Son of Spite!©™

By At Risk Teen (aka La Sexorcisto, aka Blue Sullivan)

Hello, again! How have you been? A little greyer around the temples, perhaps, but you look good. Great to see you, thanks for coming out.

That gets the niceties out of the way for the two or three of you who may remember this column in its original incarnation, about two thousand years ago. Actually it’s a little more than a decade since Spite! ©™ graced these hallowed pages, but in pop culture terms it might as well have preceded the birth of Christ. To put in perspective just how long ago it was, consider the following:

1. When Spite! began, "the kids" were still getting their music at cryptic ancient monoliths known as "record stores."
2. Radiohead was only known as that band who made the song "Creep."
3. Spin magazine was still rating their albums on a 3 color system. (This, coincidentally, was the last time the magazine was relevant.)
4. Rolling Stone was championing a hot new sound fusing "rock" & "rap."
5. People still used the term, "rap" (that’s what they called "hip hop" in the olden days, kids!)
6. "The Real World" was in the single digits (ah, those halcyon days of yore!) & people still complained about MTV not playing as much music anymore.

Anyway, after a long, hazy sabbatical in Los Angeles, Spite! returns a little older, a parsec wiser, and still soaked to the bone in bile, disbelief & righteous anger. Thus begins the new purification of demons, as we hold a finger in the wind & take stock of what you whippersnappers are "into" these days, starting with a half-hazard cross section of the "singles" of the year 2007, as disseminated by the few members of the critical zeitgeist (NME, Pitchfork) I can be bothered to read in my old age.

Trax, yo:

The Teenagers - "Homecoming"

The third best single of the year! This, according to the once reliable NME's list for 2007, is the sound of Now. If true, then this is the Rapture (see: the biblical holocaust signaling the end times, not the band of indie-disco fossils that everyone "loved" for 20 minutes in 2002). Yes, the hipsters have inherited the earth, and this is their anthem. Bearing the noxious aftertaste of cocaine & that special brand of French self-satisfaction, "Homecoming" details a he-said/she-said post-mortem of a summer fling between a feckless American sorority queen & the most punchable Frenchman in recorded history. She details the sweeping majesty of a London romance with a "sexy rocker in stove pipe jeans." While he sniggers about how "I fucked an American cunt." Lovely stuff, played out over "push this key on Ableton Live" indie beats and feeling every bit like the death of the soul in 3 minutes. Conceptually, this was a cute idea 5 years ago when the Onion did an identical point-counterpoint Op-ed in its magazine. But that was five years ago & had the benefit of novelty, piquant insight & the caustic brilliance of great satire. This is a depressing compendium of the worst instincts of hipster scum everywhere (see: toxic misogyny, America-bashing & the full-bore fellatio of the worst cliches about women, Americans & anything else related to love & sex in our new century.) It may sound like an overstatement, but I cannot fathom a more contemptible "novelty" track coming out in the next millenium, much less century. Still haven't gotten the picture? Then imagine Eli Roth's soundtrack for a ketamine-fueled rape of a Vegas call girl, while a million dead-eyed scenesters snigger their approval. In stove-pipe jeans.

Battles – "Atlas"

This was Pitchfork’s second best single of the year, and as much as I want to revolt against that 'zine’s parade of indie onanism, this song has the "fuck me, what was that?!!?" quality that all great futurist pop songs have (see Missy Elliott, "Work It" or Squarepusher’s "My Red Hot Car"). Electro but not dance, indie but not precious, this imagines what "Mexican Radio" might sound like as remade by M.I.A. (see single review below) or Aphex Twin. In other words, absolutely f*cking ace.

Be Your Own Pet – "Fire Department" (or any other BYOP, frankly…)

It’s noisy, it’s shouty, it’s got plenty of energy & f*ck if I know why I should care. There are lovely indie girls out there right now, all sexy & reasonable people I am sure, that would no doubt tear my eyes out and set them on fire for saying this, but: (sing a long if you know the words) Over. Rated. These kids look great & talk a swell game. And the songs are nice enough, I guess--just not nice enough to ever get me to hit "repeat." Considering that I didn’t even pay for the sh*t (soulseek makes me a more conscientious shopper!), that isn’t much of an endorsement. But it’s as much as I imagine BYOP will ever earn. Then again, the staff at American Apparel have to listen to something, right?

MIA – "Boyz" / Saul Williams – "List of Demands"

Two more for the FMWWT (see above review for Battles) school of pop genius. The first is the standout track on the most recent untouchable collection of standout tracks by MIA (or as I have endearingly dubbed her, Missy Rascal). The second is that song in the "my better is better than your better" Nike ad that has been inescapable during March Madness. Both prove that pop is better with really f*cked up samples, murderous bass & evil heat. Put these on your car stereo no matter where you live, and instantly your hometown is 12% less sh*t than you thought it was. Now smile, as you’ve done a good thing today. Next, give this article to four people you love, or eight people you despise. Finally, see Spite! again in 30 days for further instruction.*

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