joe Version 2.0" motherfuckers just put out a "Best-Of" last November! That there are more than two songs on it is just not RIGHT!

I've never had a kind word for Ugly Kid Joe in all my years, but bless those guys for not wanting to beat us over the heard with the same dumb stick for ten whole years. Puddle Of Mudd could learn a lot from a band like that. :)

Beatles = BAD FUCKING WAVE?

Forget that I'm presently stoned and you, more than likely, are not. Let me run this past you.

The Beatles are the single greatest rock band in the history of humanity. Their brief eight-year run yielded more gold (and platinum) than any other band that has ever existed, before or since. Their music not only sold in the millions, it shaped an entire generation and has left an impression on all generations since. They single-handedly changed the language of pop music, creating the very template from which all other pop music springs.

Forty years have not tarnished our love for their music. When their albums are remastered and re-released, people who already own the music rush out to buy a copy. When iTunes finally makes their music available in digital format, those who just bought the remasters and those who already own these same songs immediately feel compelled to hit iTunes the very day the Beatles' music becomes available.

The Beatles were so damn great that their very existence is celebrated by millions five decades after the band struck their final note. They were so damn cool that even a grave misstep like the "butcher block" version of Yesterday And Today have come to be celebrated, with copies of said album fetching top-dollar.

Okay, now lemme run this past you... What if The Beatles were a bad thing?

I admit that it took a sizable hit of the herb for this idea to pop into my own head, as I have willingly participated in celebrating the Fabsters almost from the time I was able to walk. But what if The Beatles ruined it for us? What if their very existence has stunted our societal and cultural growth? What if their re-writing of the pop music template has prevented other forms of pop music from ever taking shape, much less connecting with a mass audience? What if their personalities, their style, their sense of humor, hadn't been given the mass attention by which to become a part of our culture, known the world over?

What if the current musical climate - the preponderance of musical acts all devoid of subtlety, melody and originality - is their fault? It's like they came, took all the fucking good ideas, and we've been left with five decades of rotting table scraps?

It's kind fun thinking about what might have happened musically if The Beatles had never existed. Something would have had to fill the gap after Buddy Holly's tragic death cut short a brilliant career. Without The Beatles' influence, would there have been heavy metal? Would music have gotten heavier at all? My initial hunch is yes, but that the journey from Buddy Holly to Black Sabbath might have taken a few more twists and turns, making for a more enjoyable trip.

See, The Beatles are their own language. What would we have turned out like without that language having shaped all of us in some way? It's like removing one or two of your favorite colors from the crayon box. Take them away and you suddenly realize how dependent upon them you are, but what if you'd never had those colors to choose from in the first place? You'd have made due with what you had.

I love The Beatles, but I have to say that if the music that new artists would be making today was better as a result of them never existing, I'd be okay with it. As a kid, I was surrounded by great new music and movies and cartoons - all of it featuring The Beatles. That was all fine and good, or so I have always thought, but what would I have enriched my life with if they hadn't existed.

Hell, come to think of it, they ceased to exist before many of their hugest fans these days were even born. Can you imagine being so great that the tidal wave you set in motion during your existence is still knocking people down 40 years later?

That's a big fucking wave. A big, BAD FUCKING WAVE. We think that wave was a blessing, a cause for celebration, but what if it actually fucking destroyed us? What if it did such a great job at doing so that we don't even realize it TO THIS DAY?

Damn, that's trippy. Boo ya!

Valentine's Day Alert: Be A B.A.M.F. With A Big Heart!

If you're like most guys, you're wondering what the heck I could possibly be doing mentioning Valentine's Day in freakin' January. Of course, mentioning Valentine's Day so early is my whole point as we men tend to wait until, oh, February 14th to do anything for our ladies on a day that they take very seriously.

Wait, did your lady tell you not to do anything special for her on Valentine's Day because she isn't one of those gals that buys into this "Hallmark holiday"? Don't believe that for second, man. You best do something special for that woman or you will not hear the end of it.

See, women like to fuck with you by saying the exact opposite of what they really mean. Kinda like those gals who say they prefer being single but can't look you in the fucking eye while doing so. First off, nobody but the trampiest whore wants to be single and they sure as hell don't wanna be single on Valentine's Day.

Come Valentine's Day at the office, a woman who finds herself single on this day can get downright depressed watching every other female in the office get flowers delivered right to their desk. As for those who aren't single and don't receive any flowers from their man..whew, there is one man out there somewhere who has no idea the hornet's nest he just drop-kicked.

That's why I'm telling you guys now...get your shit in gear. NOW! Order those flowers in ADVANCE! Hell, arrange now for you and your lady to take that day off from work (February 14 falls on a Monday this year) and make a romantic three-day weekend out of it. The earlier you book your room, the better.

Of course, having your lady work that day does have its advantages. Women, more than anything, like to show off in front of the other gals at work. That's why making a bombastic show of affection to your lady that she can then rub in the faces of her co-workers is always a great move for you.

Whatever path you choose to take, remember that the more seriously we men take Valentine's Day, the smoother the whole rest of the year will go for us. With just a little bit of thought and some planning, you can be one "Bitch-Ass Motherfucker with a big heart" who just might get a little somethin'-somethin' later on, if you know what I'm saying.

Of course, what better time to unveil our new t-shirt? This is probably one of the few, if not the only Valentine's Day-theme t-shirt for men that a man would actually be caught dead wearing. We gotta believe that any single fella who wears this one out to the clubs is not gonna be single for long, and any married dude would be declaring his big-heartedness (is that even a word?) to his wife and the world. That's not to say that you ladies couldn't also pick one up for your man to let them know that you see and appreciate the effort he makes on your behalf.

Keep in mind that this is a LIMITED-EDITION t-shirt, available only through February 8th (so all orders can arrive before Valentine's Day).


BUY ONE NOW!

CD Review: Farewell Captain "Won't Risk An Explosion"

Despite the fact that my driver's license says otherwise, I remain a total kid at heart, for better and worse.  Part of being a kid, for me at least, was discovering a great new record by some cool rock band and telling all my friends about it.  Hell, if not for my unshakable need to do so, this here blog would probably not exist.

Of course, my faithful readers know that it has been an eternity since the last time I came running in with such a huge smile on my face, shiny new album in-hand!  Today, though, my musical heart has been awakened from one helluva slumber by Chicago band Farewell Captain and their amazing new record, Won't Risk An Explosion.

The album opens in perfect fashion with the nitro-burning "Jumpstarted". Full of jittery hooks and hyperactive stops and starts, this is a tune tailor-made for the concert stage.  Not too hard to imagine how awesome a track like will sound after braving three shitty opening bands and a half dozen or so $2 domestic brews.

Where a lesser record might allow the listener to catch their breath, "You Don't Know When Enough Is" goes for the juggular with a blistering tempo, some kitschy-cool backing vocals, and a freight-train-of-a-chorus that Rivers Cuomo would kill to call his own.  Our choice for first single!

While the first four tracks out of the shoot constitute quite the musical one-two (three-four) punch, don't think Farewell Captain aren't also masters of dynamics.  Good bands are more than capable of delivering one guitar-driven pile-driver after another, but it is a great band that knows enough to vary the tempos, change brushes, and dabble in some of the other colors on the rock & roll palette.

That's where songs like the aching "Spanish Face" and the Elliot Smith-esque "Stop Asking For Everything" separate Farewell Captain from the also-ran's.

In advance of its proper release, the band is streaming the new album in its entirety.  Click HERE to check out the tunes.

Never mind that the music industry itself lies in a state of shambles, shortsightedly shoveling shit to the masses, rejoice that albums like this still exist.  They may never go triple-platinum (although stranger things have happened), but they will long outlive the here-today-gone-later-today crap that fills our head space. After giving this a listen, if it moves you even half as much as it did me, I urge those of you in the Chitown area to show this band some love the next time they hit a stage near you. The rest of you, pay it forward...however you can.

CD REVIEW: Motorhead "The World Is Yours"

Much as I love Lemmy, for the past decade and change, I have come to regard each new Motorhead album as a bit of an exercise in futility.  This, of course, is based on the fact that Lemmy's following is a devoted one, to say the least, and that as long as Lemmy and the boys meet the minimum requirements of what a Motorhead album should sound like, business will continue as usual.

And lets face it, for as long as any of us have been around, Lemmy's been a fixture on the metal scene.  Hell, he very well may have invented heavy metal for all I know.  No other human on this planet embodies the essence, the attitude, and the smell of heavy fucking metal more than Ian "Lemmy" Kilmister.  The guy's got nothing to prove.  He's Lemmy.

And I guess that's the main problem: having nothing to prove seems to have turned Motorhead into quite the predictable heavy metal machine.

So it was with some trepidation that I first listened to the band's twentieth studio album, The World Is Yours, due January 25 from Motorhead Music/EMI.

I'm glad I did because the new album is a great motherfucking record.

Sure, Lemmy's vocal range is limited to a one-note bark, but who the hell cares when the tunes rock so convincingly?  Seriously, this record rocks from start to finish with nary a clunker in the bunch, yet covers a lot of ground musically.  The band recognizes the benefit of mixing up the tempos and unleashing a plethora of tasty riffs.  It'd be nice to be able to talk about the artistry of the record, the sheer genius unleashed within the grooves, but Motorhead aren't that sort of band and this is not that sort of record.

Produced by Cameron Webb, who has manned the boards for the last four studio albums, The World Is Yours is comprised of deceptively simple elements, yet still manages to show that the union between producer and band is really beginning to hit its stride.

Of course, "I Know How To Die" is easily one of the best tunes Motorhead has recorded in their entire career, with "Born To Lose" not far behind.  Both have no doubt made fine additions to the band's current live set lists and prove quite astoundingly that nobody paints in shades of black better than Lemmy & Co., bless their hearts.

A "Special Announcement" from Katy Perry This Wednesday!

Current ProActiv zit cream spokeswoman Katy Perry will be making a "special announcement" at Facebook headquarters on Wednesday. Reports are that the announcement will be streamed live over Facebook LIVE, the company's live streaming channel (duh).

If you're anything like us (and we pray for your sake that you aren't), you're probably giddy with anticipation at what the announcement might be. We, of course, have made our own speculations and they are as follows:

"Russell Brand is hairier than Bigfoot, EWWW!"

"Why is it that when I actually wear a shirt, nobody listens to me? Hello? Anybody?"

"I just wrote a sequel to 'I Kissed A Girl'. It's called "I Fucked A Homeless Guy' and comes free with any ProActiv order of $50 or more."

"I will be making a special announcement just as soon as Max Martin and Dr. Luke are finished writing it for me."

"Wanna see my boobies?"

"When I fart, little candy hearts fly out of my ass and the room smells of potpourri."

"For my next trick, I'm going to make Avril Lavigne disappear...she's already gone? See, it worked!"

"You guys aren't listening, are you? Good thing my shirt just flew off again!"
Of course, we'll have to hold our collective breath until Wednesday to here her actual announcement. Something tells me it won't be nearly as interesting as anything we came up with...

So Why The Name Change, Bro?

I've received quite a few emails from some of my regular readers (Hi Mom!) asking why I chose to change the name from He's A Whore to Bitch-Ass Motherfucker.  Probably seems an odd thing to do, right?  If I was going to change it, you think I'd go for something more palatable to the masses.  That was actually the impetus for the change.  See, a large online publishing company came along last fall and expressed interest in taking He's A Whore under their umbrella, adding it to a growing list of major blog publications that they oversee.

Naturally, I was excited at the prospect of my work seeing a larger audience.  I mean, I'm not in this (or anything, for that matter) for the obscurity.  If that weren't cool enough, they'd have paid me too!  We were quickly hammering out the details so that we could debut the new, improved He's A Whore on its new platform at the start of the new year, but then we hit a snag.

First off, they wanted to change the name of the blog to, get this, Popspeak.  As you can imagine, I threw up in my mouth a little when they ran this by me, but figured they were just brainstorming.  Nope, it turns out that they had their mind made up about that and I had no say in the matter.  Additionally, they let it be known that cursing would not be welcome in any future posts.  Now, I'm no sailor or anything, but I do enjoy the occasional foul-mouthed rant.  I mean, fuck, I'm an adult.  I couldn't curse as a kid for obvious reasons, but my dad always said "When you get to be an adult, you can cuss all you want."  Heck, sometimes that promise of one day being able to unleash a mighty torrent of vulgarity any time I damn well wanted was the only thing that kept me going.

I was slowly coming to realize that these people who once showered me with praise for my edginess and humor, my "encyclopedic musical knowledge" and "unique insight", were like the proverbial girlfriend from Hell.  Never mind those first few weeks of rolling around on the couch, feeling each other up, now all they wanted to do was change me.

After a whole lot of soul-searching, I sent a lengthy email expressing my concerns and telling them that if we were to move forward together, it would have to be with no changes to the name, the format, or the language.  Their response was immediate, and telling, saying, and I quote: "You can be the guy who writes for a blog called Bitch-Ass Motherfucker that nobody reads, or you can accept our input and know that our only interests lie in seeing you reach the largest audience possible."

The guy had a point, so I decided to take his message literally and "write for a blog called Bitch-Ass Motherfucker that nobody reads."

And prove him wrong.

B.A.M.F. Top 10 Albums Of 2010, Part 2

Amusement Parks On Fire - Road Eyes [listen to the title cut]
I remember being somewhat hesitant to pop this one in after reading of their loose association with Sigur Ros, but it took mere seconds for my worries to crumble under the glorious weight of a million choral voices washing over me like feathers shot from a cannon.  I've yet to hear anyone mention this band without also dropping the "S" word (shoegaze), but that's such a lazy descriptor for a band whose sound is alternately ethereal, expansive, esoteric and explosive.  What sets them apart from a number of great acts mining similar territory is their impressive command of melody and their willingness to embrace pop tradition while pushing the envelope.

Chumbawamba - ABCDEFG [listen to "Torturing James Hetfield"]
If you'd have told me this time last year that my Best Of 2010 list would include a freakin' Chumbawamba album, I'd have probably choked on my own tongue, but damn if these tub thumpin' one-hit wonders didn't make one of the more joyous records these ears have heard in a long while.  The perfect antidote to the drivel the hipsters are spinning.

Darker My Love - Alive As You Are [listen to "Trail The Line"]
While earlier releases showed a love for (and command of) My Bloody Valentine/Cocteau Twins-ian guitar pop, DML command attention by hitting upon a sound that is a brilliant amalgamation of so many great bands, from CCR to REM, yet entirely their own. 

School Of Seven Bells - Disconnect From Desire [listen to "Windstorm"]
Take the carefree and breathtaking vocals of sisters Alejandra and Claudia Deheza, mix in the multi-instrumental and production talents of Benjamin Curtis (ex-Secret Machines), and what you might expect to get is nowhere near as mind-blowing as the actual results, as heard on the group's stellar second effort, Disconnect From Desire.  Owing an obvious debt to bands like Cocteau Twins and other 4AD acts of the mid-to-late 80's, School Of Seven Bells create a musical landscape that is cinematic in scope and rich with swirling detail.  Slap on a pair of headphones and enter a parallel musical dimension.

Black Mountain - Wilderness Heart [listen to "Rollercoaster"]
If guilty pleasures are your thing, there is no record guiltier than this - a heady mix of glorious 70's classic rock riffage and shameless hooks flying at you from all directions.  Those who believe (or need to be convinced) that it's all been done need only listen to this album for absolute confirmation.  That's not to say this album is a prisoner of its own influences.  Quite the opposite, in fact.  The genius is in the construction, the careful selection of colors from the palette and, of course, the execution.