"Perfect Teeth" by Unrest.

It took me an exorbitant amount of time to finally listen to this record all the way through. It wasn't the album itself I found off-putting, I think I just couldn't find the time to fully devote to it without being a little distracted, and that's not exactly fair to the artist. At any rate, I finished it, and here's what I thought: Unrest seem very good at the core, but their message gets lost around the edges. A majority of the songs are made up of only 2 different parts. Their execution is slick, however, saving them from total disaster. I'd still like to hear some more variances, but that's merely a preference. Their overall tone is that of general under the radar indie pop, with a few somber nuances. The drummer is the real star, though, possessing a hefty sum of finesse, which he exercises generously, throughout the album. The song Breather X.O.X.O. is especially creative, both in its approach, and its execution. All in all, a nice record, but something about it kept me at arms length.

The Modeling Industry.

My friends are geeks.

I understand nerds in an intrinsic way, but geeks are another mess altogether.

A nerd (at least according to my rather broad interpretation) is someone who embraces their guilty pleasures without the feeling of guilt. Think about it. Deep down, people generally like some pretty silly stuff. Only when they are unafraid to speak about them without any sort of prefabricated disclaimer at the ready, are they considered "uncool" to some extent. Let's be honest here, the term "cool" as we know it today seems to indicate a sense of overall quietude, or even aloofness in an individual, which is exactly what you would get if you took away any ability to speak about those guilty pleasures openly.

Geeks just enjoy lame stuff. They also get far too excited and obsessive about this stuff. I'm not trying to incite a class war, so to speak, but some of my friends are now geeks in my book.

They have started playing Warhammer 40,000 on a regular basis.

There are four guilty parties (who will remain anonymous, they know who they are) so far. They have all the rule books, they have constructed a large gaming table in my basement, they have spent large sums of money on tiny models and paints, they exhaust long hours painstakingly assembling and detailing these models, they discuss "technique", they have played numerous campaigns against one another and they talk "shop" around the house when they aren't readily engaged in tabletop warfare. I've even heard them recount the details of a game that they had just finished playing. This is worse than discussing a movie immediately after viewing it (I think one of my readers will understand this). These were "cool" people once. It happened almost overnight.

I assembled and primed my first unit tonight, and I eagerly anticipate the primary stages of painting him tomorrow. So long, "cool". It was fun while it lasted. I'll always look back on you fondly, but there are wars to be won.

Mallrat.

I made an impromptu jaunt to the local mall yesterday. I hadn't been in quite some time (it's tough to get out when you don't drive), and to be honest, I'd forgotten just how much I actually enjoy being there. It's not about the stores themselves, particularly, or even the "shopping experience", although I must admit that a certain level of catharsis is felt when indulging my terrible habit of impulse buying. I feel so invigorated and alive when I shirk any semblance of rational responsibility for the prospect of a simple pleasure. That's one plus, however selfish. I also like the feeling of being "lost" in public, though not outdoors. I can't stand the city, but I revel in the bustle of an irrational number of people indoors. It's strange and a little hard to describe accurately, but it's definitely there, and surely a contributing factor.

During my uncalled-for contribution to consumerism, I was accosted by a young Mediterranean woman, named Esther. She prompty approached me, and with a thick accent, proceeded to inform me about the product she was peddling from the Dead Sea. (I won't go into her reaction to my name.) She grabbed my hands and coated them with coarse, granular sea-salt, for the purpose of cleaning them. She idly asked how old I was, and I replied "31". She expressed her disbelief, and said that I looked "great" (Yes!). She then hit me with the obligitory "Do you have a girlfriend?". (I say "obligitory" because she would clearly never even attempt to sell so feminine a product to a specimen so masculine, lest he had said "girlfriend".) I replied "Nope.", to which she stopped her presentation altogether. Eyebrows all scrunched, as though my statement were incredulous, she simply asked "How?" (Yes!!).

I'm sure that it is well within her job description to flatter any fellow who is fool enough to walk past their kiosk and make even passing eye contact with them, however, the encounter still put a spring in my step. She was not an attractive young lady by any means, but I walked away feeling younger, and more confident. A badly needed pair of new jeans was not the only thing I left with that day. Suddenly, I was imbued with good posture, a cool demeanor and a smug expression. (At least for the duration of the bus ride home.)

"Rev" by Ultra Vivid Scene.

Yet another in a long line of middling records. This album was well done, but unremarkable. The main offender? The singer. As I listened to this record, I imagined someone with some real vigor, like Roger Daltrey or Roland Orzabal, belting some awesome trademark stylings over the music, and I instantly saw potential. The songs themselves weren't necessarily bad, but the vocalist bored me, and therefore the songs suffered. This was a real lesson for me in just how important a good front man can be. Of course, any truly good band needs all parties firing on all cylinders (creatively, and performance-wise), but if the vocalist isn't powerful in some way, it seems to be the biggest, and most noticeable detractor.

"Shallow End of the Gene Pool" by Mariner Nine.

Aside from the ridiculous album name and juvenile song titles ("Dude, I'm Growing My Hair" and "Red Rocket Serenade" had me chuckling as I imported the disc to my collection), this record is an impressively awesome effort. I have never heard anything about this band, and the production, while decent, shows that these guys are probably nobodys who had enough money to cut an album. On some of the songs, you can even hear the white noise from certain instruments being punched in during the recording process. A little shoddily done, but the songs are so good, that I forgive literally every shortcoming this record has. That's no small feat, as the smallest thing (especially silly song titles) can mean a deal breaker for me. So far, this is one of the only records in this review process, that I have listened to over and over simply because I like it so well. The songs have a similar vein, but the ideas are always fresh and never repeat themselves. This is perfectly done, colorful indie pop, and I'm going to track down any other recordings by this solid outfit.

"Original Motion Picture Soundtrack" by MK Ultra.

This album rules. The songs are tight and interesting, the lyrics are great and the production is nearly perfect. It turns out the man at the helm is one John Vanderslice. I guess he's gone on to do great things as a solo artist, and while I'm not familiar with those works, it's easy to believe when hearing the material on this record. This dude is a talented song writer who possesses a strong, and seemingly innate sense of flow and structure. He also knows when to end a song, which is nice. Too many artists these days seem to beat their songs to death. My only gripes are as follows: there are too many tracks and the cover art is retarded. Definitely pick this one up and check it out, though. Noteworthy songs are True Crime, Billy Dale Hunt and the amazing Santa Maria. Simple, focused and a rare kick-ass treat.

Smells Like the Nineties Part 2: "Tidal" by Fiona Apple.

This album spawned a monster. Suddenly every floosy who could mash on a piano and attempt to emulate an amalgamation of talented, black female vocalists, were getting record deals. At least this record is good. Fiona's dusky vocals always border on being tawdry, but never come across as trashy, or needy. That's a tough line for a female artist to walk these days and my hat's off to her. She does it gracefully. Her piano playing isn't exactly spectacular, but her chord progressions and compositional skills are noteworthy. All of these ingredients seem to coalesce effortlessly into a record that's complex and rewarding, but easy to listen to.