Just stumbled upon Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds official website. A nice languid look through one of my favorite bands. Full of great photos, music and information.

Original script for "Tupelo".

Two reviews I happened to stumble upon regarding Nickleback’s music. These aren’t just bad reviews, folks – I’m fairly certain a lynch mob will soon be forming if these goons keep making records. Brutal and hilarious.

“Chad Kroeger and co. are back with another soundtrack for date rapists everywhere.”

Review One (old)
Review Two (new)

No, I’m not braiding a noose as I type. This is merely to highlight some albums, that while definitely not overflowing with toe-tapping ditties, they are deep, dark and yep, pretty damn depressing.

1. White Chalk - PJ Harvey
PJ Harvey is one of my favorite musicians – and with this, her ninth album, she’s taken a sparse, softer approach with the majority of the tunes, dominated by her lovely voice and piano. In the process, she makes you want to curl up into a fetal ball and weep.

2. Knives Don’t Have Your Back – Emily Haines and the Soft Skeleton
Emily Haines from Metric’s first solo outing is brilliant, regardless of the initial difficult listen. Once you’ve delved into this one, jumping in front of the subway will seem like a walk in the park.

3. OK Computer - Radiohead
Good ol’ Radiohead can always be counted on for music that is not only well written and at times completely bizarre, but with Thom Yorke’s mournful voice, you’ll be sliding into the bathtub and slashing at your wrists with a straight razor in no time.

4. The Campfire Headphase - Boards of Canada
I used to like this disc until I began having sobbing jags and lingering at the rifle section of the local department store. Maybe it was that one relationships I’ve never been able to shake. Regardless, this collection of brooding, plodding electro-dirge is guaranteed to have you jumping out of a 15th floor high rise before the final chords reverberate in your ear canal.

5. The Wall - Pink Floyd
If I have to sit through this best selling album, by British art rockers Pink Floyd, ever again, I will jump into a pit of starving rottweilers. I mean is there anything more depressing than a mentally disturbed child becoming a rock star, then completely sliding into boredom, depression and finally psychosis over his fame and fortune? Right. Bloody well right.

Just what in fuck happened to my beloved Jazz station? It used to be virtually commercial-free, with reserved announcers that calmly introduced music from jazz greats and quietly let you know a commercial break was coming. Other than the quarterly PBS type fund drive, it was the perfect radio station. Now, when I wake up to it (set as my alarm) it’s become some clownish “Morning Zoo” style bullshit with Ralph Benmergui and his illiterate cronies. I mean seriously, are the money drives going that poorly?

I prefer to wake up to Jazz, rather than two schmucks wisecracking at top volume over inanities like what they had for dinner, armchair movie reviews or what they think of the war in Iraq. This is severely disappointing. As if radio isn’t set to self-destruct regardless, without this spin on an otherwise respected and solid station, we’ve got an attempt to raise viewership by putting a couple of unfunny blowhards at the mic for “entertainment” purposes.

The BBC news segment is just as pathetic as the Iraq situation is; pummelled into my sleep encrusted brain morning after morning. Is there absolutely nothing else worth reporting in the entire world other than who was blown to smithereens today? Seriously, I hate to sound like a pinko, but I don’t give a shit what happens over there. I. Really. Don’t. Give. A. Fuck. (I’ll leave it at that, considering any more opinionated garble from me and this simple rant will become political all of a sudden.)

Okay. Yes, I hear you and you’re right. I’ll just switch it over to CBC for my wake up call, or better yet, the annoying blare of the internal clock alarm, shocking me into consciousness, instead. A far cry and most likely more soothing than Benmergui’s cretinous voice of idiocy.

(steps quietly off soapbox, the sound of footfalls echo in the distance)