WASHINGTON — Ousted Fox News personality Tucker Carlson is looking for a new gig which would allow more freedom for the racist diatribes that shaped his long career, according to relieved sources within Fox.
“They’re saying I was fired, but I was going to quit anyhow,” said an indignant Carlson, carrying a box full of personal belongings out of Fox News’ Washington studio. “I’m tired of being hamstrung by corporate media which won’t let me exercise my freedom of speech. The latest impasse was when the chickenshit executives wouldn’t let me recite the 14 Words at the beginning of each program. What’s next, are they going to stop me from saying the Pledge of Allegiance? Right now I’m fielding offers from OAN, Newsmax and a dark web video service out of Russia that seems to have very loose restrictions on hate speech.”
Fox News Vice President of Programming Theodore White says they tried to appease Carlson for years, but it was never enough.
“I think everyone knows that Fox News proudly caters to a mostly caucasian audience,” said White. “We’ve found we have the greatest success toeing the line just shy of overt racism, preferring the dog whistle technique. But Tucker was always asking for more. We tried to satisfy his insatiable lust for on-air racist rhetoric, but we have to draw the line somewhere. It’s true that our core audience wants their racist beliefs reinforced, but they also want to maintain a degree of plausible deniability. It’s the broadcast version of saying ‘I can’t be racist, I work with a Black person.’ Tucker was starting to make that a little difficult for them.”
Lincoln Rockwell, leader of a white supremacist group headquartered in Alexandria, VA, agrees that Carlson would often go too far.
“Believe me, I agree with just about everything Mr. Carlson has ever said. Obviously, as someone whose group distributes racist leaflets throughout suburban neighborhoods, I know a thing or two about bigoted conspiracies,” said Rockwell. “That being said, I have a BA in communications, so I also know about messaging. You can’t come out too strong with this stuff. Mr. Carlson needs to learn to tone it down a bit if he wants to get the message across. For example, the 14 Words are best saved for when you’ve already piqued your audience’s interest with talk of the Great Replacement and little hints as to who controls banking.”
At press time, Carlson was reportedly in talks to launch a podcast with singer Morrissey, where the two would make fun of bad movies and also talk about how terrible non-white people are.
The final Oasis album sounds exactly like you’d expect after nearly two decades of touring, much-publicized sibling fights, and standing perfectly still while playing guitar: tired. “Dig Out Your Soul” might be the definitive workman-like album of all time, neither completely awful nor particularly interesting. After listening to these 11 tracks, they just kind of disappear from your mind as though they had never been played, which is not what any band likes to hear.
There are going to be some controversial choices in these rankings, so buckle up. “Don’t Believe the Truth” has some ardent defenders out there, but when a band can’t even decide on a lead single and ends up releasing a remixed demo with some dubs, it doesn’t mean good things ahead. “Don’t Believe the Truth” marked the phase of Oasis’ career in which every new release was hailed as a “return to form,” but that doesn’t make it good.
Let’s put it this way: Noel played virtually every instrument on this album, wrote all but one of the songs, and he still says there was no reason for it to exist. Despite that, “Standing On the Shoulder of Giants” is not without its merits; tracks like “Go Let It Out” and “Who Feels Love?” experiment with drum loops and a trippier groove than previous albums, while “Sunday Morning Call” is low-key one of Noel’s best vocal performances. Lotta filler on here, though.
Oasis’ epic third album has been accused of essentially killing Britpop, if only because its drug-fueled production triggered a U.K. cocaine shortage. In this day and age of surprise album drops and streaming releases, it is hard to describe the feverish anticipation surrounding “Be Here Now,” which saw Gallaghers at the absolute pinnacle of their ambition and unfettered indulgence. For Noel, this meant layering literally hundreds of guitar overdubs onto tracks and nearly ten-minute songs that get still reprises, just because fuck you. For Liam, this meant inviting an entire pub’s worth of drunken fans into the studio while big brother was working, resulting in the inevitable “Noel hitting people with a cricket bat until they leave.” It is undeniable that “Be Here Now” is the moment that Oasis collapsed under the weight of ego and excess, but it also has some fucking bangers. Listen to “Don’t Go Away” and try to say you don’t feel what it is to be a homesick, hungover 20-something once again.
That’s right, we put “Heathen Chemistry” ahead of “Be Here Now.” Deal with it. Now, we’re not saying this is a perfect record; in fact, like all Oasis albums after 1995, it’s pretty spotty. But of any album after their early Imperial phase, “Heathen Chemistry” has the highest highs and manages to avoid the lowest depths of “Muck Fingers.” (Seriously, fuck that song). “Stop Crying Your Heart Out” is the kind of heartbreaking, universal song that Noel is capable of at his best, feeling incredibly familiar while still fresh and earnest. “Little by Little” is his periodic assertion that he can record a catchy anthem in his sleep (and probably has), while the brief, lovely “Songbird” is unquestionably the best thing Liam has ever written.
Okay, it’s not actually an album, but we would be remiss not to mention “The Masterplan,” a collection of B-sides that very well might be the single best collection of Oasis songs that exist. Reportedly, Noel once told a record exec who was concerned that the title song was too good to be relegated to a B-side that that was because he didn’t “write shit songs.” Not yet, anyway.
Alright, now we’re really getting to the good stuff. The difference between “Definitely Maybe” and every other Oasis release is that when Noel wrote these songs, he was a fucking nobody working in a warehouse, dreaming about being a rock star. After the release of the album, he and Liam were the real deal, but it’s no accident that their debut begins with a track angrily asserting “In my mind, my dreams are real.” Of course, the reason why those dreams actually became real is that “Definitely Maybe” is a collection of straight-up classics nearly all the way through, from the strutting glove-throw of “Rock ‘n’ Roll Star” to the nonsensical lyrics over a massive, undeniable riff of “Supersonic” to the bullish sensitivity of “Slide Away.” Even “Digsy’s Dinner” has an incredibly catchy vocal hook, and it’s a song about eating fucking lasagna, like Noel was reading Garfield too much.
There was never any doubt it would come to this. “(What’s the Story) Morning Glory?” is simply the defining British album of the 1990s and you don’t have to believe it for it to be the truth. This is the album that elevated Oasis over every band in the world for a few chaotic years, the full blossoming of both Noel’s abilities as a songwriter and Liam’s dead-eyed, ineffable rock star charisma. While “Definitely Maybe” is a great album (see above), “(What’s the Story) Morning Glory?” is a great leap forward for the entire band. While Noel didn’t lose his love for a hard-riffing blast of a rock song (“Hello”), he had learned a few new tricks, like the arena balladry of “Don’t Look Back in Anger” and the quirky playfulness of “She’s Electric.” And let’s be serious: any album that has “Wonderwall” on it is going to be recorded in the annals of history, engraved on the acoustic guitars of a million bozos. Sure, maybe you never need to hear it again, but give it a try. It hasn’t lost bit of its power over the years.
The least successful of Cursive’s conceptual albums; “I Am Gemini” found the band in a panic. Presumably, they realized the album was due the day before they got around to writing it. Hoping to get at least partial credit on the assignment, lead songwriter and frontman, Tim Kasher, phoned in a lackluster story centered in a tired ‘good twin/evil twin’ trope. Spoiler alert, the evil one dies at the end. Or at least we think he does. The lyrics are super confusing and the stage directions in the liner notes don’t really help our understanding here. This record proves that sometimes it’s better to just take the zero.
Typically a band’s debut album can be expected to rank relatively high, but “Such Blinding Stars for Starving Eyes” marks a pretty rocky transitional period for Kasher following failed musical outing, Slow Down Virginia. Shortly before this record dropped, he was also co-fronting the moderately successful emo-pop band, Commander Venus, along with Conor Oberst. Their output was considerably sunnier than the sound Cursive would later adopt. “Such Blinding Stars” kicks off Kasher’s long held tradition of living under the shadows of less talented songwriters, but spends much of its runtime struggling to find the band’s identity. This is all without mentioning that the album art looks like the cover of a Chemistry textbook.
“Vitriola” serves as a welcome and almost refreshing comeback from the din that was “I Am Gemini.” The riffs are heavy, the lyrics are passable, and the aggressive cello that sonically painted their classic album, “The Ugly Organ” makes a return via new member, Megan Seibe. Still, it can be hard not to hear this album for the blatant fan service that it is. Many of its strongest tracks sound like a lesser group trying to channel Cursive, rather than the actual band offering a new statement. With arrangements and riffs appearing to be directly lifted from earlier albums, it too often begs the question: “Why not listen to those instead?”
Much like its predecessor, this record finds Kasher searching every drawer of the house for his signature singing voice with varying degrees of success. Still, “Storms of Summer” holds a bevy of classic moments, many of which appear to be rough drafts of “Domestica” fan favorites. The wildly satisfying guitars here solidified the “depressed Fugazi” sound that would soon endear legions of depressed Fugazi fans to the band.
This album flew so far under the radar that we’ll have to forgive you if this is the first time you’ve heard of its existence. Absolution aside, it’s all the more reason to stop living in the past. Look at all you’ve missed! “Get Fixed” is an incredibly stellar late-game addition to Cursive’s catalog. Where “Vitriola” floundered, this record exceeds, harkening back to their classic sound without sacrificing the room to evolve it further. The album’s title is seemingly a reference to castration, but this offering finds the band at its most virile in years. (Our editors would apologize for that borderline dick joke, but it is a Cursive album ranking, after all.)
Speaking of dick jokes, “Mama, I’m Swollen” really takes the cake as far as album titles go. Depending on who you ask, this album is either the last true Cursive classic, or the beginning of a long downward spiral for the band. Fortunately we’re the ones being asked here, so it shall be correctly placed in the ‘classics’ category. Here we find Kasher loosening his characteristically tight thematic grip to help the band deliver something more personable. The results produce an airier, more accessible Cursive. If the band only had the foresight to leave the corny-as-hell “Caveman” off the final track list, this record would have the potential to rank even higher. Come on guys, did you really think you could top the Kinks version of literally the same idea?
We know. You expected this record to be number one. Well, it’s not. Look, we think “Domestica” is incredible. If we’re really being honest with ourselves, though, we know it’s not the band’s absolute best. No one likes the guy at the party that’s constantly screaming about his divorce. Before you ask; yes, we were there and we don’t care how fucking amazing the 20th anniversary shows were. “Domestica” tends to get a lot of praise based on nostalgia alone, but that does not equate to it being the pinnacle of their work. Yes, it’s true that this record features some of the greatest guitar work the band ever produced. Lyrically and thematically, however, it only serves as a loose blueprint for the social commentary that Kasher would later expand upon with greater insight and clarity.
You might recognize this album’s cover from your bartender’s forearm tattoo. His name is probably Zack and he can rank the draft list for you. We’ve got the music part covered. “The Ugly Organ” turns Cursive’s predilection for dissonance up to ten, while somehow infusing a stronger pop element than “Domestica” could ever dream of delivering. Much like on its predecessor, the chaotic sounds that permeate this record are used symbolically to represent the themes of toxic masculinity that the band rails against. Using damaged and problematic characters as mouthpieces, Kasher along with guitarist and vocalist, Ted Stevens, deliver their criticisms with an almost unparalleled nuance. Even to this day, there are plenty of asshole dudes who fail to understand that they are on the receiving end of the jabs. (We’re looking at you, Zack.) Even though the closing track, a cover of the Bee Gees disco anthem “Stayin’ Alive”, bares little resemblance to the original song, the album as a whole fails to suffer from such a blunder.
We’re probably going to get a lot of shit for this, but if you don’t think Cursive’s magnum opus deserves the top spot here, we implore you to write your own damn ranking. Many bands dream of making a record as perfect as “Happy Hollow,” and very few succeed. That may be due to the fact that very few bands are armed with this album’s horn section and producer Mike Mogis’ tutelage. Not enough can be said about this record’s accidental timelessness. Given the total shit-fire that our country is in today, the political themes of this album are sadly more relevant now than they were sixteen years ago. On the whole, “Happy Hollow” is an anti-establishment, anti-religion, pro-kicking-your-face-the-fuck-in fever dream disguised as an indie pop album. It absolutely cannot be missed, no matter what your tasteless friends say.
