Author: J T. Ramsay

  • I’ve known all along that this would happen.

    Liars announce their fourth album. I had always hoped that they’d alter­nate releas­es with Elec­tre­lane so I could always have a clear cut num­ber one album of the year. If my Jackin’ Pop bal­lot had actu­al­ly pub­lished, you would’ve seen that I’ve devel­oped a pat­tern in my vot­ing. On the oth­er hand, maybe it will…

  • Let’s take a walk beyond the corner.

    Pitch­fork cel­e­brates Miles Davis’ birth­day, Obtusi­ty-style. Is Pitch­fork becom­ing the Urban Out­fit­ters of music crit­i­cism? Or did that hap­pen a long time ago and I nev­er noticed?

  • I only wish I were kidding, but this may be real.

    If you haven’t heard that new Smash­ing Pump­kins song that ‘MMR is play­ing like it’s 1995, wait about ten min­utes. It’ll hap­pen. I’m gonzo for it, but I spent most of my ado­les­cence rid­ing around in my Volk­swag­on blast­ing my radio-record­ed “Dis­arm” on my crap car stereo for the bet­ter part of two years I…

  • I’m on the other line right now. Call back later.

    Why is it that when­ev­er No Fun Fest hap­pens, I’m at a grad­u­a­tion par­ty? And seri­ous­ly, No Fun bands should, ahem, band togeth­er and tour after the fes­ti­val, or before it. I’d go, even if it meant head­ing to West Philly, pro­vid­ed I was­n’t at a grad­u­a­tion par­ty that night.

  • Hello, it’s me. You remember me, right?

    Todd Rund­gren should be induct­ed into the Sty­lus Hall of Fame. Like soon.