This review will consist of emotional hipster shenanigans and leave all relevance to the very end.
Feb 13, 2009
Overwhelmed by a generation of anti-elitism and journalistic freedom the seemingly impossible task of clearing your head of all clutter to write and insightful review is just that, impossible. Can something be both seemingly impossible and also completely impossible? The question can only be answered with an example. The example, Radiohead's The Bends -- an album that is seemingly impossible to imagine (even after hearing it, I still don't believe it exists), but subsequently more than seemingly impossible that it was created in 1995. All evidence supports the fact that it actually is entirely impossible that such an album was created in the mid 90s. The only logical conclusion is to presuppose that The Bends was not actually created in 1995, but actually in 2010, the same year that Thom Yorke was voted the sexiest man alive.
In order to prepare myself for this review, however, I had to put myself in the right mindset -- to clear my head the half witted clutter unconsciously caused from Dancing With the Stars and the ignorance of You Aint No Picasso. Since there is no musical possibility that the genius that is The Bends has been created yet, I had to settle for an album that actually does exist. Naturally, I was inclined to go with Silver Jew's American Water. However, the melodic tapping of rain on my window and the, roughly, 12 grams of peyote I had already digested seemed more inclined to go with Animal Collective's Merriweather Post Pavillion.
The highlight from this album, and I'm now talking about American Water, is the ambitiously bold opening first line, "in 1984 I was hospitalized for approaching perfection." However, track 6 of Merriweather Post, "Blush," which is currently playing in the background of roach infested, shit hole of an apartment seems particularly fitting for this review. It seems clear to me that it's not Avey Tare singing the lyrics, "I like your looks when you get mean," but the raspy words are coming from the poster of Miles Davis that hangs behind my computer. In fact, no other human being on this planet (excluding Thom Yorke) could so accurately articulate the soul of Pitchfork than those very lyrics, by Animal Collective, being sung by Miles Davis on the poster behind my computer, in my shit infested apartment.
The reality is that it wasn't in 1984 that pitchfork was hospitalized for approaching perfecting. However, it was in 1995 that Pitchfork Media created perfection. Or, at the very least, it, for the first time in the history of journalism shined an honest, truthful and intelligent light on the world's lack of perfection, subsequently defining the word, perfection. And no, we don't like your look when Pitchfork get's mean. However, Jesus Christ, himself, would appreciate the raw authenticity of a Pitchfork record review.
Naturally, only one conclusion can be drawn, pitchforkmedia.com is the only relevant source to discover new music. However, after being compared to beonlinebe.com, I give it a 4.7/10.
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About the reviewer
Chad Osko (slimslowslider)
I live vicariously through fiction characters.
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Pitchfork Media, usually known simply as Pitchfork, is a Chicago-based daily Internet publication devoted to reviewing music, music commentary, news, and artist interviews. Its focus is on indie music. However, they do have a huge range of musical genres from electronica to jazz and everything in between.
Created in Minnesota in late 1995 by Ryan Schreiber, who was just out of high school, has promoted such bands as Arcade Fire and Clap Your Hands Say Yeah.