The Camel Toe Report: Okay. I know it's Easter and this is probably blasphemous and all, but I HAVE TO SHARE THIS LINK. There's nothing I can say that could make this site funnier. Just click (but not at work).

News flash: Joei has been accepted at Longy School of Music and Boston Conservatory. If anyone sees me out on the street corner offering myself to strangers for cash, well, baby needs tuition...

Best... picture... EVER: I defy anyone who clicks on this link to disagree.

"I'm just killing time": I tasked myself with doing some straightening around the condo this evening before Joei got back from her dress rehearsal, but I've grown weary of throwing away old piles of mail. I would much rather talk about music instead. Of course, since this is purely for procastination's sake, I don't have a band in mind to spark the old creative juices, so I have to resort to skimming the CD rack and seeing what grabs my fancy.

Let's see here... Odelay! by Beck? No, I refuse to talk about this album. I'm not going to change anyone's mind on it; it's one of those records that you either love or hate. Furthermore, people have discussed this album to death. People were so convinced of Beck's genius after this record came out that he had no choice but to disappear up his own ass in a self-defensive fit of ego-stroking. I'm not going to add to that train wreck, nosiree.

Moving on... I notice I Just Can't Help It by The English Beat. I bought this album solely for the song "Mirror In The Bathroom". Actually, I'm going to play that song now that I'm thinking about it. It's absolutely classic; all of the promise of ska wrapped up into one infectious, extremely danceable package. I was probably eight or nine when I first heard this song (thanks to an older brother who was discovering New Wave). It definitely lives in a special place in my heart; you can dole out equal blame to English Beat and John Coltrane for my later interest in the saxaphone. In fact, I'm sitting in front of the computer now with the goofiest smile on my face as I nod my head to the beat. I was about to decry the lack of songs like this on modern radio, but then I remembered No Doubt's "Hey Baby", undoubtedly one of the top ten singles of 2002 so far. It's good to remember why I initially twigged onto No Doubt when they first came out; after a period of slogging through the doldrums of proving they were, like, SERIOUS MUSICIANS, they seem to have remembered that the reason they picked up their instruments in the first place was because they liked to party. Nowadays, I'm finding it rare to find unapologetically fun songs on the radio, so hearing No Doubt return to their roots is captivating to me.

Moving on from English Beat, I'm going to stroke my ego a little bit and play a song recorded at the last Concordia Society concert where I had a solo. The song, "Trois Beaux Oiseaux du Paradis" by Maurice Ravel, is an absolutely gorgeous a capella number with oodles and oodles of lush harmonies that features a soprano soloist, but has little bits for an alto, tenor and BARITONE. I don't mean to sound egotistical, but MAN did I nail that baritone solo! Listening to things like this adds ammo to the little voice inside of me that keeps saying, "SCREW your day job, go all-out with the singing thing!" Then, I remember that we have bills to pay and sanity reasserts itself. At any rate, if Joei is successful, then I'll be able to live a life a relative leisure which will allow time to do more singing. YAY! (No pressure, honey.) Okay, I have to take this off before I break my arm patting myself on the back.

"Shake Dog Shake" by The Cure. I haven't heard this song in AGES. Man, it's just as brilliant as it was the first time I heard it. I remember that very well; I was 16 and had just grabbed a copy of the tape at a local record store. The only thing I knew about The Top was that its single was "The Caterpillar", so I was approaching this album with the expectation it was going to be a frothy, sunny romp. OH HOW WRONG I WAS. From the opening drum rool, my attention was ensared. I played that cassette five times straight through, marvelling at how disjointed the songs were. But, even as the differences leapt out at me, I couldn't imagine ten songs that fit together quite so well as the ten songs on this album. There was a good long period of time where I wasn't sure if my favorite Cure album was The Top or Pornography. The presence of "Siamese Twins" eventually tipped the scales for Pornography, but listening to the deranged guitar harmonics and pounding drums of this song makes me wonder if I made the correct decision...

Hmm, after ten o'clock. I need to go now. How funny; I'm certain this is the longest entry I've ever written to this blog and I didn't even know what I was going to say before I sat down. I'm sure tomorrow I'll have an editing frenzy fixing typos and fleshing out disjointed thoughts, but at the moment I'm thinking that that nothing gets the old fingers typing quite like vodka. (No Mom, I'm not an alcoholic. Stop worrying. Heh, it's not like you read this site, anyway.)

Leftfield split: Is there anyone left in the world who actually gives a damn about Leftfield?

Quickie update: Joei and I had a Seraphim Singers concert this past Sunday. It went extremely well; Joei got to perform her solo and did a stellar job at it. (The piece we were doing where I had a solo wasn't part of yesterday's program.) I've encouraged two friends from college to join the group, which excites me to no end.

Joei's living the whirlwind jet-set life; she jumped in the car this afternoon so that she could make an audition tomorrow morning at Manhattan School Of Music, then comes back for an opera rehearsal Tuesday night. The opera, a Lowell House Opera production of "Carmen" staged in modern times, goes up on Thursday (which reminds me; I need to get a ticket for the premiere).

I don't have anything big to say on the new music front. The new Boards Of Canada is brilliant, but I need to give it some time to sink in. (Expect a review at some point.) I also need to overhaul the design of this site, since huge chunks of it are out-of-date. So, that's gonna happen sometime this month, too.

Proud to be an American: Here's a tasty link from the BBC chronicling some of the stupid things Prince Phillip has said. This makes me feel a little better about Dubya. (Only a little, though.)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JOHN JUSTEN. It is criminal that we've lost touch the way that we have. If you stumble across this page, EMAIL ME. I want to know what's going on with you, yo.

Tim is the man: That track by Tweet is the greatest song released this year that wasn't "Hey Baby".

ALBUM REVIEW: CHEMICAL BROTHERS - Come With Us

I read a recent interview with the Chemical Brothers where they talked about how pleased they were with their third album, Surrender, and how they had to consciously stop comparing the tracks they were recording for their fourth album to that allaegdly perfect masterwork. All I can say to that is "THANK GOD". A couple of tracks aside ("Out Of Control", "Hey Boy Hey Girl"), I thought that Surrender was a gigantic pile of toss. It was a limpid retread of themes which had been percolating in the Chemical Brothers' recordings since 1993. In turning their back on what they consider to be their most perfect work, the Chems have come up with the album I was expecting Surrender to be.

The first half of the album is flawless. The woozy swagger of "Come With Us" blends beautifully into the dubby disco-house stylings of "It Began In Afrika". This leads to a retooled version of "Galaxy Bounce" from the Tomb Raider (now with an ending!) and one of the highlights of the album, the woozy haze of their current single, "Star Guitar". Words can't describe how great this track is. It easily compares to their best efforts; in fact, this is the track that delivers on the promise hinted at by "It Doesn't Matter" from Dig Your Own Hole. Things mellow out a little bit with the subdued electro workout "Hoops", then things pick back up with the demented music box that makes up the main hook of "My Elastic Eye". Beth Orton makes her now-obligatory appearance on the gloriously trippy "The State We're In", which leads into "Denmark", a bouncy house number filtered through the Chemical world view. This barrells straight into the sine-wave workout "Pioneer Skies, itself merely an appetizer for ending track "The Test", featuring Richard Ashcroft in one of the strongest things he's recorded since leaving The Verve.

The main thing going for this album is its diversity. All of the tracks have a distinct sound and style, yet somehow they all come together as a cohesive unit. I can't think of a better way of sequencing this album, nor can I think of any tracks that sound out of place or awkward. Best of all, the entire album clocks in at just under an hour, entertaining you without exhausting you. I was terrified that the Chems had completely lost the plot when they released Surrender. I'm happy to report that Come With Us proves they've still got what it takes to release quality material.

DAN'S RATING: GRREAT!

Venus Williams, #1: We all knew this was going to happen eventually. Three cheers to the fierce ruling diva of the Grand Slam circuit. She really deserves it, IMO. (The less said about that outfit she's wearing, the better. Borrowing something from Shakira may not have been the move for this ceremony.)

Congrats are due: My lovely and talented wife won her first competition as a classical soloist last night. Go Joei!

Mos Def, actor: The most surprising thing about this article is the revelation that Mos Def was an actor before becoming an MC. Given the number of musicians who have begun chasing box-office fame, it's easy to assume that they all have similar backgrounds (ie, none) and motivations ($$$$) for trying to break into film. Brings home that saying about assumptions; they make an "ass" of "u" and "mptions".

Update frenzy: I have a new pop star to mock: SHAKIRA. The Columbian songstress is finally achieving crossover success in America by, well, becoming a bigger slapper than Christina Aguilera and singing nonsensical songs. Even after granting special dispensation because English isn't her first language, the lyrics to "Underneath Your Clothes" are, at best, goofy and painful. The schmaltzy Herb Ritts video that accompanies it is merely icing on the cake of badness.

I can't fully hate on Shakira, though; anyone who can sing the lines "Lucky that my breasts are small and humble/So you don't confuse them with mountains" and maintain a straight face gets big absurdist points from me.

Brandy marries Robert Smith! Strange but true!

Hervé Villechaize fans, CLICK HERE. If you have no idea who Hervé Villechaize is, bone up on your Fantasy Island trivia, then go to that link. (WARNING: It's a QuickTime movie.)

Oh my! These are laugh-out-loud funny ideas for fake children's books. Don't look at these at work unless you know you won't get into trouble; I almost hurt myself attempting to stifle raucous laughter.

Get the balance right: Just to be fair, here's an awful picture of a tennis player I like:

For your enjoyment: I present a wildly-unflattering picture of Martina Hingis!

MinorDomesticAccidents.com is one of the funniest sites I've ever been directed towards. The video section is RIDICULOUS.