The Daytrotter Index
My Chemical Romance review
My Chemical Romance: The None More Black Followed By Rows And Rows Of The Finest Freddie Virtuosos
31 October 06
Words by Allen Lulu//Illustration by Ally Ritchie
There must have been something in the water in 2004. A little extra “mercury”, perhaps.
I didn’t think much of it when My Chemical Romance and The Used released their one-off cover of Queen’s “Under Pressure” that year. Good for them, seems like everyone covers a Queen song nowadays. Besides, I was distracted by Green Day’s decision to close their shows on the American Idiot Tour with a rousing and ballsy rendition of “We are the Champions.”. Nice touch, passing the torch to themselves.
Neil Hamburger Lasso'd
Neil Hamburger Gets Lasso'd
31 October 06
A computer screen will never do Neil Hamburger justice. A television screen will fall light years short as well. The rounded glass face can show glares from bay windows and overhead lighting, but without dramatic improvements in pixilated technology, Hamburger’s...
A Week With Bright Eyes' "Noise Floor": Day 1
31 October 06
Words by Hannah Clemens//Illustration by Erica Parrott
There is nothing I can say about Conor Oberst or his music that hasn’t been said before. As I prepare to write a review of his new release, Noise Floor, I can’t help but second guess my every sentence, knowing full well that the same sentiments have already been expressed on Pitchfork or in Spin or a few dozen other places.
A Week With Bright Eyes' "Noise Floor": Day 1
31 October 06
Words by Hannah Clemens//Illustration by Erica Parrott
There is nothing I can say about Conor Oberst or his music that hasn’t been said before. As I prepare to write a review of his new release, Noise Floor, I can’t help but second guess my every sentence, knowing full well that the same sentiments have already been expressed on Pitchfork or in Spin or a few dozen other places.
The Addams Family
The Addams Family: "You Rang?" "Lurch Old Boy..."
30 October 06
Words by Sean Moeller//Illustration by Jared Drew Moody
When John Astin’s three oldest boys were growing up, Halloween around his home always mirrored the two-year period in his life, during the mid-60s, when he was Gomez Addams – a romantic, a bad lawyer and a father who allowed his two children to keep jaguars, lions and octopuses as family pets. He didn’t just portray the wiry man, who considered a hangman in the family to be better than royal blood and employed a harpsichord-playing butler who grumbled and looked freshly unearthed, he was inescapably that man.
Cold War Kids review
Cold War Kids: Find Thy Way To The Salve Of The Punching Bag
30 October 06
Words by Jacob Henneman//Illustration by Johnnie Cluney
Deep within the Cold War Kids’ collective sternums lies a spark, dull but awaiting ignition. Who knows how it was lit. Maybe it was the bully in middle school, maybe it was the tattered drunkard they passed slinking in the alleyway, littered with newspaper and shards of jagged glass. Whatever it was, the inspiration and predisposition to pen societal pitfalls and human existential anomalies is how that spark blazes from their chest to your ears, and subsequently in your subconscious.
Of Montreal
Of Montreal: Whether A Muse Does Or Doesn't Wear A Red Dress And Smell Like A Stripper, You Listen
29 October 06
Words by Sean Moeller//Illustration by Johnnie Cluney//Sound engineering by Patrick Stolley_
Free Daytrotter Session Songs (Don’t miss this page!)
An open letter to an androgynous muse would be confusing, surely, and it would be a mess of uncertain pronouns and potentially unwelcome advances. It would crescendo near the bottom with the one requisite line that a letter of such purpose must ask: Who are you…really? It would bluster and ramble, with the writer going on and on about who he or she thinks you are. It would raise twice as many questions as could or ever would be answered by the addressed. A muse, like a magician, never reveals its secrets. Most of the time, said muse will refuse disclosing its intentions, its motives and its hand. It’s just smoke, the sprite of a crystal chandelier – a ghost of fair-weather vigor and ruminative valor. It throws the gunpowder into the bottle and boils up all of the pressure behind the cork. It throws itself out onto the floor with the part of the drink that springs itself over the rim first, and then it is as gone as two days ago. The author of a letter such as this would be Of Montreal’s Kevin Barnes, largely seen as the closest example of the guy that wears the genius pants in the household of indie rock. With each new album, Barnes and his collection of wayfaring Georgian bandmates/bad dressers, become more feminine and more masculine, trading blurry insinuations for blurrier ones and making gender of the gaiety unable to be placed. Barnes streaks his songs with such sophistication and melodic buoyancy as would make the jewelry of the gods look like fool’s gold. He takes his cues from some netherworld cursor, which allows his choices in every way to reflect delirious infallibility, where no decision feels out of place. He can be man, woman, freak, philosopher, disco dancer, chic, collusive, fragmented, whatever he needs to be to feed the fertile urge to always be resplendent, always be mysteriously shifty and as of late give everyone more than enough reasons to consider his band crush-worthy. An Of Montreal album – a Kevin Barnes album to cut right to the jib – is no dog and pony show. You’ll need your visa to get to that place somewhere over the rainbow.
A Week With Jay Bennett's "The Magnificent Defeat": Day 4
29 October 06
Words by Sean Moeller//Illustration by Erica Parrott
Encrusted in a couple of places scattered throughout this record are priceless examples of why Jay Bennett matters as an invaluable American songwriter and why he will be remembered for his entire oeuvre and not just his tenure in that one Chicago rock band that starts with a capital “W.”
Langhorne Slim Essay Contest
Langhorne Slim Essay Contest
26 October 06
This is something Langhorne Slim might say, “The world could turn to hell, but at least we’ll never run out of Jack and thank mercy for buttless chaps.” This is something Langhorne Slim might do: He might build his own very caboose and cell phone tower out of popsicle sticks and over-chewed Hubba Bubba. This is something Langhorne Slim might raise: a jackalope. He’s a story teller.
A Week With Jay Bennett's "The Magnificent Defeat": Day 3
25 October 06
Words by Sean Moeller//Illustration by Erica Parrott
A reputation precedes Jay Bennett. He’s got it like a piece of fluttering and torn toilet paper stuck to the bottom of his shoe when he leaves the john (anyone else ever figured out why so many sight gags have revolved around the concept; probably the same reason farts get laughs?).
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