Philly people, let's chat for a second. So how many times over the past two weeks have you been talking with friends about your July 4th plans, and somebody asks "Hey, does anybody even know who's performing at this year's big free concert on the Ben Franklin Parkway?" And somebody else goes, "I dunno...have they even announced it yet?" Yeah, it's been about a dozen times for me, too. So I went and did a little investimagation all on my own, and I found out that yes, they have announced the line-up. I also found out why neither you, nor I, nor anyone we know has been talking about it. Lionel Richie. Supported by Fantasia. Come awwwwn, Philly! What the fuck is that? I undertsand that trying to top last year's Elton John-Live 8 tandem is a tall order, but this is downright insulting. It's the 4th of July weekend, a time to celebrate everything that's great about our country, and you're gonna hit me with "Dancing on the Ceiling"? Thanks, but I'll probably just go see Superman Returns instead. Not only does Superman stand for truth, justice, and the American way, but he also stands for kick ass rock bands like BadmintonStamps showcase alums and Friday Freakout vets The Sun, who have a song on the new Sound of Superman compilation. Saving the day and saving the music? Now that's what I call justice.

Goodby, Silverstein & Partners (the people who brought you Comcastic and the Slowskys) have sprung a truly fantastic new run of spots for computer maker Hewlett-Packard. They're simple, cool, creative, elegant, compelling. In short, they're the ads Apple really should've created first. And since game recognizes game, it's only natural that Jay-Z's gonna star in one:



Where Apple creates a fictional allegory of person as computer, HP focuses on the very real bond between person and computer, a concept which is both easier to relate to and more appealing. The visuals are fantastic, but it's really the personalities that make these spots pop. The celebrities - two other spots feature gold medal snowboarder Shaun White and Dallas Mavericks owner Marc Cuban - are legitimately interesting, and they speak to the audience in a sincere, familiar way that only draws you in further. While the hipper-than-thou "I'm A Mac" dude comes off as smarmy and condescending, Hova's playin' chess, talkin' sports and cracking inside jokes with us about his retirement. Maybe the mac dude is just bitter that his nerdy PC counterpart is apparently tight with Jay-Z. I mean, can you imagine how much computer camp pussy that must've gotten him back in the day? No wonder he's so good at pie charts.

Tonight, from 6:30 to 8:30, Rittenhouse Square will be reverberating with more melisma than you can shake your monacle at. The event is sponsored by Sunoco and The Philly Airport System, of course. For those of you who think opera is all fat ladies and viking helmets, here's a little diddy about banging over a thousand women. Mozart: the Wilt Chamberlain of the 18th century.

Echo & the Bunnymen are back at the TLA tonight for what feels like the tenth time in the last year, but is actually probably just the fifth time in the past six months. This time around, they're supported by Boy Kill Boy, a new UK group that sounds like a boy from Maximo Park killing a boy from The Killers. But you'll dance anyway.

Audible (pic'd), who put out a new EP back in April, will be politely rippin' shit up at the Khyber Friday night, along with their Top 8 MySpace friends Shelby.

Saturday night, it's Brazil vs. Argentina (or Portugal vs. Sweden?), as Philly hosts the World Cup Finals of suave dudes with guitars. Seu Jorge strums at the Trocadero, though after Philly's recent monsoon season, Life Aquatic is the last thing I want to think about. Offering the responsible opposing viewpoint, Jose Gonzalez at the World Cafe RFive.

The real jewel is Saturday night's crown, however, is Philly's own A-Sides at the Khyber. Trust me on this one, kids. They know what you need, and they're gonna give it to you.

10 wins in a row is good.


11 would be better.


But seeing Pedro Martinez back at Fenway?


That's wicked awesome.


Must-see-TV tonight as my all-time favorite takes on Josh Becket and the Red Sox.

Excerpted from History.com:

The archduke and his wife, Sophie, were touring Sarajevo in an open car with little security when Serbian nationalist Nedjelko Cabrinovic threw a bomb at their car. Ferdinand managed to deflect the bomb onto the street, but a dozen people, including Sophie, were injured. Later in the day, the archduke and his wife were driving through Sarajevo's streets again when their driver took a wrong turn onto a street named after the archduke's uncle, Emperor Franz Joseph. As the car slowed to change direction, another Serbian nationalist, Gavrilo Princip, fired his pistol into the car, fatally wounding the archduke and his wife.

It's like they always say, Tradgedy + Time = Comedy Great Rock 'n Roll. Honestly, I think the archduke would be pretty happy. I mean, what would you rather be remembered for: starting World War I, or inspiring one of the greatest rock bands of this decade? R.I.P. Franz Ferdinand, and god bless.

Arcade Fire's new album will be recorded partially in the Butler's living room, partially in Budapest, and partially along side a "huge fucking pipe organ".

You won't find any Chinese Democracy in a Swedish prison, Axl Rose.

After hearing "You're Beautiful", James Blunt's penis has apparently fallen into a deep Nem-coma.

U.S. Supreme Court Justices to TVT: "Do you honestly expect us to waste our time talking about Ja Rule?"

With 42-year old British television staple Top of the Pops entering it's last month of life, quirky pseudo-punk quintent Art Brut has launched a petition to get itself on the show before it's too late. They also plan to start a petition to make Israel and Palestine get along.

Dear Brett Myers,

There was a time when we here at BadmintonStamps were legitimate fans of yours. We admired your high heat. Your vicious 12-6 curve. Your never-say-die eyebrows. Once upon a time, in order to get into Will Smith's swanky Live 8 launch party, we even pretended to be your friends. It was awesome. "How," people would ask for months afterwards, "did you ever manage to get onto that guest list?" And we'd just sip our drinks nonchalantly and mention that oh, you know, we're friends with Brett Myers. Yeah, really. Back since high school in Jacksonville.

In light of recent events, we hereby renounce our fake friendship. The taste of betrayal that now taints our mouths upon speaking your name is as bitter as the caviar at that party was salty or Don Cheadle was charming. The severe lapse in judgement by the entire Phillies organization of actually allowing you to go out and pitch in hallowed Fenway on Saturday (and against Red Sox outfielder Gabe Kapler, no less!) is a discussion for another day. Right now, we just feel tremendously let down by somebody that other people thought we thought we knew. We're usually excellent judges of character, but we obviously made a huge error when we chose to fraudulently associate with you. Who knew you'd be the one to play Domenick Lombardozzi to our Entourage? Rest assured, Brett, we won't be attending any more red carpet affairs as +1's of yours. From now on, we roll with Korver.

You're less than dirt.

Sincerely,
Philabuster

A reason? I'm THE reason.

People are complex creatures. I'll be damned if I could explain my own actions any more than 5% of the time, max. That's why I've always been in such awe of our civilization's great psycho-social theorists. You know the ones: Freud, Jung, Abdul. Yeah, Paula Abdul. Before you snicker, you should take a minute to recognize that when she recorded "Opposites Attract" back in 1988, girlfriend was spittin' some straight-up knowledge. For a current case study, just look at the most recent fruit of her phone-voting loins, American Idol champ Taylor Hicks. The awkward middle-aged white dude non pareil was most recently spotted in Birmingham, Alabama, sharing the stage with none other than the one-man contraband himself, Snoop Dogg. Yes, this spectacular collision of Dogg Pound and Soul Patrol was caught on video, and yes, the chemistry betwen the two is obvious. Same thing with the new Bleached Black party this Saturday night at Medusa Lounge. You'd think MongoRock and MonsterBoogie would go together like paisley and plaid, but by some strange trick o' the light (or perhaps just several $3 PBR & whiskey shot specials), they take two steps forward, then two steps back, then start furiously making out and groping each other right there in front of you. Go figure. I don't know if this punchy little number from Good Shoes is more Mongo or Monster, but it's definitely all Friday Freakout, and a pretty attractive one at that.

Sir Charles has finally weighed in on all the "Crazy"ness, calling Gnarls Barkley "pretty good, an interesting mix of rock and rap." Nice enough, 'till you consider that people were saying the same thing about Limp Bizkit six years ago. But then the man goes on to say he's "flattered and honored" that the duo chose to name themselves after him. Whoa there, fella! Gettin' a little presumptuous here, aren't we? The two musicians made it quite clear back in April that the 1993 MVP had in no way inspired them regarding their choice of band name. They do admit, however, that he totally inspired them to spit on little girls. Ah, that Charles - always setting a good example for the rock/rap artists of today.

Beanie Sigel is a marked man, maybe. Was the Philly rapper really cornered a la Sonny Corleone? And if so, does this mean Freeway will go into hiding in Sicily?

Hold the phone...You're telling me James Blunt's music helped a little girl wake up from a coma???

Diddy don't take shit from nobody. Not even Firecrotch.

Margot & The Nuclear So And So's keyboardist and harmonizer Emily Watkins is an atomic cutie (peoples' evidence exhibit A, B, C, and D). But don't ask her to "blog", 'cause the girl just ain't about that anymore.

Parents, don't let your children grow up to be bass players. You'll only be setting them up for heartache when they're fired after getting their first taste of success. All the rest of the band needs is a good excuse. Fat fatty Andy Nicholson had trouble keeping up with the intense physical demands of international touring with the Arctic Monkeys, and was rumored to have blown over half of the band's tour budget on sweat towels. One brief stint with a svelte bassist later, and the other A-Monks have voted their best bud off the island for good, the latest addition to a veritable "who's who" list of never-was's. Ex-Panic! At The Disco bassist Brent Wilson was always more interested in smooth-talking the ladies than maintaining the perfect emo 'do, so the band sacked him on the eve of a lucrative cross-country tour. Hair was also the downfall of Shawn Neary, whose radiant blonde curls were the object of intense jealousy among the rest of the Tapes 'n Tapes posse. Who knows what the problem was with Snow Patrol co-founder Mark McClelland, though after hearing the band's new album, I'm guessing he probably stuck out as being too masculine. Having a brother in the band may help with bass job security. Outside of that, I'd suggest taking up an instrument that's less prone to turnover.

Hey, did you hear the one about the Bush twin at the Radiohead show? No joke. Apparently, either Jenna or (more likely) Barbara was in attendance with six bodygaurds at MSG last Wednesday night, but wasn't feeling the band's final number and decided to beat the foot traffic instead. So, for the record, even the band's explicit and well-documented hatred of her father wasn't enough to drive the first daughter away from the best concert of the year. I ask you: is there anything Radiohead can't get away with? I mean, it must be nice to know that you can go on record as detesting a person and all that they stand for, yet be so undeniably talented that said whipping boy's own children are willing to turn the other cheek and submit to twenty-three-and-a-half songs' worth of musical hate fucking. Remarkable as the story is, it also comes as a crushing blow to New York electro-groovers Out Hud. Despite their generous offer of two lifetime guest list spots, the band has been repeatedly snubbed by the President's progeny on every tour. It seems even the first family's capacity for ol' fashioned Christian forgiveness falls short when it comes to epistolatory song titles.

Pants are perhaps the most singularly important aspect of the human condition. While the rest of god's creatures dart about the wild in nothing but their birthday suits, civilization has demanded a base level of universal two-legged modesty from which none of us are exempt. No surprise then that the relationship between man and his pants has always been a contentious one. The modern chapter in the long struggle for leg liberation finds its beginnings in 1794, during the French Revolution. Poor farm owners and tradesmen refused to wear their stifling britches during the hot summer month of Thermidor, standing pantsless for hours in front of their open refrigerators. Energy use went through the roof, and the ensuing crisis lead to the beheading of the monarchy. The entire affair was comedically chronichled over a century later by silent film director Phillips Smalley, including a hilarious guillotine scene that called for the first-ever use of slide whistle in a film score. These days, the protest has found its way on to college campuses, spawning an official No Pants Day. And now, thanks to Men Without Pants, a brilliant collaboration between Russel Simins and Dan "The Automator" Nakamura, future revolutionaries will have a truly Friday Freakout-worthy rallying cry to blast during their holiday. Just imagine Blur's "Crazy Beat", but with less pants. Have a listen, then strip down and hit the town, 'Stampers, 'cause the weekend's here.

And for all those who realize how foolish they looked during No Pants Day '06, here's a bonus freakout just for you.

As The The cleverly suggested over two decades ago, following a band-naming trend just makes you look stupid. Which is why I've had it with all these exclamation point bands! I mean, how terribly safe, boring, or otherwise thrill-free must your group actually be if you're depending on excessive punctuation marks to lend it the illusion of excitement? Perhaps these people think that mediocre reviews of their live show or record will appear to be more positive, since the write-up will be chock full of !'s. Maybe they're hoping that people will feel compelled to shout the band's name loudly during conversations, thereby out-buzzing all those exclamation-free suckers toiling away in indoor voice obscurity. Whatever the reason, it comes across as a pathetic cry for attention, like TYPING IN ALL CAPS or streaking at the company picnic. !'s should be employed only by those bands whose music actually warrants them. !!! has certainly earned all three, especially after last Saturday night. On the other hand, uber-blogged pansies du jour Oh No!! Oh My!! are about as deserving of exclamation as a bowl of plain oatmeal. I just hope the next wave of indie hopefuls manage to see the light. Otherwise, we may be hearing about twee-emo four piece HEAVY!! SIGH!! sooner than we think!

NYC rock venue Rothko, which, on the whole, kept it pretty real, has apparently closed its doors for good. The 'Stamps boys have fond memories of some great performances at the club, not the least of which was Hot Chip's North American debut. Sucks that the last act to grace the room's insides was Blues Traveler. It deserved better.

Here's some really critical advice for all you first daters out there. The good old "we should grab a drink some time" two-step simply ain't where it's at any more. Between the drinks, the noise, and the distractingly hot bartender, who knows what you're even saying to one another? Why you'd need some sort of...oh, I don't know...Drunk Dictionary to decipher all those innebriated innuendos and boozey double-meanings. That's why, when I'm steppin' out with a honey for the first time, I head straight for the coffee shop. See, recent studies demonstrate that caffeine causes people to be easily swayed by persuasive arguments. So instead of shots of Jager, I hook the little lady up with a double shot of espresso. Then I whip out the index cards, ven diagrams, and 15-minute powerpoint presentation detailing just how thoroughly I'd like to rock her world. By the time I start in on the comprehensive actuarial analysis of my bedroom, that pungent little Columbian micky has totally done its job. Try it out for yourself and thank me later. Oh, and as an extra classy touch, make sure to have another pot of that black gold brewing when she wakes up the next morning. Trust me, 'Stampers, 'cause I know exactly what I'm doing.

Rhianna knows a good opportunity when she sees one. Christina Milian passed on recording smash-hit "S.O.S.", and now she's been dropped from Def Jam.

Rhianna knows a good opportunity when she sees one. Her alone time with 40-year old(???) Def Jam prez Jay-Z at the 40/40 Club has got people talkin' forty kinds of rumors about a possible Beyonce betrayal.

Embrace learned the hard way that even in a country that actually cares about soccer, people would still rather listen to Nelly Furtado.

USA goal keeper Kasey Keller learned the hard way that having twenty feet in front of him just ain't enough if they're only gonna stand still. Next time, we suggest forty. Whatever it takes to keep the man happy and save the lives of innocent mascots.

Plus, mid-week concert round-up: Tonight, Dungen at the church basement, and Eels w/ Smoosh at the TLA. Tuesday, Starlight Mints at North Star. Wednesday, Sonic Youth at Starlight Ballroon, and Buzzcocks at North Star.

Recently, many hotels and retailers have begun inundating their boutiques, hallways and lobbies with specially formulated scents. The aromas are intended to help the consumer form strong associations with a particular brand and create a "sense of place". Personally, I'm a bit surprised it's taken these big businesses so long to exploit the physiological connection between scent and memory, especially when mom & pop outfits have been doing it for ages. Since I can remember, the pizza restaurant around the corner from me has been ingeniously perfuming the air inside their establishment with a distinctive pizza scent, and I'll be damned if I've ever forgotten what they sell. And sure, you can get fucked up and start dancing just about anywhere. But when you breathe in that pungent mixture of Sparks, tobacco, and sweaty American Apparel, well my friend, then you KNOW you're at Making Time. This Saturday night at Trasnit marks the 6-year anniversary of all that is cocainesexjam-y. And with sets on tap from LD Section II (the live incarnation of Lansing-Dreiden) and headlining Friday Freakout poster children !!!, we're talkin' at least six times that same smell. Breathe deep, dance hard and get rad, 'Stampers.

The Future Tips will be playin' free and easy tonight between 6 and 8 PM in Love Park, along with their secret best friends and label buddies The Swims. The concert is the final installment of PW-sponsored Love Thursdays. At right, please find apparently the only Future Tips press photo known to exist.

Also, thanks to Manute Bol for simply refusing to stop at seven-foot-six.

Growing up in New England, you quickly learn that Dunkin Donuts isn't just a donut shop; it's an institution. As the company pushes forward into new geographic frontiers as part of their ambitious expansion strategy, they've begun assaulting the airwaves with a new batch of quirky ads from Hill Holiday, all soundtracked by Bay State nerdrockers They Might Be Giants. The spots are a mixed bag, but this one in particular has gotten my critical goose:



This may be the single most memorable, logical, and generally compelling pitch I've ever seen for a mini van. They sell you from every angle: the spacious interior, the bird's eye view of the sleek design, the side thru-shot highlighting the dual sliding doors. They convey a complete story with a beginning, middle and end, even pre- and post-text, all in a minescule sliver of time, masterfully woven around the innumerable virtues of this marvelous vehicle. Apparently, the only thing there wasn't "plenty of room" for was any sort of connection to the product they're actually trying to sell. The totally off-message song is the final gaffaw of a spot that ultimately has as little to do with cool java as it does with cool ca va, whatever that is. All I know is, I'm missing Fred the Baker.

You already know about SkinnySlim's passion for palendromes semordromes. What you don't know is that I, too, have a literary infatuation, one that began way back during my childhood SCUBA lessons. I'm all about acronyms. Why do you think I bother going to shows at the TLA? It ain't so I can spend $4 on a PBR, I'll tell you that much. But while your basic initialisms are all well and good, what really gets me going are compound acronyms. I'm talking about acronyms whose initials represent other acronyms. That's why, even though I hate instant messaging, I love AIM. See, the "A" stands for "AOL", itself an acronym for "America Online", which makes the whole thing meta as a motherfucker. It's like a riddle wrapped inside an enigma, but abbreviated. With its capcity to condense so much meaning into such a compact form, it's no wonder the acronym has become an important and versatile tool for the modern lyricist. Giant Drag uses one to deal with an Elektra complex, while the gang from Staten Island forged a classic to decry the evils of capitalism. And of course, years before they progressed to palendromic song tiles, Elastica were still up to the same old fucking thing as always: rocking unusually hard. I suggest downloading all three tunes ASAP.

Hey, we Badminton. We come correct or not at all. Not really too much I need to add here, except to say that when you've spent the past week obsessing over the group's new shit - which direction they're going in next, what barriers they're going to break, which classic vestiges of rock they're going to piss all over and hold up in a blinding moment of revalatory brilliance - well, that's when the old stuff hits you like a ton of bricks. The encore rendition of "Black Star" was totally unexpected, and may be the most stupendously epic performance I've ever witnessed.

Tonight, uh, DUH! Radiohead? Tower Theater? Ringin' any bells, Einstein? Besides that, you've got your regulation $8 Philly clusterfuck over at First Unitarian, with Hail Social and US Funk Team causing most of the trouble.

Friday night, trippy hip hop splice-master Prefuse 73 fucks with your mind and body at the church basement. He'll be accompanied by North America's preeminent psychadelic rhymespitter Edan, still the only rapper out there with enough sack to diss Lenny Kravitz. Also, Radiohead part deux.

Saturday night, it's all 'bout the Khyber, where ambiguously local Human Television will be pimping their tunes like a QVC host. For the next 5 minutes through this very special offer, it's just $8 to get inside. Whether or not you stick around afterwards for Tralala is entirely your business.

Sunday night, the love train is stopping at the TLA, and those dancing silhouettes are saying you've GOT to get back on. Wolfmother, wolfbitches. Also, down in the bowels of the basement, The Fever will be rockin' with authority. Choose wisely, 'Stampers.