Forget about whatever abomination is headlining tonight at the
church basement. You only need to understand one thing:
Tokyo Police Club. They're back in town for the first time since the first time, which was no doubt as special for you
as it was for us. The show tonight is way sold out, so you'll probably want to show up early if you're gonna lie/sneak/fuck your way in. Which, by the way, you will totally do if you have any kind of self-respect whatsoever.
To be honest, the whole baile funk thing kinda baile flew over our heads. But if it's your stizz, who are we to judge?
Upstairs at Sal's is the newly announced destination for all your
Bonde Do Role craziness.
You'll have to bust out the sad puppy dog eyes again on Friday night if you want to get into
Johnny Brenda's, 'cause tickets for
Menomena are gone like yr innocence. Along for the ride are comin' up-ers
Land Of Talk, who continue the astounding trend of Canadian bands that quite simply refuse to suck. More on them later.
Just for the Nick Drake of it,
One AM Radio take it nice and easy at the
Circle of Hope.
And of course,
Making Time. Head over to Pure and get rad the way only Norwegians let you.
Datarock (pic'd) sport all the classic electro-grooves you've come to expect from a trip to sexjamland, then sleeze 'em up so unapologetically that even Electric Six would blush a little bit. But just a little bit.
The proprietors of this domain are currently engrossed in major disco infiltration activities. But we'll be back in 72 short ones with an absolutely monster week.
You may have noticed that, over the past week or so, BadmintonStamps has been skinnier than SkinnySlim. If we've lost some weight, please know it's because we've been very sick. 
Yesterday came news that the death of Anna Nicole Smith was
Comin' atcha first thing every Monday morning, it's The Pony Track, a super-fantastic short distance dedication to BadmintonStamps Collective founding member and internationally renown symbol for musical excellence Aaron "Pony"
Child. No fancy links, no clever write-ups, 'cause these awesome songs
don't need no splainin'. So c'mon, ride the pony!
Next time you're stuck on an airplane somewhere between the moon and
New York City, waiting to land at Idlewild and doing flyovers for what
seems like days, soft rock hero Christopher Cross will change your
life. He knows that in the most frustrating of transportation
moments, the best you can do is fall in love. And Christopher
Cross is going to sing his heart out until you've snagged the beauty
in 27D. Once you've fallen for that hottie across the aisle, you're
going to want to jump for joy. But Christopher Cross can't help you
with that. He's got you buckled in securely, and honestly, hasn't he
done enough already? This is where Kriss Kross comes in. They're going
to rip off your safety belt, take off your clothes, put your clothes
on backwards, and have you po-going up 'n down those aisles with your
new paramour until the flight attendant sedates you with taser on
suspicion of terrorism. When you wake up you'll be ready to claim your
luggage and take on the legal system. But most importantly, thanks to
the Chris Krosses, you'll be ready to do it with that special someone.
The time has come to address a serious epidemic in the concert going
community: The Early Clap. Known in the medical world as E.C., the
condition is defined by the New England Medical Journal as "the act of
applauding a song before its conclusion." Not to be confused with 
Succesfully paying homage to/ripping off another artist can be a pivotal step in any musician's career. It all comes down to two questions: who do you rip off, and how? It's easy to see why The Smiths have been such an easy answer to the first. Need to establish your band's relevance to that demographic goldmine of sensitive, bookish, darkly humored vegetarians? Just toss off a 
1) Which band/artist looked the most ridiculous?
There is a recent phenomena among flamboyant African American southern strip club goers called "making it rain." This clever activity
involves taking a large stack of bills, climbing onto the strip club stage, and throwing said bills in the air creating a
precipitation-like effect. This frugal investment of ends has lead to legions of happy strippers below the Mason Dixon. Making it rain has
recently gained in notoriety thanks to the R. Kell-erific hit hip-hop song that the baddest boys in the blogosphere posted Charlemagne-style
last month. Listen 
It's hard to hate on John Mellencamp. He does his thing and he does it
competently. But for all his general good guy decentness, in the end
he'll always be a pop tart version of the Boss. That's because
Mellancamp is to Springsteen what Coldplay is to Radiohead; a watered
down version your imaginary daughter likes. This is of course assuming
that you have an imaginary daughter. I recommend getting one if you
haven't already. My imaginary daughter is eleven years old, her
favorite movies are Ferris Bueller's Day Off and Splendor in the
Grass, she reads Teen Vogue although it's a little advanced for her
but she wants to seem cool, and she loves converse sneakers and
Mellencamp. She's a pretty cool girl and I love her to pieces. And
seeing her imaginary smile when this song comes on convinces me that I
love the Mellencamp too. I mean, sure he's not in the same league as
Bruce Springsteen, but at least he takes a dump on Bryan Adams.
Gratitude is due where gratitude is due, so let's give a 
Spinto who? Wilmington's The Sky Drops are nu-gazing all over your nice new carpet tonight at 
The Girlfriend Track is song that SkinnySlim deems sexy for a lady to
feel. We're talking about songs where, if my girl said "Yo, turn this
up", I would be turned on.
Scooter Libby has made a lot of bad decisions in his life. But perhaps the most damning of all was approving his defense team's plan to pass responsibility for his lies onto Meet The Press host Tim Russert. Try to publically discredit almost any other major TV news persona in a vicious cross examination, and you've got at least a reasonable doubt's worth of a chance. Lou Dobbs is perceived as a self-righteous liberal crusader who likely does wheelbarrows of blow during commercial breaks. Charlie Rose comes across about as lucid and self-aware as Christopher Walken hosting SNL. And in a court of law, could any one among us take seriously the sworn testimony of a man named "Wolf"? Dragging any of these newsroom A-listers into the ring would've created a reporter-becomes-the-story circus of delightfully tantalizing proportions, surely just what the spin doctor ordered. But no, he chose to target Tim - genial, unsexy, the Jim Belushi of the beltway. Sorry Scoots, but a jury of your peers agrees that Russert is about as likely a trouble-maker as a bunch of 
Worst Badminton post title ever? Probably. Anyway, the long long
awaited new playlist is up. The theme of this group of fine tunes is
"If SkinnySlim Had An Ipod This Might Play On Shuffle But He Would Be
Surprised No Hip Hop Came On But Would Still Be Happy Cause Its Really
Good." Enjoy!
For all of us livng around this great land, tomorrow is officially known as Arcade Fire's 
If I had a nickel for everytime someone said, "If I had a nickel...", I'd have like, thirty six dollars. Which is not that much money. It's basically the price of a nice dinner. But I don't even know if it would be worth it, because the "If I had a nickel...I'd be a millionaire" phrase is pretty special education. What's worse, the phenomenon of the nickel phrase has gotten way out of control. It really slips my banana peel to hear these fifteen year old kids today, all hopped up on God knows what, going around with their Blackberries, Skittles, and Sega Genesises whining, "If I had a nickel for everytime someone called me special ed I'd be a millionaire." No you wouldn't. Are you a fucking retard? Someone would have had to say that to you literally 
Tonight, two new hot shots are tearing it up in the minor league indie pop circuit known as 
