Ugh, what a bummer. That local vegan restaurant in my neighborhood closed down even though I always thought about going there. This really sucks because I like to support locally-owned stores and shops, especially if they’re vegan.
I think it’s so important to spend our money at places like this restaurant that closed down because if we don’t there won’t be any more to ever open in the first place. I definitely had intentions to spend my money there but it was kind of expensive and also a block further away than the Taco Bell I sometimes go to but I’m sure I would’ve eventually made it there if it had stayed open another seven years or so.
Why can’t the people in this town have the same morals as me and also think about maybe skipping Arby’s once a week and go to a vegan restaurant instead? If we don’t support local vegan places there will be nothing left but big fast-food chain restaurants and we’ll all be forced to go to like I already do almost every day.
I saw an Instagram post from the owner of the restaurant (I follow them to show my support) who said he “was so shocked and saddened that the business had gone under considering how many followers we have.” He also said, “It seems like all these vegans just like to go on social media and make lots of comments to make everyone else feel bad, but when it comes to showing support for an actual vegan restaurant they are nowhere to be seen.”
He’s totally right. I was reading a thing on Reddit while I was waiting in line at Starbucks the other day. It was an article (that I for sure read the whole thing) by some business expert who said that “It’s a common misconception by people who open independent vegan restaurants that just because they see support on social media with thousands of followers most of whom leaving comments about how great the food looks and how they can’t wait to visit, it doesn’t translate to anyone actually visiting their establishment.”
What a sad world we live in where people are too self-absorbed and lazy to help support the locally-owned small businesses that keep our communities thriving.
To put it bluntly for your protection, caution, review, and obvious discretion, Incubus’ seventh full-length studio album “If Not Now, When?” has the least amount of replay value across their lovely and friendly catalog, and thus, this pretty boring record is in the golden stinker slot. Like we say in the “skip it” section here, approximately half of this record shouldn’t have been released, especially on the band’s first album in six years, and if Incubus had censored various tracks, or released the other songs as B-sides/rarities, an EP called “If Not” would’ve been much more thrilling, fellas. Thankfully the band would return to rocking hard on “8,” this album’s much better but still inconsistent follow-up.
Like we mentioned earlier, “8,” Incubus’ eighth and numerically listed album, and (un)lucky #7 here, is a straightforward return to rockin’ form a la previous efforts, but sadly still uneven at times like an odd number! Fun fact: From First To Last vocalist/Skrillex Sonny Moore, an obvious uber superfan of Incubus, co-produced and mixed various tracks here after production from D. Sardy, monumental producer and familiar face on Far’s “Water & Solutions” and Near’s “Fire & Problems,” which may sound literally surprising to you and most pedestrians as they are NOT dubstep tracks in any way, shape, or form. Incubus needs to throw out the map for the next one, whenever it gets recorded, and rise back to undefeated status like in the early-aughts. In closing, this record debuted at number four on the US Billboard 200, proving that people still care.
While “Light Grenades” is easily the first full-length studio effort referenced in this piece that is a consistent album front to back for all fans of oil, water, diamonds, AND coal, it still falls short of the top five simply because their catalog is so damn strong that love hurts. We would love to flatter the band sans hyperbole by saying that “Anna Molly” is a top five Incubus single. Also, said track, “Dig,” “Love Hurts,” and “Hate Heals” were all radio hits, and this record debuted at number ONE on the Billboard 200, which is both a fire in the attic AND proof of the prize, went GOLD in the states, and killed outside worldwide.
Even though Incubus hasn’t played any songs from their debut LP “Fungus Amongus” in approximately twenty years, this record is a fan favorite for both superfans and casual ones. Self-released by the band’s own label Chillum (yes, Chillum; the ’90s were weird and shouldn’t be held in such high regard) Records in 1995, various tracks were re-recorded for the band’s first major label release via Immortal/Epic Records, “Enjoy Incubus,” which is an EP, fools, so it doesn’t count here, and eventually due to over and underground acclaim, “Fungus Amongus” eventually got a conglomerate re-release with a minor entry at one-hundred-and-sixteen on the US Billboard 200. Don’t you make fun of us for the “low” placement here; we can easily speak free(ly), and say on record that the next four are just better! We may get some flak for this, but “Enjoy Incubus” is even more enjoyable.
While this may be your number one or number two, we are the ones asking the questions here, so “Morning View” just missed a medal slot by an inch under our umbrella, despite it being the band’s best-selling CD (remember those?) as of press time, and likely forever and ever amen. The band’s fourth album is definitely their biggest departure from where they started, and the funky Mr. Bungle undertones got replaced with drum-circling good vibes. The band legally has to play “Wish You Were Here” at every show now for the rest of their career, but singles “Nice to Know You” and “Warning” deserve as much reverence, and non-single “Circles” rocks as the meat in the Know-Were bread sandwich; blink blink blink. While the band’s non-aggressive songs usually infect the radio, their gritty ones are the unsung heroes of Incubus’ catalog.
Pardon us, but by opening with their best song “Privilege,” Incubus’ third LP/breakout masterpiece, “Make Yourself,” closed out the 1990s, easily the second-best decade in rock music next to the 1960s, in stellar, stellar style, and opened the 2000s with mega, mega hits. Basically, Incubus took the frenetic musicianship out of their sonic approach, and replaced it with more clean, warm, concise, and deliberate parts, which truly worked with the mainstream, but as a consequence, alienated a cornucopia of fans of their debut “Fungus Amongus,” and the yet to be mentioned sophomore release “S.C.I.E.N.C.E.” Still, we absolutely stan this record here, even if it is the dreaded word “accessible,” and “Make Yourself” absolutely deserves to be in the bronze medal slot here. The record itself was not an immediate hit, but it showed the globe that some are growers and not showers.
Incubus’ second LP “S.C.I.E.N.C.E.” is the first of two “no skip” releases to be listed here. Eventually going Gold and like its follow-up “Make Yourself,” it wasn’t an overnight success, but “S.C.I.E.N.C.E.” definitely contributed positively to the dopey to some and catchy to all nu-metal movement, which truly picked up steam approximately one-two years after its release with acts like Limp Bizkit, Korn, Coal Chamber, and Shania Twain, Incubus seemed like the black sheep of said trend, as they were hyper literate and uber thoughtful whilst rocking so much harder than bands that claimed to rock harder than rocks. Plus, the album cover is weird as hell.
Incubus’ fifth album “A Crow Left of the Murder” is for the real ones, and not just southern girls. Well, coming out directly after the zen-like “Morning View,” Incubus opened the bird floodgates here with a lot of anger and even more experimentation and managed to make the absolutely weird quite positively accessible, which is a feat in mainstream music. Returning to the frenetic sounds of “S.C.I.E.N.C.E.” may not have handed the band as many accessible favors as its two hit-laden predecessors, as only one single, “Megalomaniac” truly broke through the radio waves, but this record managed to expand on their now-classic sophomore sounds in a priceless manner with better musicianship and heavy in a non-derivative nu-metal way overtones. Your move, Three Days Grace.
Technically, Mickey and Mallory aren’t serial killers, They are murderers, however, and the edgelord nihilism of this spree-killing couple practically screams a love for nu-metal. Their need for (media) attention, granted to them by journalist Wayne Gale, mirrors the petulant temper tantrums of, like, every nu-metal vocalist ever. Fred Durst is probably the pair’s spirit animal, and “Break Stuff” is probably the song they fuck to.
Tom Ripley is a shape-shifting con artist who will act or fake his way through the lives of his victims to achieve his goals. Thus, his fondness for Johann Sebastian Bach may not even be honest. He may claim to prefer Bach, but it’d only be because Bach is the premier composer and not because Ripley enjoys his music. He’ll switch to something else if and/or when it suits him. As such, Ripley’s taste in music shares a trait with Republicans’ belief in democracy: arbitrariness.
Hans Beckert is a child murderer who insists on whistling the melody of Edvard Grieg’s “In the Hall of the Mountain King.” Assuming that’s his favorite song, or at least one he relates to, it’s also safe to assume he likes classical music that’s popular to the point of being known via osmosis—e.g., Richard Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries” or Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s “1812 Overture” (but only the finale, natch). If that’s all true, Beckert’s taste in music is more generic than an MCU villain.
Peter Foley is a (pretend) serial killer who recreates the murders of other serial killers. In other words, he’s an uninspired knock-off artist who desperately wants to be (in)famous without the requirement of being creative or original. He’s probably into tribute acts, or Greta Van Fleet.
Charles Lee Ray got an early start, killing his mother with a knife before he was 10. While known as the Lakeshore Strangler, he clearly prefers a blade. He’s also known for dabbling in voodoo. It’s a safe bet that Ray’s into Kidz Bop—it’s malignantly hypnotic, and if you’re a parent it cuts you to your fucking core.
Arthur Mitchell kills four people every thirty years, and every quartet of murders goes like this: child encased in concrete while alive, woman bled to death in a bathtub, woman forced to jump off of a ledge, man is bludgeoned. This suggests a varied taste in music. Four songs he might enjoy are Cannibal Corpse’s “Encased in Concrete,” No Doubt’s “Bathwater,” Third Eye Blind’s “Jumper,” and D12’s “Fight Music.” Mitchell’s probably one of those assholes who makes whiplash-inducing Spotify playlists for road trips.
Bret Easton Ellis’ stand-in for the unbridled greed of ’80s capitalism, Patrick Bateman adores the most commercial and most disposable pop music imaginable from that decade: Phil Collins, Whitney Houston, Huey Lewis & the News, etc. It’s fitting, then, that his love for recorded music is matched only by his hatred for live performances (read the book). The only thing more artificial than Bateman’s taste in music is Elon Musk’s belief in free speech.
Essentially a nihilist, the cannibalistic serial killer named Cletus Kasady would probably find solace in a famous line from Thomas Hobbes’ “Leviathan” (look it up). You’d think he’d be into, like, NIN’s “The Downward Spiral” or something akin. Surprisingly, his favorite song is “Free Bird,” meaning his taste in music is blander than English cuisine.
Francis Dolarhyde kills entire families with the goal of becoming his alter ego, The Great Red Dragon. His nickname comes from him breaking into homes and killing at night. Did I mention he’s got a giant red dragon tattoo across his back? It’s the level of gaudy that makes Ben Affleck’s Phoenix back tat seem subtle. Speaking of gaudy, that’s probably his taste in music, too—the turn-of-the-century maximalist schlock like, say, Los Del Rio’s “Macarena” or Baha Men’s “Who Let the Dogs Out.”
Brian Moser is into dismembering, but his calling card is freezing his victims’ appendages and leaving them on public display. That level of attention-seeking behavior would make Alex Jones cringe. Moser probably soundtracks his life with music that’s equally soulless and desperate for attention: dubstep. The obnoxious squonks and squelches scream “LOOK AT ME LOOK AT ME” just as loudly as leaving a frozen severed hand on a beach for your brother to find.
Rhoda Penmark’s first kill was her classmate so she could have his award for penmanship, which she felt entitled to. C’mon, Rhoda—even in the ’50s it was silly to be proud of your handwriting. Anyway, she’s an egotistical shithead who covets meaningless trophies, so it’s a reasonable conclusion that her favorite artist is Kanye West.
A barber who kills his customers? He’s into hair metal for sure. The bigger the hair, the better. Sweeney Todd’s favorite is likely the band that had the biggest (and best) hair of that era: Mötley Crüe. Indeed, Nikki Sixx’s hair for the alternate cover of “Shout at the Devil” might be the zenith of the ’80s.
Dexter Morgan is an anti-hero who kills other serial killers in plastic-coated rooms. This mirrors his fake likable personality that used car salesmen would find off-putting. Thus, he likely enjoys stuff that’s tidy and sterile—in other words: music that approximates happiness. Let’s go with ’80s synth-pop like early Depeche Mode or NIN’s “Pretty Hate Machine.” Also, anything by Kraftwerk.
Nicholas Ruskin holds beautiful women captive, and if they break his rules—talking to each other, trying to escape, etc.—he kills them by, say, leaving them tied to a tree in a forest. He thinks he’s a lover—hence the name—and that his victims are meant for him. Which is to say: Ruskin is Andrew Tate’s platonic ideal of a man. Ruskin’s likely drawn to (gorgeous?) pop songs about possession because he finds them romantic. His theme song might be Taylor Swift’s “You Belong With Me” or The Police’s “Every Breath You Take.”
Ghostface—whomever is wearing the mask—loves running. Like, more than Tom Cruise. Safe to say, then, that any iteration of the killer probably hopes their victims sprint away so they can throw earbuds in and rock out to something catchy that involves running, figuratively or literally: “Running Down a Dream” or “I Ran (So Far Away)” or “Born to Run.” Maybe even “Run Like Hell” or “Run for Your Life.”
As a child, Frank Zito watched his abusive mother have sex with strange men. Following serial killer logic, he targets women. After he kills them, he scalps them and uses their hair for his mannequin collection. He poses, talks with, and sleeps with his mannequins, pretending to marry them and/or that they’re his mom. Dude’s got a major Oedipus complex, is the point. He probably prefers classics like Pink Floyd’s “Mother” or Danzig’s “Mother” or John Lennon’s “Mother” because he sees them as some twisted secret message(s) just for him.
Plain White T’s’ debut LP “Come On Over” is a youthful, endearing, infectious, but uneven listen front to back, and totally would’ve worked better as an EP with a lot fewer songs. We surmise that the band agrees with our not-so-hot take because “Come On Over” is not on DSPs, with the exception of a YouTube playlist with not THAT many plays; we’re looking at YOU, Chris89, you freaking schmohawk. In addition, vocalist/chief songwriter Tom Higgenson is the only original remaining member on this, as the second longest-tenured member Dave Tirio quit after the also uneven and next to be listed “Parallel Universe” came out. Still, let’s shout out current bandmates Tim Lopez, Mike Retondo, and De’Mar Hamilton anyway!
Resigning to Fearless Records, a label that picked up a lot of steam after “Hey There Delilah” came out with signings Ice Nine Kills, Pierce the Veil, Motionless in White, and Joe Exotic, Plain White T’s released their most unabashedly pop record “Parallel Universe,” but it ultimately failed at mainstream acclaim, and sadly sounded quite, dare we say it, pandering. Low? Nah. Burn? Sure. It’s not the end of the world, gents, and the band proved such with its FAR better self-titled follow-up that we will wax poetic about later than you likely predicted here. However, the record sounds incredible as it literally lit up a dark room thanks to producer Matt Squire who previously sat behind the boards for mega successful records from Boys Like Girls, Panic! at the Disco, The Maine, and Da New Hampshire.
“American Nights” is Plain White T’s’ seventh full-length and first since their debut to not be on Hollywood Records or Fearless Records, instead being a one-off for Megaforce Records. The fact that this one didn’t come out via Hollywood Records is still confusing here, as their prior EP for the label “Should’ve Gone to Bed” is flawless pop front to back. We guess whatever the band did at that time wouldn’t have worked in heavy rotation with the suits, so it was time to pause, not stay, and move on. If you disagree, tell Rosie what you want, as the first round is on Tom after auditing his publishing royalties from that jam about the steeplechase and cross-country athlete to the stars! While “American Nights” is good, and much better than the two listed earlier, it is still inconsistent and thus the not so lucky seven slot here.
Plain White T’s fifth studio album and second for Hollywood Records, had two handicaps prior to its release: 1) Any song or album that came after “Hey There Delilah” was born doomed just like any after Fall Out Boy’s “The Middle” from “Enema of the State”. 2) This album sounds lo-fi in a bad way, and would have benefited from better production, and because of such, “Big Bad World” could have been in the fifth slot here, just missing a gold, silver, or bronze medal by two, had it been recorded differently… But what do we know, as single #2, “1, 2, 3, 4,” remains one of their biggest hits. You goons may think that we’re making a serious mistake here, but you also like Germs, so your opinions can never be facts. In closing, the only natural disasters that matter are Typhoon the Shockmaster and Earthquake.
This may or may not get you fired up, but regardless, you may be surprised to learn that nearly two decades after “Hey There Delilah” took over the world in the late-aughts, Plain White T’s released their ninth and self-titled record. In regards to this list itself, “Plain White T’s” is the first consistent studio effort to be listed here and we’d be a little less alone if you all took the time to appreciate this record and all thirteen tracks but “L-O-V-E,” which is a red flag of a tune; regarding love, “Love Keeps Growing” is a far superior song featuring the word without hyphens, and also highlights sometimes lead vocalist Tim’s sweet and complementary vocals. Life is ups and downs, and this record is the solid ground underneath our boots. Plus, this album’s cover is literal and literally their coolest; we could see it in a hipster museum.
“Stop,” Plain White T’s’ third LP/first for Fearless Records is a solid record that sounds great to this day, but could definitely benefit from a twenty-plus years re-recording and/or re-imagining right about now, the funk soul brother. Not only is “Stop” fun, but it works as a much, much, much better intro to the band than their actual debut, “Come On Over.” It also came out at the perfect time, as 2002 was a great year for the with flawless albums from scene stalwarts New Found Glory, The Used, Box Car Racer, and Tommy Tutone, and this particular record’s unintentional timing likely ensured, unless it sucked, which it didn’t by a longshot, that their silver medal follow-up third album that came out three years later, “All That We Needed,” would elevate them to headliners.
A major label debut for the label that brought you both teen sensations, Atreyu, and metalcore icon amongst icons, Hannah Montana, Hollywood Records, and certainly sounds like such in the best way ever. To quote WWE’s The Brawling Brutes, consisting of Sheamus, Ridge Holland, and Butch, it’s “banger after banger after banger…”. Not only did it eventually go Gold, but the record itself also debuted “Hey There Delilah” to a mega mainstream audience that wouldn’t normally be, dare we say, fearless. “Hey There Delilah” also ranked ninety-seven on the US Billboard Hot 100 charts for the DECADE; how many second-stage Warped Tour bands can say that? Basically, it’s difficult to keep track of the accolades from this track that closed this record/its predecessor that we are mentioning next. So damn clever?
“All That We Needed” is the first of two “no skip” efforts to be listed here, and our favorite may depend on the morning’s mood, but today is more of a day for youngsters than needs, so here we are. Please write your own piece if you don’t agree. Anyway, “All That We Needed” is a perfect pop-rock record and it is NOT pop-punk, morons. Produced by Ariel Rechtshaid, the singer of The Hippos and producer for HAIM, and Loren Israel, former A&R executive, “All That We Needed” went gold, yes, GOLD, like its major label follow-up “Every Second Counts,” and such stat is extra impressive because it was an independent release. This record’s success is likely what got Fearless Records to resign the band after “American Nights,” but we digress. Revenge?
How the hell did everyone on earth miss this one? After the inconsistent misfire “Big Bad World,” many in the scene and beyond wrote the PWTs off, and all you have to do is look at this album’s Billboard peak at one-hundred-and-forty-nine, which is a modern tragedy, but they were wrong, oh yes, they were wrong… “Wonders of the Younger” is Plain White T’s’ “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” for crying out loud! Yes, the record had a hit in “Rhythm of Love,” but many casual and non-casual listeners didn’t even know that it was a Plain White T’s song due to its different singer! Why are we yelling? We don’t know!
