The fate of the world is in the hands of the pop charts. As any sociologist worth his weight in academic tenure and adoring loose female grad students can tell you, the most popular summer anthem in any given year directly correlates to the state of the nation. For example, in 1996 our country was experiencing a "
Pax Americana" and reaping the fruits of an economic boom. The number one summer jam that year? Tupac's "California Love", a ditty about fun, sun, and groupies. And what tune dominated the summer waves of 2002, when the USA was basking in post 9/11 unity, ready to cash in on the goodwill of the world? Nelly's "Hot in Herre", a ditty about fun, taking your clothes off, and groupies. But this summer, the number one breakout song is
Rihanna's "Umbrella". And when the young starlet sings about her umbrella (ella, ella, ella), she ain't talking no Japanese
sun umbrella (ella, ella, ella). She's talking about a good ol' fashioned American rain umbrella (ella, ella, ella). And rain doth not a good summer make. We don't want to repeat previous years' poorly themed summer song mistakes. Just last year, when war and corruption plagued our streets, the summer's hottest anthem was Chamillionaire's "Riding Dirty", a song about racial profiling. And us history buffs surely recall that in 1935, during the height of the Depression and the
Dust Bowl disaster, the biggest club banger was Django Reinhardt's "I's A-Muggin'". Presumably it's a song about a protagonist who mugs people for their New Deal doled-out chump change. So please, let us not repeat the mistakes of our elders, and save this great land whilst we still have the chance. We must stop listening to Rihanna and keep her Jay-Z featuring infectious catchiness off the charts. It's our choice as pop culture consumers, and it's our duty as patriotic Americans.
Morrissey cancelled his Philly show this Friday due to a throat infection. Not surprisingly, Philebrity is 
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! 
Like humans or cheese, a timeless joke has a lifespan. These bits of comic treasure start of as simply funny but soon mature into classic. From there, the joke is referred to as well worn territory, until it finally becomes cliched. Unlike humans or cheese, however, there is an afterlife for tired jokes. A humorous bit metamorphoses into some sort of mutant gag, becoming funny again exactly because it's cliched. Take, for example, the once classic, then cliched, and now kinda funny again Condom Price Check Bit. Your favorite sitcom star embarrassingly goes into the pharmacy to purchase some connies, avoiding social interaction. He/she skillfully hides her LifeStyles from the Nosey Neighbor and Billy America, the kid he/she is tutoring. But the then the unsympathetic fooltard at the register loudly calls out on his microphone, "Price check on extra small condoms! I need a price check for the sitcom star right here!" Hilarity first ensued (circa 1987). Then knee slapping recognition (circa 1988). Finally cliche set in (circa 1988-2006). But I say it's 2007 people, and the time has come to bring back the condom gag that never really went away. I mean, our star went to all that trouble to hide their purchase, and the clerk blew it. It's gold! 
Ben Morgan, who's about as about the music as anybody we know in this town, says that the two shows he booked this evening with reunited 90's cult hero lez-rockers Team Dresch "are the most meaningful I have ever put on". Geez, Ben; why not just kick the Popped! Festival in the nuts and steal its ice cream? Whatever, we're not getting in the middle of a domestic. Rotunda at 6 PM for the kids, 
I must fess up about last week's 
One of the great pleasures of writing/editing/mavericking this site is hobnobbing with the fans. Although it should come as no surprise, it comes as a surprise to find that so many fine, delectable lady folk chow down on the fresh meat Philabuster and SkinnySlim cook up daily. Through these past two years, I've been able to meet a diverse group of female fans, including teachers, philosophers, jews, actresses, nuns, assassins, limeys, musicians, jews, and jews. Besides being so damn hot, said hotties like to boogie, as evidenced by the latest email I received from BStamp babe 
Gun violence claimed another victim in Philadelphia over the weekend, when Making Time was tragically killed with a Colt 45. Okay, so maybe the substitution of sour malt liquor for the crisp PBRs and Sparks psychocandy usually available during open bar hours wasn't solely responsible for the disappointing evening, but it surely didn't help. Just as culpable were Voxtrot, a band who are about as well-suited to perform at an all-night rager as Bishop Allen or Matt Pond. The results spoke for themselves: a club that felt disarmingly empty (no line for the bathroom, what?), and a live set that rarely inspired people to move more than their nodding heads once you looked past the first two or three rows. Not that you (or 
Plenty of people are stressing over the nine-foot python that's loose somewhere in the city. It seems snakey pissed off The Man after 
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. 
In the grand scheme of things you're asked to pay for, a band fan club membership ranks as slightly less contemptable than a public toilet, slightly more than the New Jersey turnpike. Unless you're my kid, there's simply no way I'm using gifts of money to prove my love for you. Or at least, not any more money on top of what I've already spent on CDs, concert tickets, scalped concert tickets, posters, t-shirts, scalped t-shirts, and assorted E-Bay obscurities. In his younger days, SkinnySlim forked over a few bucks to join the Sonic Youth fan cub, which, from what I understand, resulted in several posters, a monthlly "zine", and occaisional trial samples of Kim Gordon's short-lived, literary-themed cosmetics line. Seems like a suspect value to me, though Slim's hands have never been as silky smooth or adept at solving mysteries as they were in 1995. Perhaps a more compelling argument can be made for the Franz Ferdinand 
Aaron "Pony" Child writes in, "What ever happened to The Vines and The Hives? Hanging out with Dave Coulier?" Well Pony, after flipping off BadmintonStamps founding member SkinnySlim at a VMA Party in 2002, The Vines' lead singer Craig Nicholls was hit with a vicious verbal jab from BadmintonStamps founding member SkinnySlim. It's too vicious to repeat here, but let's just say it involved comparing his diminutive stature to the buttock size of his female companion. Dom Delouise snaps were thrown and the zings were all-around biting. For Nicholls, it was all downhill from there, with a long list of disappointments topped by an assault charge and an 
How do you tell a woman that she's running her mouth too much? Well, there's the direct approach. Take for instance The Strokes. They tell their muse flat out, "You talk way too muuuuccchhh!!!" Then we have their one-time touring partner The White Stripes. Jackie White prefers a more oblique, backhanded way of telling his woman that she may be a little loose in the lips. He informs her that, "300 people living out in West Virginia have no idea of all these thoughts that lie within you." As for the rest of the non super rural population? One can only assume we have way too good of an idea of all the thoughts that lie within her. Of course nothing cuts to the chase like a little Trick Daddy. Wait, what's that you say? "This song again? You've posted it three times already and as recently as April." Uh-huh, okay, what up? You talk way too much. 
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. 
Rumors (ok, 
