If you wouldn’t mind, please contact my people.

Marathon­packs’ Eric Har­vey tries to unpack what both­ers him about Girl Talk. I’ll sim­ply refer you to this post at Riff Mar­ket, which more or less sums up my feel­ings about Girl Talk. It’s a “sub­tle­ty” that Eric miss­es out on, anoth­er inter­me­di­ary lay­er for Girl Talk’s “pub­lic” per­sona, the irony here being that we have an artist who flaunts copy­rights and assumes a “secret” iden­ti­ty* meant to set him apart from indie careerists, pro­tect his job secu­ri­ty, whathaveyou,  mak­ing him a cross between Clark Kent and Jem, who then relies on com­plex of han­dlers to main­tain his image and lim­it media access. They’ll even instruct you on what you’re allowed to dis­cuss in inter­views! Hooray for the Infor­ma­tion Age!
*[Results 110 of about 140,000 for greg gillis girl talk. (0.36 seconds)]

Are you there God? It’s me, Arthur.

Jay Bab­cock lays his half of Arthur to rest in L.A. Since being declared either “dead” or “on hia­tus” last month, Arthur quick­ly became the Anna Nicole Smith of music rags, and appar­ent­ly Bab­cock chose to get the corpse in the ground as fast as he could.

Who wants yesterday’s papers?

Lis­ten: Deer­hunter — “White Ink

Last night’s Front­line report on the cat and mouse between main­stream media and new media was pret­ty enlight­en­ing. It was also a telling illus­tra­tion of how Amer­i­ca’s pri­or­i­ties have changed under dereg­u­la­tion, begin­ning with the Rea­gan Admin­is­tra­tion. Most impor­tant­ly per­haps is that we’re now liv­ing under the crass tute­lage of the worst rob­ber barons in his­to­ry, cre­at­ing a new labor pact in which we’re all interns pro­duc­ing infor­ma­tion for a cor­po­rate mega­lith. [Hi Google!]

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