September 2nd

5:45PM // 6,503 notes

frog-and-toad-are-friends:

May 12, 1991: Bill Watterson predicts vaporwave.

1:30PM // 28 notes

partycops:

the Slipnutz are re-uniting for this year’s SF Sketch Fest

i’m losing my shit

9:15AM // 202 notes

craigbworrell:

Skullmonkeys

September 1st

5:45PM // 9,524 notes

(Source: unit-02, via yaffle)

1:30PM // 10,481 notes

9:15AM // 255 notes

August 31st

5:45PM // 13 notes

Holy @!#$ its gonna be a day. I just now discovered the masterpiece third/sister lovers and Chris Bell’s solo work… 

That’s crazy I tell ya’, crazy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(Source: daysrunaway)

1:30PM // 1 note // Most of the Big Star stuff was searching for how to get through two verses without saying anything really stupid….” Add “playing” to “saying,” and you have as apt a description of the task involved in writing good pop songs as has ever been articulated. Great songwriters learn as much from listening to bad music as they do from listening to what they love. They memorize pitfalls, dead-ends; the how, as opposed to the what, of poor taste and cliché. It’s a strange, hair-splitting science, since, let’s face it, when you’re thinking in Shostakovich terms, the distance between a Brian Wilson objet d’art and a breakfast-cereal jingle is about three atoms wide. For a pop songwriter, each new composition presents countless temptations and traps, moments when the song wants to become “stupid,” wants to go to the obvious chord or rhyme, wants to sound too close, as opposed to just close enough, to what we’ve heard before. The game is to thread your way through these traps without sounding as if you’re trying to be unpredictable—melodically, lyrically, in whatever way. And success comes when you’ve taken all the crap the genre gives you to work with—limited instrumentation, limited melodic possibilities, limited time—and made beauty of it, then disguised the beauty as more of the good ol’ crap we like to hear when we turn on the radio. Isn’t that precisely what makes those classics, like “Baby, It’s You,” so moving, so overwhelming, what makes you have to pull your car to the side of the road when they come on? The beauty in them is subversive. It doesn’t belong. It’s been smuggled in under the radar of suburban teenage taste and purchasing power. That’s why pop music is the art for our time: It’s an art of crap. And not in a self-conscious sense, not like a sculpture made of garbage and shown at the Whitney, which is only a way of saying that “low” materials can be made to serve the demands of “high” art. No, pop music really is crap. It’s about transcending through crap. It’s about standing there with your stupid guitar, and your stupid words, and your stupid band, and not being stupid.

Alex Chilton

9:15AM // 99 notes

millionshoppingcarts:

Chris Bell - I am the Cosmos (1992)

Simply, a beautiful song.

August 30th

1:07PM // 112 notes

(Source: kyleboy21da)