Philabuster is sad to hear that UK blues rockers 22-20s have decided to call it a day. They were never revolutionary or life-changing, just a fun rock band. Their 05/03 EP is one of the only live recordings I've ever really liked listening to, and is still one of my most frequent spins in the player, whether I'm chilin' alone or have people over. It sounds like their reasons for splitting were good ones.

Coachella announces that Tool will headline day 2 of an otherwise very exciting weekend line-up.

Arctic Monkeys groove on Snoop Dogg, move Philly show from da church to da palace ballroom.

Nas beefs with Jay-Z for years, and is rewarded with his own label. Memphis Bleek stays loyal from day one, and is rewarded with permission to make shitty clothes, probably to match his next shitty album.

On the rapper totem poll, somewhere below Nas and way above Bleek, there's White Yoda, aka Andy Grillonakis, fresh to the scene and droppin' some gems with his tipsy boy J-Kwon. Out with the old, in with the new, 'Stampers...

Take that, Pat Robertson. Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez is not only still alive, he's sending heating oil into a financially depleted Philadelphia market at bargain-basement prices. The deal was brokered by US Representative and funkily-named Philly mayoral hopeful Chaka Fattah. Some dismiss the deal as Democrats' roundabout method of undermining Bush's critical stance on the South American leader. Still, it's hard to debate the fact that many of the families involved in the program could not afford to heat their homes before, and now they can. Call me naive, but perhaps Hugo is just becoming more socially conscious. Because in the end, we're all connected, folks. By our shared humanity. By a global economy. And sometimes, even by giant weed-smuggling tunnels.

Whether you want your kids to be international chess champions, professional athletes, or billion-dollar media empire heiresses, the golden rule is always the same: start 'em young. It even holds true for rock stars. Just look at our main man and 250th birthday boy Wolfgang. Daddy took matters into his own hands and saw to it that the boy was ticklin' the ivory before he could even say "sforzando". By age 7, dude was touring Europe with pops and big sis as an ensemble, which historians agree was a sort of Victorian era Trachtenberg Family Slideshow Players, except with more powdered wigs and fewer slides. Also enjoying a brisk start are The Beautiful New Born Children, a new band (although composed of established musicians) who inked a deal with the rapidly richifying Domino last summer after mailing in an unsolicited demo. Since then, they've slapped together a furiously concise 9-song LP, and are set to take on the full festival frenzy of Austin, Texas this March. Their lead single is just the kind of high-impact organized noise that the best Friday Freakouts are made of, and probably would've rattled the baby teeth right out of young Wolfy's head.

1941 - The fastest biplane, the Italian Fiat CR42B, reaches 323 mph.

1971 - Helios 1 solar probe orbits the sun at 158,000 mph, sticks out tongue at Fiat CR42B.

1975 - Peter Dowdeswell drinks a yard (1.42 liters) of ale (beer) in 5 seconds.

1994 - Peter Rosendahl traverses 100 meters on a unicycle in 12.11 seconds.

2005 - Seattle rapper Ricky Brown spits 723 syllables in 51.27 seconds.

2006? - Arctic Monkeys move over 100,000 units in 24 hours, and set a pace which may land Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not atop the record books as the fastest-selling debut album in chart history. Which means they're also on pace to seriously piss off the Gallahger brothers faster than anybody since the Gallahger brothers.

The Western world rolled out BadmintonStamps, and the axis of evil countered, naturally, with Dart Stamps. Precisely how Iran's desire for nuclear technology and a rousing match of 301 mingle so effortlessly is one of the trickier foreign policy issues to wrap one's head around, but we think the the darts tournament in the mosque may be their version of a concert in a church basement. And really, given the state of Iranian music right now, who can blame them for demanding nuclear technology to begin with? It's a well known fact that, after women and drugs, refined Uranium is the leading rock-n-roll muse of our time, inspiring guitar thrashers the world over to new heights of expression. Doesn't the international community understand that the city of Qazvin is just a few ICBMs away from becoming the next Glasgow or Detroit (or at least the so-called "sixth borough" of Tehran)? The smattering of examples below all make a pretty convincing case that, no matter what language you speak, nothing says "pump your fists and shake your ass" like the assurance of mutual destruction.

Wilson Pickett
1941 - 2006

In any given year, there are maybe, oh, 7 or 8 weeks that you look back on and think "damn...that was a fucking great week!" Well go ahead and carve a notch into the trunk of the old 'Stamps oak tree, 'cause this was the first one of 2006. What wasn't to love? We got to celebrate the life of one of the greatest human beings ever to walk the earth, and had a long weekend in which to do it. We followed that up with another birthday - that's TWO birthdays back to back! We got celebrity close-encounters, vitriol-fueled diss tracks, and flat-out spectacular cleavage thrust upon us like so many neatly wrapped presents we were just too naughty to even hope for back in 2005. And we've seen our notoriously attractive audience grow even more numerous and attractive than ever before, to dare we say unimagined heights of numerosity and attractivaciousness. And it's still only Friday! By the time Saturday night rolls around, our heads may very well have exploded with awesome. Don't worry, though. We put down plastic over the furniture and carpet, 'cause we know how awesome stains. We also know a great Friday Freakout when we hear one, and this rockin' little interjection-themed number from Toronto's Golden Dogs gets the job done and then some. The potent combination of Constantines-y guitar grit and power-pop "ba ba bada" choruses is almost too much to stand. But we dare you try sitting through it. Great song? Yup. Great week? YEAH!

According to most of the blog reviews, We Are Scientists have mediocrity down to a science, and this is somehow going to make them the next ultra-mega-huge thing in music. So, depedning on how you look at it, it's either unsurprising or totally shocking that their 9PM show at North Star tonight is not sold out.

Friday night, there's some dude named Liam Gallagher opening at North Star. While Philabuster was disappointed to learn that said dude isn't the Liam Gallagher, it also means he probably isn't a huge asshole either. In other "people who aren't asshole" news, Philebrity will be throwing "The Get Down", an old-timey $5 funk party, over at Metro Lounge.

Saturday night offers you a choice of local flavor or international intrigue. The Capitol Years and A-Sides will be knockin' shit over and givin' Jersey the evil eye at the Khyber, along with an opening band composed of runaway Illinoisemakers. On the other side of Center City, girl-with-guitar and Mercury Prize nominee K.T. Tunstall has already sold out her show at WXPN. So, yeah, good luck with that one.

It was anybody's guess which would violently erupt first: Alaska's Augustine Volcano or the thick-as-Delta Burke tension between Cam'ron and former label boss Jay-Z. Well, everybody who had money riding on the volcano can tear up their betting slips, 'cause the purple perp has just dropped a doozy of a diss track titled "You Got To Love It". Clocking in at almost 8 minutes, however, the lyricism is not entirely without ambiguity. At the song's conclusion, Cam taunts "Let the games begin, dawg." And with the XXth Winter Olympiad just around the corner, I couldn't help noticing an alternate agenda hidden among the rapper's verbal jousts. Could Cam, like the rest of us, be completey fed up with Bob Costas? The hints are there. Making fun of his age (way over 40), and his atrocious style ("sandals with jeans" may as well be "mock turtlenecks with blazers"). And doesn't Cam's slurred flow make "Damon" sound a lot like "Dan"...? Costas has acted aloof and condescending towards Dan Marino on HBO's "Inside The NFL" for years now, and if Cam'ron is calling him out on this blatant show of intellectual snobbery and disrespect, I'm right with him. Sorry Bob, but between the hall-of-fame quarterback and the 4'10" nerd from Long Island, it ain't hard to pick the real baller. Delving deeper still, the references to "Roc" may reveal a third interpretation centered on the life-and-death drama of Curling...but I haven't quite worked out all the angles yet. For now, 'Stampers, it's probably best to concentrate on the literal meanings and leave the wealth of polysemous beef possibilities for later.

Philly knob twister Scott Storch prepares to make Paris Hilton a pop music superstar. Personally, I hope he succeeds. If Paris does manage to conquer commercial radio, then Lindsay Lohan and Hilary Duff will have no excuse left not to get, like, thity-one times sluttier. And in the end, isn't that what we all really want?

The biggest concert announcement of the past few days is Art Brut's spring US tour. They'll be making their first Philly appearance April 9th at the church basement. Tip of the hat to R5, whose spring '06 line-up is, so far, putting other Philly bookers to shame.

"The bobblehead, courtesy of Chevrolet, features Korver sporting a white, home Sixers uniform with hair representing Korver’s latest style."

So you didn't watch the Golden Globes Monday night? Neither did I. But after glancing over a number of reviews, I've come to the conclusion that I really only missed two things.

Piling wood on the fire, 'Stamps can confirm that The Wrens' Saturday night show at North Star was totally happenin'. Seats on the stage (and amps, and kick drum) for any audience member bold enough, drum sticks for everyone, three encores, cell phones as instruments, and Outfield covers raining down like mana from 80's heaven. Here's a live clip of said mana that was floating around the band's message boards the next day.

Holy kite wires! It's Ben Franklin's 300th birthday! AND DON'T YOU FORGET IT! Of course, the chances of that happening are probably zero, since Philadelphia is voluntarily turning itself into a colonial wonderland of powdered wigs and wooden nickels for the better part of a week. What's more, the whole city is bracing itself for possibly the dumbest plan Mayor Street has ever endorsed: an initiative to change the name of Philly's primary rail hub from 30th Street Station to...Ben Station. You think I'm kidding? I'm not. And just who's pushing for all this Franklinsanity? My money's on FISH, the sticker-wielding cult that claims the old geezer is still alive. Now, let's look past the absurdity of that claim for a moment and appreciate just how unbelievably frightening the paunchy, bald 300 year-old man would look if he were wandering around our peaceful republic in 2006. To help you properly visualize, here's what 300 in dog years looks like. Sheesh! Hopefully, ol' Benjy included a few age-defying beauty tips in those almanacs of his. Otherwise, we're all in for some genuinely disturbing snapsots on the Franklin Birthday Bash flickr page tomorrow.

Look, I'm no luddite. Problems need to be fixed. Diseases need to be cured. And my life needs to be made easier and more convenient. And, nine times out of ten, that means we all need to embrace new advances from the scientific community. But there are limits, people. For a case study, let's examine the development and application of glow-in-the-dark technology. It's been widely accepted that the introduction of Johnny Glow industrial-strength adhesive toilet strips will be remembered as one of the key developments that truly signalled the arrival of the 21st century. The product not only solves a problem which had plagued mankind since the earliest days of the privy, but is also the inspiration for one of the greatest compositions in the history of commercial jingles. But the crapper is one thing, and my dinner quite another. No longer content with their domination in the small plastic toy industry, Taiwan is now set to corner the market on glowing pork. Their new batch of transgenic, jellyfish-ized pigs absolutely screams "abomination in the eyes of god and nature". While some claim it's just an attempt to pick up the "see your meat" movement that was first championed by Crystal Gravy, conspiracy theorists argue that the creation of flourescent livestock is but a final preparatory step in Taiwan's master plan to block out the sun. Whatever the reason behind 'em may be, 'Stampers, ya gotta admit those pigs are hella scary.

Tonight, you can catch a set by The Double over at Khy-Bar. Pitchfork says their latest album sounds "like transmissions from a bad satellite feed" and reaches "impressive, shrieking heights of amp feedback and distorted electronics". SkinnySlim has accidentally seen this band like five times. Anything to add?

Friday night, Khyber plays host to legendary alternative hip-hoppers and Philly natives The Goats. They're not yout typical Americans. Or your typical hip-hop group. Or even your typical goats, really. (Thanks to Adam "O-Dawg" Oded for the heads-up)

Saturday night is a forked road. Imogen Heap brings her seductive electro-pop to the TLA at 8PM. On the other side of town, Jersey warriors The Wrens will be headlining a bill and selling what are, in all likelihood, illegaly burned copies of Secaucus. At the North Star Bar, don't ya know, with a 9PM kick-off.

Also, Electric Factory tickets for both Belle & Sebastian and the just-added second night of Wu-Tang Clan go on sale Saturday morning at 10AM sharp.

Jerry Yeti discusses blogs, Bocce, and his life-long love affair with self-titled albums in his interview over at Muzzle of Bees.

Tiny Mix Tapes once again asserts its dominance over Pitchfork in both the "breaking news" and "pun" departments with the announcement of a new Walkmen album, due out this April.

Meanwhile, Pitchfork is still really hung up on this whole anti-Strokes crusade. If you don't care for their new album, that's one thing, but claiming that your bad review of it will now have disasterous consequences for Morningwood? Look dude, sometimes bands just totally suck all on their own, and neither The Strokes nor Pitchfork have anything to do with it. Get over yourselves.

Tapes n' Tapes played a great set at The Fire last night. Upon arriving, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that they had been switched into the headlining slot, even though it did mean standing around through two opening bands instead of one. While there were some less-than-stellar moments, the hits definitely outnumbered the misses. Here are two songs off their debut EP. One I wish they had played last night, and the other I'm glad they didn't.

When it comes to The Grammy Awards and our friends across the pond, Rod Stewart said it best. "They tend not to give it to the British," Stewart quipped, "unless you're Sting." Before finally winning an award in 2005, Stewart was passed over no less than 13 times. What's more, when he finally did take one home, it wasn't in recognition of his career-defining early solo work or The Faces' swaggering rock, but instead for a volume of lounge-tested and lounge-approved standards called The Great American Songbook. So it seems only fitting that, this coming February, the Recording Academy will, finally, present David Bowie with a Lifetime Achievement Award, despite having never awarded him a Grammy throughout his entire revolutionary 40-year career as a musician. The message to Brit rockers everywhere seems pretty clear. Either grow a giant gaping vagina, or don't expect any recognition until your most innovative and compelling work is, oh, at least twenty years in the past. BadmintonStamps would like to humbly implore all our favorite UK acts to please choose the latter. 'Cause we all know, they're ain't no bitch like a Grammy bitch.

Next time somebody tells you they just dropped a bomb in the Starbucks bathroom, keep in mind that maybe, just maybe, there's more to the statement than simply misguided braggadocio or scatalogical humor. No official word yet on exactly why somebody placed an explosive device in the bathroom of a Starbucks at a major San Francisco intersection, but you and I both know that it reeks of gang war violence. And by gang war, I mean stent war. Clearly, Johnson & Johnson did some "due diligence" of its own when it found out in which hotel rival corporation Boston Scientific's executives (the Crips of the med-tech sector) would be staying - and by proxy, which Starbucks they'd be frequenting - during the city's annual healthcare conference. They don't call these takeovers hostile for nuthin', peeps. One minute, it's all PowerPoint presentations and earnings statements. Next thing you know, there's blood and Guatemalan house blend all over the six o'clock news. "No more tears" my ass.

White Rose Movement cancel US tour. Dave P cancels Making Time, swiftly revokes band's "cocainesexjam" status.

When one UK band taketh away, another giveth. Belle & Sebastian play the Electric Factory March 4th with Fresh Smut Peddlers Modern Snuggle Film Directors.

The Khyber, complimentary snacks, cheap booze. I'm not sure what's so "snobby" about th...oh right...free jazz. Da 'pile kicks off its Rock Snob Film Series with Sun Ra's Space Is The Place at 8PM. Look, they made a flier!

Are you in a band? Do you want to play a festival? In Washington DC? Well bleedin' beltway, are you in luck! But if you want to be part of the Six Points Music Festival, you've gotta hurry. The deadline for submissions is next Sunday.

Hype first, ask questions later - par for the course over at Central Village Idiot.

And remember, nominating Stereogum or Fluxblog for a 2006 Bloggie is like nominating Mariah Carey or Hoobastank for a Grammy. Vote indie! Vote often! Vote Badminton! Par les vous "Best New Blog"...?

You can keep your wide-eyed infants and your blind puppies frolicing in the snow. 'Cause when it comes to cute, the argument starts and ends with penguins. Big penguins. Baby penguins. Evil penguins. Pretty much every kind of penguin. Well, maybe not every kind. Guillemots are kinda penguin-like. Of course, except for the monocle, they're not quite as formally attired. But on the other hand, all that fancy dressin' never got the penguins a tremendously promising rock band named after them. I've wanted to post this song by the London foursome for a few days now, but held myself back so I could give it the proper Friday Freakout treatment it so richly deserves. Like Shout Out Louds with more thump and swing, or Arcade Fire with Anglo sensibilities, or...ah, there's a million different ways to describe them, each more trendy and hype-tastic than the next, but the song really speaks for itself. It's one of the most uplifting, bouncy, limber pieces of rock I've heard in quite some time. Press play, turn it up, and get ready to bob your head like you've got a gullet full of fish. Bird's the word, 'Stampers.

Tapes 'N Tapes hit The Fire next Tuesday, January 10th. Their debut album, The Loon, certainly has its promising moments, and has been generating blog buzz for a few months now (mp3 here). The show costs all of $5, probably a gamble worth taking on an otherwise boring winter evening.

A bit further out, February 21st will see the US release of the Arctic Monkeys' debut album, Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not, courtesy of Domino. And if you're hoping to see 'em throw their own poop around live and in person, well boy, has R5 got a ticket for you.

And a-way out on the horizon, 'Stamps favorites Stereolab have a new album, Fab Four Suture, coming out March 7th. They'll be playing the TLA just two weeks later on March 20th, and tickets for that show ($20), as well as their preceding two New York shows at Town Hall, are already on sale. Here's a preview from the new LP, which finds the band at its moogy, oxymoronic best once again.

I honestly thought I might have just imagined seeing this story on the news Sunday, some sort of hungover hallucination. But, quite to the contrary, people really did riot at a New Year's Eve party in Rittenhouse Square. Yes, scarcely a few blocks away from where yours truly was throwing down hot jams and cold brews, guests at Le Jardin, the restaurant housed in the Philadelphia Art Alliance building, were throwing bottles and taking down the artwork. Note to party planners: If you promise an open bar, try not to run out of alcohol one half-hour into the evening. Honestly, as far as riots go, I think the Penn kids would've done a better job with this one, but alas, the little buggers were on vacation. To make the story more compelling, the folks at NBC 10 felt it necessary to compensate by making a 17-picture slide show...out of only 9 pictures (Daniel Reim's ill-timed blink comes back to haunt him not once, not twice, but thrice). No word yet on whether Le Jardin was still able to serve a petit dejeuner the next morning. Riots in France, and now riots in French restaurants. Even the French Kicks are rioting, sorta. Who predicted this?

This may be the single most difficult poll question we've had so far.