This Beastie Boys Footage Needs To Be Addressed By Nathan G. O'Brien on Scene Point Blank
“White Shadow” is my goddamn jam! To those that are unfamiliar, The White Shadow was a television program that ran from the late ’70 to the early ‘80s. The basic premise was this: a Caucasian former NBA player takes a basketball coaching job at a predominantly African American and Hispanic high school in South Central Los Angeles, where fairly predictable culture clash-y type things ensue. I was way too young when it originally aired and grew up without TV for a good portion of my youth, so I never got to see that much of it. But one of my fondest memories from childhood is visiting my uncle’s house and staying up all night, lying on the floor in front of a little 9” black and white TV set, watching reruns of The White Shadow on a UHF channel. Anyway, this song is obviously about that show and really important stuff like what time and channel it was on and how it eventually got cancelled, which totally bummed the guys out. To me, this is pretty much the best song ever written. ...Watch video and read Nathan's entire ridiculously-written commentary here.
Despise - Desolate / Inebriated 7" (Profane Existence) By Nathan G. O'Brien on Scene Point Blank
Despise’s songs are deliberate, forceful blasts of punk obliteration, just as much as they are subtle cultivations of gloomy, blackened nervousness. By incorporating aspects from the crustier side of black metal, "Desolate" successfully conveys dark tones without compromising any thrashing vehemence. Hannah’s throat-ripping vocals are consistently growled, rather than given the “blown-out” effect vindictive the recent raw noise trend. The instrumentation remains equally unswerving; the mix never allows for one player to outshine another. ...read entire review at this place.
When you're downtown MPLS, and trying to not spend any money and/or are clearly a vagrant, there are not a lot of bathroom opportunities that don't involve crouching behind alleyway dumpster or sneaking into parking ramps. Gamewerks in Block E was a good one, but that shut down years ago. These days the options for blasting a surprise piss or an emergency dumper are slim. Besides the bus shelter outside of The Gay '90s--where, according to the smell and the always creepily damp interior, it's totally acceptable to let it fly--the next best place (that I know of) is Barnes & Noble on the Nicolette Mall. Now before you go screaming at me about "blowing up spots", take a suppository and realize this joint aint no secret and hasn't been for a long fucking time.
Yesterday I went on a solo mission, bouncing around various establishments downtown for fake St. Patrick's Day. (BTW, it's today, dick-lickers.) When I wasn't conversing with other loners and old guys in drivers caps or avoiding them by Facebooking numerous SPD-related jokes from my phone*, I was looking for places to urinate. Sure, I was able to relieve myself at the pubs, but because I was inhaling stout at rapid clicks and the fact that I have the bladder of a 10 year old girl / 85 year old man anytime the temperature drops below 50, whenever I stepped out onto the street my body would beg me to firehose black 'n' tans out of my peener in concerning fashion. On one such occasion I swung into my old fav, the aforementioned B&N, and that's when I saw this...
Mpls, MN, 3/16/13
Personally, I've never changed a baby in a public restroom without first chugging some cough syrup and a fifth of cheap vodka, (Is there another way?) so I can't really bitch about what the place looked like. Holy crap though (literally,) this place smelled like a library. That is to say it smells like homeless alcoholics.
Now I have no problem with homeless people or alcoholics or the combination thereof (having been both at various points in my life,) but damn, it would be nice if we could all exercise a little discretion here regardless of our living and/or dependency sitchys. Because, like, there's a lot of us that have to use these motherfuckers, and it's already an unpleasant experience without the nostril hair-singing burn.
*St. Patrick's Day is Hot Topic for people that like the color green
*St. Patrick's Day is to bros what the Zombie Pub Crawl is to geeks.
*O'Brien. It's Scandinavian for "Fake Irish, secret Jew, ashamed German, wannabe Black gangsta." Trust me on this.
*I'm like Brendan Behan with the Internet and better jokes.
Those of you that have been with us here at HDD for a while, may remember back in 2009 when we told you that Mike (can't type a backwards E) Gould was like, sooooo 2006. Can't believe this shit is coming back / still around / copycat'd, etc again. Kind of hate it but also mostly love it. I mean, what's not to like about neon pink paper and zine-style art that's on some wannabe mind-fucker level? That's our jam! Here's some flyers we found recently...
Found, Mpls, sometime this winter. We thought maybe this was a party invite list or something, but the inclusion of "Repair Shop Guys" makes us think it might be a holiday card list. What do you think? Did you maket the cut?
As I write this, I am overlooking the Sea of Cortez on the Baja Peninsula from the balcony of my room at a vacation resort outside of Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. I don’t consider myself the typical vacation tourist, yet for the fourth year in a row now, I find myself spending a week in a warm, luminous locale, doing fairly typical vacation tourist things like, well, spending a week at a vacation resort designed specifically for the typical tourist. It’s nice to get away for a bit to just lay in the sun, imbibing various items and not doing a damn thing that requires any brain power whatsoever. That is, aside from deciding what kind of cocktails and/or tacos I’m going to order from one of the many attentive employees roaming the grounds. My day goes a little lot like this: I get up whenever I want. I eat a peanut butter sandwich in my room. I go for a swim. I pick a spot to chill on either the beach or near the pool. I drink a real sugar Coke or a real sugar Pepsi. I read a bunch of zines from the pile that has stacked up over the last few months. I eat some tacos. I drink some cervezas. I turn on my iPod and pass out under the blazing hot sun, while some classic reggae like Yellow Man & Fathead, Black Uhuru or The Abyssinians flowss from my ear buds deep into my brain. I go swimming again. I drink some more cervezas. I read a book. I eat some more tacos, or maybe a quesadilla or a burrito. I drink some cocktails—usually a Miami Vice, which is half strawberry daiquiri and half pinna colada or a Funky Monkey, which is bananas, chocolate sauce, coconut and either vodka or rum (I can’t remember; it makes no difference to me either way because, you know, it’s booze.)—or even more cervezas while sitting in the hot tub, watching the sun go down over the palm trees. Back at my room, I usually eat various snacks—a Snickers, ice cream, some strangely-flavored Pringles, etc.—while flipping between Spanish HBO and month-old episodes of crappy American TV shows that I’d never watch back home. Or, sometimes, like right now, I’ll sit and stare at the moonlight glistening off the ocean and think about really important things like how there’s too many rappers. ...Column continues here.