"WE NEED YET ANOTHER," SAID AKELA

First there was Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and then, later, Fox N'Wolf and then Wolves In The Attic and then The Wolf Sisters and also Peanut Butter Wolf and also AIDS Wolf and also, um, let's see, Wolf Parade and also We Are Wolves and also Wolves In The Throne Room and also Destry Hampton And The Wolves From Hell and also Wolfmother and also The Good Wolves and also Raised By Wolves and also Wolf'n'Wax and also Wolf & Cub and also Peter And The Wolf and also Wolf Eyes and also Teen Wolf and also Cry Wolf and also Guitar Wolf and also , yes, don't forget, me, also Among Wolves and also James King And The Lone Wolves and also Le Loup.

I'm not at all certain that Le Loup are French.

[photo source]

NEIL NEVER WANTED THE JOB

and you knew it, you had seen it on his face the day you said you could get him a job, you could never forget, because look at you, you never forget anything. Not the time your mom sewed those shorts and you had to wear them on the first day of school. Not the time Neil broke Justin's dad's Tom Petty's Damn the Torpedoes and said it was you. Not the time you threw the rock at that bottle-headed snake and accidentally crushed its head. If anyone remembered anything about anything at all, or the simplest proverb, they would call you The Elephant, but they don't, they just use you for stupid bar bets. Sometimes Neil calls you The Elephant, or after a mickey of cheap Ron Rico, Daniellephant, and, remember, only stupid people are hurt by what people say when they've been drinking, people don't mean that stuff, not when they're sober, not later, not the morning after, not after the phone calls, "What did I say? No, I didn't, I wouldn't, I'm sorry." Neil is always sorry. He's always convincing. Even when he says he doesn't mind working with you. Even when he says that and you never brought up work or working in the first place. Why are you supposed to be the one to quit? Why doesn't Neil quit, then? Get bent, already, Neil, just get B-E-N-T.

DON'T U PUT ME ON THE BACK BURNER-R-R

Not content with rejecting the double-page displays proffered by the anxious editors at DC, DARKSEID started writing and pencilling DMZ at Vertigo. Not that his writing had anything to do with DMZ or a war-torn New York City, of course, e.g. this stuff—

Chorus:

Some people think you're cruel and harsh. Maybe you're just an asshole.

Solo:

But isn't it irresponsible NOT to draw judgements and red-letter conclusions? Acceptance is key, sure, but if that was the only combination on the safe, cats and dogs could steal our valuables and party all night. Maybe only half-a-night with my treasures. Nothing is more accepting than Fido and Whiskers. The animals don't care about my looks or lack of them, don't mind that I got drunk and punched a hole in the wall, lashed out at my friend and threw a plate across the room, crashed thru the bsmnt window and ruined the waterbed. Animals don't give me high-fives about sleeping with that girl, don't leave me nasty notes about me being a slut, could care less whether I stick a needle into my body. They're not even upset if I give them the silent treatment. And that's easily one of the biggest reasons why I need better friends in my life than a cat curled up on my pillow or a dog at the door. If I have any friends worth giving a damn about, they'll care about me putting myself and them through hell. What kind of solipsistic friends would they be if they didn't care more about me than a damn cat would? Don't my friends want to see me behaving better? Do I have the kind of friends who find terrible raging acceptable? I guess as long as I don't abuse them personally, they're fine with me being this generation's greatest living asshole. Well, thanks, Groucho, and I don't care to belong to a club that would have me like that. The cult of acceptance has gone too far and, at best, it's self-preserving relativism, beastly selfish. From whom should I accept criticism if not from friends? Where's the ancient common sense of things? There are times I need a doctor, I don't know what's wrong with me, I can't heal what I can't see, can't lance what I can't feel. I need friends to judge me and highlight conclusions from those judgements. I don't want to hear strangers judging me, don't want to feel the burning lancets scalpels trocars bayonettoes slicing through my soul. Love wouldn't let me behave badly forever. Where's the way out? Show me the way. Don't leave me, draw me an escape route. I need pictures, diagrams, arrows, I need my friends to love me enough to hurt me when I'm sick and heal me back to health. Otherwise they're just dogs, cat-hearted, unable to open doors.

DARKSEID out.

"The Ancient Commonsense Of Things"+ Bishop Allen Why is no one Buddy Holly rave-on-ing about this album yet? Call it Beatle-mania, I guess. Most of us can take or leave most of The Beatles' songs because the excellence of The Beatles music is so high that if you miss it you can shrug and wait for the next excellent Beatles track to pop up on your player. Whatevs, right? Bishop Allen is writing and recording at an amazing level of craftsmanship right now. This song is not my favourite off the new album out this March, but it is the most neccessary song on the album in terms of representing Bishop Allen and what their songs stand for. There is the customary nostalgia for the past, a nostalgia rooted in the questioning of today's weaker, softer ideas. The past grants an understanding of the troubled times of today. And today becomes a little more bearable as it becomes a little more rooted in the past.

The orchestration on this song is superb.

THE TIGER-FORCE AT THE CORE OF ALL THINGS

Not a lot of people understood that DARKSEID was emotionally vincible—

Understand me, internets and fifty-two universes, I know you don't care anything about me and, yes, I'm bitter—oh so bitter, bitter plus bitter-er, bitter put into the table of elements, bitter pure—and I don't care about you, either, except that I do. Don't you understand that you not caring about me hurts me caring about me? The mirror gets all fuzzy, I don't see just myself anymore, I see chairs, furniture, a glass container of morticoccus, the books behind my head. I guess I'm looking in the mirror in the hallway. And here I thought I was talking to myself in the bathroom mirror. I don't know where I'm at any longer.

DARKSEID out.

"Hurt Feelings" + Flight Of The Conchords So the new season is wildly uneven, looks a little like a llama, etcetera, whatever. We can still say something nice about their profiterole new rap, can we not? Catchy, funny, surreal—"tears of a rapper" plus Biz Markie's outfit from the video equals a nice night in Absurdistan—and well worth the wait. I've scrolled for hours through Hype Machine and thought myself well-rewarded for one, maybe two, solid mp3s, and I don't mind sitting through an hour-and-a-half of FOTC if it means hearing something as good as "Some people say that rappers are invincible, WE'RE VINCIBLE". Jemaine's form on the first verse is killer, btw.

[photo source]