WABASH, Ind. — Guests of a recent keg party almost had their good time ruined after avowed musical theater freak Andy “Pipes” Schiller showed up unannounced and clocked the piano in the adjoining room, sources with their fingers in their ears confirmed.
“Look, I love Pipes like a brother, but you get him around a keyboard instrument and all of a sudden it’s opening night. We all saw his eyes light up when he noticed my step-mom’s baby grand in the foyer. I could feel the rest of the party consider chugging their drinks and bouncing rather than suffer through a Sondheim medley,” said party thrower Dunmore Maye. “Ugh, last time he just did a bunch of Billy Joel as if he was the first one to ever find out about him. I’m surprised anyone came this time after that. I need another drink.”
Schiller insisted that the presence of a piano, the building block of all modern musicals and something that he’s studied since he was in kindergarten, did not phase him.
“Oh, was there a piano at the party? That’s so weird, I didn’t notice. Ohhh, wait, no I think I’m starting to recall seeing one. I happened to play just one chord on it…G major, same key as the Music Man’s ‘Wells Fargo Wagon,’ no big deal,” said Schiller, as he waved to some fans that weren’t actually there. “But that was just to check if it was in tune! Since I have near perfect pitch, and all… and it was. But, play? Me? In front of all these people? You must have me confused with some other rising starlet!”
Wabash’s premier piano mover Burtram Haysworth lamented the fact that this occurrence is all too common.
“Without a doubt, 90, hell maybe 95 percent of my business relies on being on-call to quickly remove pianos from parties that theater folk end up attending. It puts food on my table and my kids in their colleges, I’m telling ya,” said Haysworth as he counted out a wad of bills. “We work discreetly, quickly, and even leave behind some homemade pamphlets on ‘not always making a spectacle of oneself’ where the piano was. I’d like to think I don’t only run a business, but I provide community service as well.”
At press time, the party was saved after a Little Richard impersonator shoved Schiller out of the way, and tore the roof off the place with the power of rock ‘n roll.
The Thunderbird was a legend among the indigenous peoples of North America said to be so large that it created thunderstorms when it flapped its wings. This was disproved in the ‘70s when two Thunderbirds attacked a small boy. Witnesses estimated the actual wingspan to be a mere 10 feet. If there’s one thing I can’t tolerate in a hookup, it’s lying about size.
Bigfoot’s weird Floridian cousin. Between his giant Pepe Le Pew-like appearance and the fact that he chooses to live in Florida, I’m betting Skunk Ape would come on a little strong for my taste. Buy a guy a drink first!
He’s the Bigfoot of Australia, and I’m a sucker for the accent, but the Yowie’s reputation for aggression and violence is kind of a turn-off. He must be a descendant of a Bigfoot criminal the other Bigfoots shipped down under when their prisons got too crowded.
Early reports of Trunko were wild. A giant polar bear-like fish with an elephant trunk? Sign me up! Unfortunately in 2010, some photos surfaced proving that Trunko was likely just a hunk of rotting whale flesh that washed up on shore. Humpable in an emergency, but not really my type.
This “creature” was the inspiration for what some consider to be the first found footage horror movie “The Legend of Boggy Creek.” He is described as being a large, hairy man-like creature with red eyes, but I’ve been to Arkansas, and it was probably just some dude.
A lake monster, like good ole Nessy, but this one resides in Burlington Vermont so he’s got a more crunchy/granola vibe. If I were still a teenager Champ would be a total dreamboat, but I’m done pretending to be into Phish no matter how big and scaly you are.
I’m not going to try and tell you that octopus sex wouldn’t be hot, we all know it is. I just think the Kraken must have a huge ego. He’s got his own rum, his own cryptocurrency, he’s in movies, he even has his own catchphrase, “Release the Kraken!” I’m looking to have sex with a crypto-zoological creature that’s a little more down to earth.
Africa is a hotbed for Cryptids that are probably just regular animals that haven’t been photographed yet. The African Peacock was considered a cryptid until its existence was confirmed in 1936. Sex with regular animals is wrong, but until they’ve been captured on film they are fair game! Please, no one photographed this undiscovered wild dog until I’ve had sex with it.
Selkies are mythical Scottish seals with the ability to shape-shift into humans. I guess that comes in handy if you enjoy sex with humans, which to be clear, I DON’T!
Wampanoag folklore tells of the Pukwudgie, a name that roughly translates to “little wild man of the woods that vanishes.” I’ve had my share of wild men in the woods that vanish. I’m looking for a cryptid that’s ready to commit.
Specimens of this giant water snake/sea horse hybrid have allegedly been captured live twice, but both times it was released back into the water. Sounds like a pretty checkered dating history, no thanks.
Some accounts of this centuries-old Russian cryptid have it that it’s a giant dragon-like creature that swallowed an entire airplane during WWII. Others say it’s just a larger-than-average beaver. I could maybe be persuaded into a hookup, but Brosno Dragon, you need to figure yourself out before you start thinking about a relationship.
I think I speak for all cryptosexuals when I say I’m more into chimeras with human bodies and animal heads, not the other way around. Besides, you don’t get your own ancient Egyptian monument without developing a pretty massive ego.
Glowing eyes and tendril-like fingers are sexy, but all the crypto-zoological sex in the world wouldn’t be hot enough to get me through another Massachusetts winter.
He’s a true mystery man. Reports of his appearance differ wildly, and there is some debate over whether he is an actual creature or the spirit of the river. In the early 20th century several expeditions were made to the Congo in an effort to find him, but those crypto-zoologists turned up nothing because they didn’t employ my technique — seduction.
Welsh mythology tells of this giant frog with bat wings and a long lizard-like tail with a stinger on the end. This nefarious creature uses these unholy attributes to… snap fishing line? Sorry, but I’m not sleeping with a cryptid that refuses to live up to its lethal potential.
I already know I’m going to catch flack for putting The Mothman so low on this list of cryptids I would like to have sex with. I get it. Seven feet tall, enormous wings, and glowing red eyes, he’s a hottie. I just can’t hear the name “Mothman” and not think about Richard Gere. It’s a mood killer. It’s not you Mothman, it’s me, okay?
According to legend, in 1735 a woman named Jane Leeds, frustrated upon learning she was pregnant with her 13th child, cursed her own pregnancy and declared her offspring would be “a devil.” She proceeded to birth a horse or goat-like creature with giant leathery bat wings, aka a total smoke-show. Unfortunately, this stud loses points on account of the fact that older men from New Jersey are notoriously selfish lovers.
Basically like the winged monkeys from “Wizard of Oz” but without wings. They’re just mean scary monkeys is all I’m saying. They also tend to travel in packs, and I’m just not really into the group thing anymore.
You might think a relationship between a human and a reptile-bird chimera is strange, which is why I’m glad Snallygaster lives near Baltimore. The residents of Charm City aren’t prudes, and they wouldn’t bat an eye at the two of us sharing crab cakes by the harbor, browsing around Atomic Books, and scooping helpless victims into the sky to drink their blood. It’s called being open-minded.
This serpentine lake monster is said to be 50 feet long and thicker than a telephone pole, so you know he’s and ideal lover, and he’s Canadian so you know he’s nice!
Deafheaven had been straddling the line between underground and mainstream at this point, but the rave reviews from NPR helped make this the kind of record that could win a Grammy and be sold as an impulse item at the Whole Foods checkout. The sudden softening of their sound is outright startling, and makes the heavier parts feel tacked on, rather than intrinsic to the songwriting. Chelsea Wolfe appears on one track (as well as roughly 65% of metal albums worth listening to that were made in the 2010s), harmonizing gorgeously with vocalist George Clarke’s suddenly clean vocals. By no means a bad record, but it lacks momentum and cohesion.
Every abrasive underground band is legally required to eventually put out one album that makes all the critics raise an eyebrow and say “Well, this is different!” This record completed the shift that Ordinary Corrupt Human Love had teased, pushing the dream pop/black metal ratio to something like 9:1. It’s like Beach House teamed up with Mogwai and they all binged on molly and early Mayhem records. The tracks are catchy and sexy as hell, but there’s a bland sameness that starts to creep in by the time you get to the halfway point. Whereas OCHL suffers from mild lack of cohesion, Infinite Granite suffers from mild homogeneity. While Clarke’s sudden banshee shrieks at the end of “Mombassa” gave some critics the vapors, that’s probably because they bought OCHL at Whole Foods three years earlier and never listened to anything else the band has ever done.
Deafheaven’s heaviest full-length. The band had just made themselves a reputation as too lightweight for the metalheads and too intense for the indie kids. But with New Bermuda, the band clearly wants to win over the metalheads; most of this thing sounds like molten steel boiling over in your speakers. And yet, there’s still a thoughtful sense of dynamic range. On opening track “Brought to the Water,” for a little over a minute, full-throttle white-knuckle metal gives way to waves of ethereal, chorus-saturated arpeggios. It’s a tantalizing glimpse of where the band’s next albums will go. But then, with a sudden whole-step descending hammer-on, it’s back to heavy-as-hell business as usual. We wanted to dock a point for the vinyl release being 2 LPs played at 45 RPM, because that’s weirdly annoying, but it still kicks hella ass.
Those slabs of abstract melody in the demo start to turn into something a little more refined here. Opener “Violet,” for instance, really takes its time with the ominously shimmering prelude before absolutely exploding a little past the four-minute mark. The whole album is basically a blueprint for taking the loud-quiet-loud dynamic of post-metal outfits like Isis and Pelican and Russian Circles, and raising the stakes several times over, fashioning a reliable-but-sometimes-tired routine into something uniquely unrestrained and emotive. Bonus points for the gorgeous cover art.
Deafheaven took their time putting out this unused track from the “Ordinary Corrupt Human Love” sessions, with no fanfare or promotion whatsoever, and it’s hard to believe that it didn’t make it onto the album. You could make the case that it just didn’t quite fit in with the other songs, and you wouldn’t be wrong, but only because it’s so much better than any of them. Thrashy, gnarly, in-your-face, and possibly the heaviest thing the band has ever made.
Look, we tried really REALLY hard to find a reason not to rank it number one, but this record broke the early 2010s metal scene wide open, leaving heavy music fans pondering whether they could abide an Abercrombie-model-looking lead singer shrieking about “your moon dreams of the dirt and the sharp tongue of your zealous will” over blast beats and tremolo picking. The artsy flourishes that give the album space to breathe are genuinely affecting too. One field recording of an unhinged street preacher is pure Godspeed You Black Emperor, and we mean that in the best possible way. Another recording of guitarist Kerry McCoy trying to score drugs with his last $60, played over a malevolent dirge, is equally haunting. But none of these little avant-garde gestures would add up to much if the music around them weren’t so viciously uncompromising. 24 seconds into album opener “Dream House,” when those chords drop, you’ll think you got hit by the sonic equivalent of a humanity-ending asteroid. If this isn’t the best metal album of its decade, it’s certainly the most important.
During a tense exchange with former Vice President Mike Pence over January 6th Ramaswamy broke from his talking points, stared directly down the lens of a camera, and said “I’ll strangle you like I did to that guy outside of Bisbee. Nobody will ever find the body.” He then said he would be more than willing to pardon Trump if he was found guilty of any federal charges. Sources close to Ramaswamy confirmed that he remained visibly erect for several hours after his confession.
The Florida governor seemed distracted and content to stay in the background all night. The few times he did speak up he kept complaining about the “erratic frequency” of the intimacy device his wife was controlling from their home in Florida. He claimed it felt good at some points, but other times felt like when you stick your tongue on a 9-volt battery. “No god-fearing taxpayer should have to shell out $180 for a Lovense Hush 2 Buttplug only for his wife’s control app to crash during an important meeting.”
Shortly after being introduced the former New Jersey governor seemingly had a moment of clarity regarding his name. “My parents must be the least creative people in the world,” Christie said in response to nothing. “They named their child ‘Christopher Christie?’ They couldn’t think of anything better? I’m basically fucking Robert Robertson, Tommy Thompson. Did they even love me?” Christie then refused to answer any more questions until people started referring to him as “Colt Christie.”
Pence surprised his rivals, the moderators, and the audience by shedding his suit within the first minute to reveal a fresh AC/DC shirt, which he then covered with a leather jacket before going on multiple expletive-laden rants. “People think I’m a little too buttoned up, well I got news for you friend, I’m a certified pussy hound,” Pence said before doing a vulgar gesture where he mimicked eating out a woman’s vagina for the remainder of his time. When asked about climate change he said “It’s fake as fuck, but as long as hot mommas keep dumping out their tits I don’t give a shit.” According to some reports he mimed jerking off in the direction of whoever was speaking.
The former governor of South Carolina was the only candidate to acknowledge the reality of climate change, and the only person on stage to openly trash rising country star Oliver Anthony whose song “Rich Men North of Richmond” is full of references to QAnon conspiracies. “This ginger fuck has the worst voice I’ve ever heard. I’m sorry, but if you want real country music give me some Garth Brooks,” Haley said to a chorus of boos. “My dumbest nephew could have written a better song in five minutes and the kid has never touched a guitar. That song sucks dick and the guy’s beard definitely smells like dog shit. You know he’s eaten out a dog’s ass at least once, you know it.”
Scott, also from South Carolina, seemed distracted and upset all night due to a mix-up with his lunch order earlier in the day. When asked about global warming he replied “Let me answer your question with a question, is a meatball sandwich and a chicken parm sub the same thing pal? No, they’re not, right? I’m not crazy? Great.” Scott continued airing his grievance when asked about abortion rights. “I don’t care if they have the same cheese on top, they have different buns and you eat them at completely different angles,” Scott said. Scott’s bitterness toward an unnamed aid continued all the way into his closing statement “I had to wipe my hands on the couch like an animal. Grab napkins before you leave the restaurant, it’s common sense.”
During a brief exchange between Chris Christie and Moderator Martha MacCallum about the existence of extraterrestrials Asa Hutchinson screamed “They are already here and have been living in my brain for years.” The other candidates tried to laugh it off, but Hutchinson spoke in detail about how when he was a boy fishing by a creek he was abducted by aliens, forced to “smoke drugs,” and claimed he was given all the knowledge of how to survive the coming armageddon. After the outburst, he curled into a ball on the stage and mumbled “I never asked for any of this” over and over until production cut his mic and covered him with a Fox News blanket.
The governor of North Dakota almost didn’t make it to the stage after injuring his Achilles heel during a game of basketball with his staffers. When asked about details surrounding the injury Burgum claimed he had been 40 for 40 beyond the 3-point line with 75 rebounds and 230 assists. He said he ruptured the ligament when attempting a 360, between-the-legs dunk from the free throw line that he easily made, but because the dunk was so strong and shattered the glass he ended up hurting his leg when he landed back on the ground. He later clarified “Actually the injury was on purpose, because I’m tired of winning so easily.”
“Winner” is the proverbial black sheep of the discography. Banished from every streaming platform save for Bandcamp, plenty of fan lists forget to even include this in their ranking. Which is a shame, because there are lots of ideas on here that make the project worth a listen. But something’s gotta be last, and there’s a reason this one hasn’t gotten the same rerelease treatment as his other pre-label albums.
This album is full of all the pieces that make Alex’s music great: catchy lo-fi singer-songwriter tunes, a warm blanket of melancholy, and plenty of off-the-cuff, yet strangely sentimental, lyrics about pissing yourself and vomiting. Not to mention some nasty guitar instrumentals on songs like “Master” and “Message.” Unfortunately, just like plenty of Hard Times readers, this album has been doomed to live in the shadow of its overachieving younger brother.
There is no denying some of Alex’s most extreme and successful experimentation is included on this project, illustrated best by songs like “Gretel.” But the record takes a noticeable step down in quality on the wandering back half. Trying all sorts of crazy new things is a double-edged sword, which I learned the hard way after taking three different strains of mushrooms and forgetting how to open my eyes in the Natural History Museum.
With his most recent album, Alex dove deeper into his unique blend of electronic and country influence and delivered an introspective view of aging. “God Save The Animals” sees Alex exploring faith, family, and eternity, illustrated plainly by the fact that he finally outgrew his bedroom and recorded this one in the big boy studio. This also seems to be his most personal record, though any long-time listener has no doubt learned to take everything he says in his lyrics with a grain of salt.
It’s impossible to listen to this debut and deny the natural gift Giannascoli has for writing oddball earworms. The melodies on standout songs like “Gnaw” and “Crab” far exceed the quality that could be expected of a seventeen-year-old recording in GarageBand. I know because at twenty-four the best writing I can do is for a satirical punk news site.
With the subdued and dreamlike flow of “DSU,” Alex G tapped into a new plane of artistry that began to push his trademark slacker rock sound into a realm of psychedelia. The heavy layering of vocals and unique instrumental elements creates an undulating soundscape that floats you every which way before spitting you back out on your crumb-covered mattress. A consistent album from back to front, and a staple of Alex’s discography.
Fresh off an unexplained moniker change, (Sandy) Alex G came out swinging with this Americana folk obsessed project. Full of types of songs that make you imagine sitting on your grandpappy’s knee in a backwater town, “Rocket” is made full by lyrics of longing and the same ear for catchy tunes that has always been central to Alex’s success as a songwriter. This is a perfect album for a breezy drive on a hot summer day, save for “Brick” which is a noise-influenced single that feels like a UFO crash landed in the middle of the serene cornfield that is the rest of the tracklist.
Hazy, fuzzy, and proof of the eternal quality of music produced by an artist true to themselves, “Trick” is in many ways the purest synthesis of the childhood nostalgia that has become synonymous with this era of Alex’s work. The low vocal mix, bedroom quality recording, and mature-beyond-years writing all blend perfectly, evoking bittersweet memories of school years and young love lost long ago. This was the album that began the legend of Alex G, told through songs about eating whale meat and getting dommed by weed.
Alex G’s first release after signing to Domino in 2015 would no doubt be many listeners’ first impression of the then 22-year-old musician. What followed was a young artist firing on all cylinders, letting himself be swept up by a wide-ranging wave of musical experimentation but never losing direction or that gut instinct for what would make a beautiful song. “Beach Music” is a warm and charming trip through diverse genres and the broken relationships Alex has always indulged in with his songwriting. But this time, he imbues the lyrics with a maturing sense of hope and growth stemming from pain. It’s an album that welcomes you more intently with each listen.