Watch A Brand New Day Begin…

It didn’t take long for “Sun,” which I found on the superb power pop compillation “Yellow Pills: Prefill” (the work of the peerless Numero Group), to become one of my all time favorite songs. Happy sounding music isn’t at all scarce, but pop songs that just celebrate waking up and feelin’ good are hard to come by, and this one’s a tight little gem. Songs that concentrate on asserting that life is worth living, and a blast when you get it right, are among my most cherished. “Sun” gives such classics as “Good Day Sunshine” or “Got To Get You Into My Life” by the Beatles, and Cee-Lo’s anthemic “The Art of Noise,” stiff competition for the title of A Joyful Noise’s Favorite Song To Wake Up To.

The refrain “darkness comes and darkness goes” makes this track something greater than a simple, smiley number. “Clearing out these clouds in my mind,” and the insistent tone, are in keeping with songs like the Beatles’ “Here Comes The Sun,” which reflect that often the most glorious mornings are preceeded by a very different kind of night (or month, or season). The Toms’ assertions about the inevitability of change, and especially of rebirths and dawns, are so gentle and true that they don’t come off obnoxious like calculatedly feel-good music does. Still, no one’s shying away from cheese here: “There’s a little bit of sun in everyone, there’s a little bit of love in everyone” is about as Hallmark as it gets. They only pull it off because they’re so earnest.

Of course, they back it up: the track just sounds driven by joy. I can’t get enough of that piano figure. If you’re lucky enough to have a car and money to put gas in it, this is a fantastic driving song.

As this is the first file posting, I should take a moment to define policy in this area. A disclaimer will shortly be up to your right, but here’s the deal. Tracks are posted for a limited time only, generally a two week period (it will be shorter if I’m posting more often). I will be putting up primarily rarities, things hard to come by elsewhere, and tracks by people you wouldn’t have heard of otherwise. I will always accompany postings with the enthusiastic (and honest) recommendation that you purchase the album the track is on, and a link to said album. And of course, if you are the copyright holder of the currently posted track and do not wish it to be made available, please contact me and I will take it down posthaste.

A Joyful Noise: improving your music collection, and your mood, since February 2006.

Listen loud, and pass it on: “Sun” by The Toms

Purchase the Yellow Pills comp here, read more here, and consider exploring the rest of the series.

We’ll Be Rockin’ On Your Radio…

Happy Monday!

Last night I was in the studio with the Jazztology crew, and for the first time in a long time was surrounded by excitement about music as great as mine. A guest, a jazz historian and syndicated jazz programmer, was in the studio celebrating the anniversary (apparently yesterday) of the invention, in a Duke Ellington studio session, of scat singing. He brought in “Mack The Knife” by Ella Fitzgerald, the one where she forgets the words and breaks into scat. It was a great program.

Just a reminder, today from twelve to two Aural Pleasure is on the air, you can listen by clicking this link or going to gwradio.com. I’ll be producing and trying to weasel my way into their programming, but this is not my show. Yet.

So far, the only music recommendation I’ve gotten is Mozart’s Symphony #29. Which is great and all, but come on, y’all can do better than that. Tell me what you love. What’s made you stop what you were doing and listen.

I’ve finished the M.I.A. essay, and if I can’t figure out how to get it up on a different page by the end of the week, I guess I’ll just copy it in right here. Stay tuned.

Have a great week.

What Will It Be?

Deeyah deserves wordwide exposure. Thanks to recent death threats, she just may get it. Watch her video for “What Will It Be” here (I think that’s Irshad Manji on the TV). When was the last time you saw a burka in a rap video?

“What Will It Be” is about the most serious of issues: the violence towards and silencing of women (and people generally) committed by traditionalist Islam. It’s a feminist anthem, direct and powerful, and badly needed. Thing is, you can dance to it. It’s upbeat, insistent that the woman making this music is more powerful than those who want to bury it, refusing to glorify or entrench anyone’s victimhood. Deeyah’s clearly as proud of her sexiness, as she should be. There can be no better response to mullahs attempting to beat out of women every spark of pleasure and self-love than celebrting her gyrating form. I generally don’t buy the “feminism” spin on Christina Aguillera and her peers’ sexual antics, which I find empty and deliberately excessive, but when Deeyah emerges saronged from a burka and takes a swim, I can’t help but cheer. Nothing reminds you of how important being sexual is like having sexuality criminalized.

American hip hop donates the beat that lends Deeyah’s lyrics (about giving women power over their own lives and freedom from male dominion) a large, raw power. While this doesn’t quite make up for the aggressive and unapologetic degradation that has been and is showered on women by American rappers, I enjoy imagining that hip hop’s most important legacy will be a sound that launches music and people all over the world towards confidence and freedom and joy, not recordings inspiring childish braggadocio and hate.

An aside: I don’t seriously propose that hip hop has taken more from the world than it has given to it. It is today more central to America’s identity than any other art form. It has already earned its place among the greatest of American creations (alongside jazz, rock & roll, central park, and “Repo Man”). I just wish my pride in hip hop wasn’t so diluted by revulsion and dissappointment with large swaths of it.

To recap: a Muslim Norwegian with Persian/Afghani/Pakistani/Indian parents who speaks five languages and currently resides in London has broadcast a rapped and sung “fuck you” to a powerful oppressive religious culture over a hot, heavy beat. Furious imams and death threats have required her to travel with body guards, only serving to spread her music more. It doesn’t get any better than that. Unless “it” is a certain Russian vampire movie which shall remain nameless.

When you’re going head to head with people who ban dancing all together, just making music like this is an act of hope.The fact that she he was inspired by American pop culture and claims the mantle of “the Muslim Madonna” makes me proud. Adressing “both sides of the world,” Deeyah’s hook elegantly voices what we’re all wondering: what will it be? Oppression or freedom? Silence, or this joyous noise?

I’m A Vampire In A Forest Fire…

I just saw the coolest fucking movie in the whole world. I go see vampire movies because they’re fun, and “Nightwatch” certainly delivered on that count. But it’s actually good. Really good. Oh my god, it just kicks so much ass.

Dude uses a flashlight as his weapon. Wears a hoodie. Fights the lord of evil with a flourescent stick bulb. Good works for the power company. Good drives a dirty yellow truck. Evil wears white adidas tracksuits. Evil pulls a sword out of his back. Stuffed owl turns into a woman. The Apocolypse nears. And it’s all in Russian.

It’s dark and scary and serious and funny and fantastically sucessful and creative within a genre usually notable only for its limitations. It doesn’t shy away from fantasy, though. Defying the film’s gritty realistic tone, people get frozen, and go invisible, and explode, and turn into tigers. How this comes off as not in the least cheesy or ridiculous is beyond me. But it doesn’t. Actually, the way it’s made, these things somehow seem like they’re contributing to the gritty realism.

The second one has already been made. That’s right. You heard it here first. This is gonna be the greatest fantasy trilogy of all time.

A Joyful Noise officially recommends you get your ass to a theatre right now.

Your Extentions Look So Real, Girl…

I just saw Rudy Currence perform on Mount Vernon. He was good. I’m still getting used to that – I expect things I find out in the real world to be poor imitations of music of value, I suppose. I’m much less willing to get attatched to music that isn’t recorded, or distributed, or reviewed by someone. It feels like I can’t quite own it. Which is true. A live performance is a strange and amazing thing, and can’t be collected and filed away like I do with most of my musical discoveries. This was such a different feeling- wanting to invite him in to my radio show (despite the fact that I don’t yet have a radio show) to do a live performance and on-air interview, wanting to recommend to other people that they go see him, wanting to encounter him again in person- than how I usually act around great new music.

A lot of my impatience with live, local music is due to bad experiences with acoustic guitar strummers who posess basically no talent whatsoever. I’m starting to realize that much more is available, however, at least outside of the high school coffeehouse circuit. Rudy Currence sounds a lot like Van Hunt, sounds something like Cee-Lo’s slower moments, fits in quite naturally and uncomplicatedly with contemporary R&B. He doesen’t sound revolutionary. He sounds good. Its music I enjoy sitting and hearing. If I wasn’t biased against what can’t be bought in a store and digitally calologued, I’d have to admit there’s no good reason to rank the music I heard tonight below most of Van Hunt’s album, which I quietly relish: it isn’t easy to find authentic, old fashioned, sucessful R&B.

If you follow this link, you won’t get much (the website will be up and running soon, he said), but you’ll hear a clip of the song from his upcoming album that he’s promoting as a single. It’s a really great song, slinky and funny (it’s about a girl he has a crush on and her hair extentions). Thing is, the recorded version sounds pretty silly, full of bells and whistles that detract from the song, including the fake strings and cookie cutter beats that afflict most recent R&B and a woman who interjects a cringeworthy “huh?” and “oh.” Rudy Currence is great… live. He has an expressive forehead. He has a fantastic voice, bright eyes, confidence, and stage banter that is actually charming and entertaining. That he made what he made in front of us from just a keyboard and his own energy wasn’t just a neat trick. That was at the heart of what I enjoyed tonight: his real talent, his courage in getting up on stage, him try to get us to sing along, his tireless good mood and his pride and joy in what he does for a living.

Because he clearly cares loves what he’s doing, and I’m rooting for him. As a person, not as a musician. As someone who’s living a dream of theirs. That’s something I’d never say someone I discovered through recorded music. I don’t trust any of the musicians I listen to, even those whose music I cherish and listen to on repeat. I assume they’re crazy or narcissistic or bastards or all three. I don’t spend any energy actually disliking them, but I don’t assume that because the music they make is fantastic that their souls are, too. I doubt most of them are people I’d want to be friends with. I’ll gladly endorse Rudy, though. I’d happily interview him, like I said, or promote his music out of the hope that he personally sees some benefit. No one who’s truly a rotten human being can smile like I saw him smile tonight, or get up in front of a tired and reluctant crowd and win them over without pretense or smoke and mirrors.

It would be a challenge for me, living in the world of below-the-radar, live music. It slips through your fingers. You leave with memories, but no music that compares to what you saw. Artists usually sell CDs, but, as with Rudy, it’s usually nothing like what you loved, and owning a poor recording of someone you know to be a lovely and intensely talented person can be frustrating and even painful. You don’t control the time or the place you hear this music. When talking to friends from a different city about who you’ve been listening to, you’re guaranteed blank stares. You’d become attatched not to albums but to acts, acts which can vary night to night or venue to venue. You’d deal almost exclusively on face to face contacts and personal recommendations. You’d have to take risks all the time; its a signifigant expense and gamble to see a live act you don’t know. You’d grow to trust certain venue owners instead of certain DJs or magazines. Your expertise would only be applicable locally, and if not constantly renewed, would quickly dissapate. Building and knowing a record collection is completely different.

Still, sitting there tonight actually looking into the eyes of this guy pouring out his soul onstage, closing my eyes and listening to music created for that moment only, right in front of me, and looking around at a room of people whith whom I was sharing the experience, I was thinking: this wouldn’t be a bad life. I could live this life, I could love this life, as much as I love record collecting.

Well. Maybe not that much. But I’d certainly meet more people.

He’s In The Jailhouse Now…

Breaking news! BORF has been arrested in New York! He has a unpronoucable last name and a loopy following, he’s a Corcoran student, he lives with his parents and calls himself an anarchist.

Sometimes life is so disillusioning. Art school and anarchism? I liked him much better when I imagined him not taking himself seriously.

Can anyone remember the last time they saw a new BORF tag? Or what those really clever messages he used to write everywhere actually said?

She’ll Kill You Like Uma…

My first submission to the Hatchet (the school newspaper) will be an essay on M.I.A. and what she means for music. I’m working on it now – it’s a characteristically hyperbolic piece that mostly just echoes what I’ve read in reviews of her albums, but I’m trying to make it as useful and appealing as I can, and I’m going to send it in regardless of my mixed feelings about it. Worst thing that could happen is they decide not to print it. And I try again.

Here are some discarded paragraphs that’ll introduce you, if you aren’t familiar with her, to what I love in her work:

M.I.A. and her producer and boyfriend Diplo come packaged with all the manic energy and messiness required for avant-garde stardom. Their mixtape “Piracy Funds Terrorism, Vol. 1” served up M.I.A.’s vocals, contemporary Brazillian dance music (baile funk or favela), American hip-hop (“Definition of a Roller” and the beats from “Big Pimpin’” and “Drop It Like It’s Hot” are featured), and the very cheesiest of 1980’s pop (“Sweet Dreams are Made of These” and “Walk Like an Egyptian” make appearances), all brilliantly interwoven and surprisingly successful.

Diplo is as much a part of the M.I.A. aesthetic as she is. He’s an underground superstar in his own right, famous for traveling to Brazil multiple times to snatch up as many burned CDs of the cutting edge, low-budget dance music he heard there as he could and for producing remixes, including a favela-flavored version of Gwen Stefani’s “Hollaback Girl,” that translate the pair’s wide-open sonic palate into some of the best dancefloor tracks in recent memory. His mash-up of Missy Elliot’s “Gossip Folks” and The Clash’s “Rock the Casbah,” is incombarable. There’s nothing that celebrates our present moment better and reveals its promise more than hearing Ludacris rap over the happiest, silliest, and most kick-ass song about Middle Eastern politics ever written. I may be a dreamer for imagining boundaryless pop music teaching the whole world to party together. But I’m no longer crazy for doing so.

Quote of the Day

“Already, the ruling mullahs in Iran were fretting that their capital’s newly formed clandestine Michael Jackson clubs could easily turn into revolutionary cells.”

-Pico Iyer, from his book Video Night in Kathmandu about the spreading of American popular culture through the world. Published in 1988. The opening pages are a hillarious account of the intesnse popularity of “Rambo” all across Asia at the time. I’ve just started the book, but the back blurb promises writing that’s “a cross between Paul Theroux and Hunter Thompson,” so I’m rather excited.

The spread of Michael Jackson’s music is precisely one of the informal mechanisms that I just wrote about. So, yes, I’m counting on Michael Jackson and his ilk to save the world from fundamentalism. Do I sound crazy yet? Just you wait.

Roads?

Abe’s absolutely right. I can’t believe I forgot to include this. It’s brilliant.

That’s ridiculously cheap and maleable media technology improving our entertainment, folks. And its only going to get better.

By A Bright Green Field, In Denmark…

Anyone free at noon on friday? I think I am. I wonder that going to a rally at the Danish embassy would be like. What kind of crowd shows up? Who speaks?

An appropriate prize will be awarded to whoever comes up with the best Danish embassy themed protest chant. Preferrably involving spelled out words, rhyming, and oversimplification.

What are your thoughts on the cartoons? I highly recommend Colbert’s response. And in the interest of making all this even more heart wrenching and complicated, I have to point you here and here, to a story that shows that standing up for free speech isn’t always easy – it means advocating for the rights of some disgusting people – and that some western nations don’t have a spotless record to stand on when lecturing the Muslim world. Of course, anyone has the right to be indignant about violence against innocents. I thought our state department’s response was disheartening. Can we really all be threatened into silence?

Sullivan thinks that this hypersensitivity shows weakness and insecurity in Islam – and I’d piggyback with the assertion that all strong institutions allow and even design for criticism and for change, almost by definition. Strength isn’t always what it seems. I remember finding an advertisement for a museum exhibit on Napoleon in the metro (that’s DC for you) that featured a quote of his about how you get power, something about dirty politics and ruthlessness. I wasn’t impressed. His conquests remained in the hands of France for how long? And the adaptable, constitutional, liberal system founded in America at around the same time not only is still with us, but hasn’t stopped growing in power and influence since. It’s not a good sign when you can’t take a joke, when you can’t handle anything but respectful silence from your neighbors.

But I feel like the bigger issue is that this violent overreaction shows the trouble Islam is going to have as it finds itself neighbors with more and more non-Muslims (as the cartoons show is happening. It’s hard to get clearer evidence that we’re all now breathing down each other’s necks than some Danish newspaper igniting the Middle East.) No one will flourish or prosper without joining the global community. And no one who behaves the way many Muslims and middle eastern institutions – governments, press, religious leaders – just did will have an easy time of that. They can’t police the whole world the way they do their own citizens. And the insularity they’ve experienced, whether it’s been self-imposed or inflicted on them, isn’t serving them as global citizens. I’m not worried about the ability of the globalized community to work through issues of freedom of the press and cultural or religious sensitivity (I believe that mechanisms for accomodating and adapting, for changing and evolving, exist on a global scale, albeit indirectly and informally). I am worried about the future of those who have, as a precondition to their participation in the world, the requirement (and goal) that everyone cower in fear of offending them. That’s a recipie for a Napoleonic reign – violent, glorious maybe to those on the inside, but very brief.

Last Night A DJ Saved My Life…

On Monday the “Aural Pleasure” girls both crapped out on most of the show, and I took over. I was all by myself for an hour! It was their show, their space, and since they never announce their show (just play CDs they don’t care much about and argue over Regina Spektor) I didn’t announce anything either. Which is crap, because I played music that deserved identification; and its no use to hear something great on the radio if you can never find it again. Also, I played Ted Leo’s cover of “I’m Looking Through You,” which I had heard before and thought was good, but it turned out it wasn’t (the tempo change halfway through just doesn’t work). I should have gotten on and explained, apologized. I was nervous about getting my voice on air for the first time (as if anyone was listening) and uncomfortable with beginning a voiceover halfway through our two hours, without an introduction. So my witty and brilliant commentary has yet to make its debut out in the wide world of college radio. But stay tuned.

I had some of my music with me, and I was DJing for almost the whole two hours. I played Rose Polenzani’s cover of “Soul Meets Body,” which should have been identified on air. I played Hard-Fi because I thought they’d fit with the dancey indie stuff that “Aural Pleasure” endorses. I played Les Savy Fav and the Magic Numbers. It went well. I didn’t make any technical mistakes, which I’ve heard WRGW DJs do; and I got the Mountain Goats’ “Up The Wolves” on air, which I consider a personal triumph. I didn’t feel comfortable fucking with their program entierly, so I had to ignore all the great hip hop and jazz sitting around the studio and stick to strictly recent and strictly white music, and I had to play a quota of charted songs. But I really can’t complain. Hearing Morissey and Jamie Lidell and “Your Daddy Don’t Know” piped through the Marvin Center because of me was reward enough.

Update: Sorry, I forgot – I did play “Dust” by Van Hunt, which is hard not to like but nonetheless counts as non-white music. Score.

Sleep On The Floor, Dream About Me…

That last post was terribly serious. Sorry about that. Now, for balance: some joyous noise.

I’m listening to Broken Social Scene, the new, self-titled one, and in spite of their dreadful name and their embarrassing popularity with Urban Outfitters tastemakers, I’m gonna have to make it A Joyous Noise’s first official music recommendation. (Actually, now that I’m discovering that Amadou & Mariam, the african jazz musicians I mentioned in an earlier post, are in fact rather widely known and don’t at all qualify as a scoop for me, I may as well make that one official too. Amadou & Mariam. They’re good. Check it check it ooout.)

Music like Broken Social Scene reminds me why I love music like I do – why I consider it capable of things no other human creation can even approach. I completely missed this album, like all the best ones, when I first heard it. It sounded like noise. I knew their earlier album was great, and I remembered missing it completely the first time around, so I was determined to “get” this one, but y’all know that trying to “get” music makes it a miserable chore. When I did finally just listen, I very quickly realized that it was blowing my mind. Their stuff sounds joyous, sounds angry, sounds noisy and chaotic. I’ll avoid bullshitting my way through the lengthy, poetic, bewildering, intriguing, and ultimately useless description that most music reviews concern themselves with, because it would completely miss the point, which is just to let you know: you should listen to “Broken Social Scene” by Broken Social Scene. Because I love it.

Tracks 1 and 2, 3, 5, 6 8 and 9. Three is in 7/4, and it works, which is a beautiful moment for pop. Two is a stupefying achivement, heard on great speakers/in the right mood: the size of this music is stunning. Nine is the one I heard in Urban Outfitters. Yeah. I was in Urban Outfitters.

They were selling sex and ipod accesories and jewish-holiday-themed boardgames and snarky t-shirts. And it wasn’t quite my idea to be there. But honestly? Going to middle school in the late 90s I thought everyone, and I mean everyone, my age listened exclusively to pop gangsta rap (thank you, Puffy) and boy bands. Not that there weren’t a few cool kids in fifth grade who had the Green Day album, but I wasn’t one of them. So now, in spite of the grating packaging, I’m kinda enjoying Urban Outfitters. I don’t mind great music being listened to by a lot of people. And I do believe in music, in its independence from the people who promote it and the images on its packaging. I believe that the reality of this music has great worth, and that even if some poor shmuck picks it up trying desperately to be cool, there’s still a good chance that they’ll at some point tap into that beauty. And music doesn’t go away. If one of these indie kids digs out this album when they’re 55, they have a good chance of being moved. And its a little cute, flattering even, to have all the businesses that pander to teenagers selling indie rock and thrift shop chic instead of Puffy and that horrible Barbie Girl song that so plagued my childhood. It’s certainly what I was longing for when I was in middle school.

Eight is a nice little “get the fuck out of bed” ballad. Five is a slow version of a great single-worthy song. I have the fast one, it’s slightly better, and that’ll probably be the first mp3 I post if I ever get that up and running (I have some idea of how to do this, it’ll require a little money but it seems doable… but if any techies out there want to offer suggestions, I would mail you a Hershey’s kiss. See earlier post for details). I played that version on the radio. And it sounded great.

And I Don’t Want To Die Alone…

I saw Brokeback yesterday.

It made me scared of living an angry, empty life after knowing what I should do and being too cowardly to do it. The choice to be together, for these characters, would have been hard and incredibly dangerous, but it was clear that by not attempting it, risking it, they threw their whole lives away. They became terrible husbands, terrible parents, bitterly lonely and torn up inside their whole lives.
One dies at the end. What’s tragic isn’t the way he dies but the way he was living – nothing wrong with dying, even dying violently, after giving life your best shot, after living. What’s tragic is how clear it was to them what they needed to do – this isn’t a common thing in life, that its so painfully obvious what the right course is – and that in the face of that they failed to make it happen.
Nothing could have been worse than the lives they ended up leading. They caused many people intense pain along the way, in addition to starving themselves. The death just meant that what they had made for themselves was permanent – although it was pretty clear that it was going to be anyway. When you see so clearly what you were born to do, you have to go for it, you have to be willing to do things that terrify you, that risk everything, because if you don’t you throw your whole life away. That’s what I left with.

The film lets you take from it what you will. (Clearly. My reaction is all about me.) See it. It’s terribly powerful, really well done, and the filmmakers present the story, not build an argument. It stays very humble and bounded, honest and focused on its characters. And its a very good thing that this story is seen. Maybe someone will avoid wasting a life hiding from what they need and deserve after seeing it. Maybe that’ll be mine.

One Very Important Thought

So Jazztology goes ’till midnight, right? And afterwards, nothing happens for a few minutes, and then bad music comes on. Here’s what I’m thinking. I get into the studio, and when no one’s looking, I play “Midnight Radio,” and, get this… at midnight. On the radio. I bet no one’s ever done that before. I am so lame.

PS: This title isn’t a lyric from a song closely related to the subject of the post, but it is a song title that describes the contents of the post quite accurately. Name the album and I will give you a kiss.

PPS: If you live very far away, and you name the album, I will mail you one Hershey’s chocolate kiss, which will arrive all smushed and melty. But still so, so good.

I’m Gonna Rouge My Knees And Roll My Stockings Down…

I’m listening to “Jazztology Resurrected” right now on WRGW… and it’s fucking amazing. Ten to twelve, Sunday nights. Check it check it ooout!!

Right now some version of Angel Band I’ve never heard is playing. Earlier they played a version of My Funny Valentine with the “Back In Black” riff in the bass. They later announced this fact, but I fucking called it! I was screeching the Brian Johnson part (over whoever the lovely singer trying to get on with her version of My Funny Valentine was) way before they got on announcing it.

They made me very upset by playing not one but two fantastic Amadou & Mariam songs, because that means they know of Amadou & Mariam and I can’t impress them by moseying up alongside them, all, check this shit out, and then play them Amadou & Mariam. Now it’ll be like, oh hey, you like them? Yeah, they’re cool. I like them too.

That’s lame. Not that I wont do it, but. Still. And they have this Wood Brothers thing, its so good. Wood as in Medeski, Martin, and. But a few other Woods too, I think. Yeah, so now they’re talking about how good it is, which means when I go up to them and I’m like, hey, that Wood thing was good, they’ll be thinking, yeah, he’s saying that Wood thing was good because we said it was good and then he was all like, I’ll agree with them and make them like me, it’s not like he noticed it himself or nothin’, when the thing is I did, man, I fuckin’ did.

As you can probably tell, I’ma try like all hell to get on this show. And by “get on,” I of course mean “be allowed to sit in a corner with my mouth open while they’re on, marveling at their musical taste and their on-air finesse.” They actually announce the show, read off the artists, discuss them, they know their shit, they sound good, they sound like radio hosts should. They say “radioland” fer chrissake. You read that right: they’re adressing “radioland” and not sounding stupid. Because damn, I bet people actually listen to this.

I would. Will. From now on. And so should you.

Update: But holy hell, turn the station off afterwards. Whatever this is they playing is not worth your time. Even if your time is as dispensable as mine is.