Corporate Bullshit: The Vinyl Section at Target Only Had Stuff I Know and Like

Look, I know it’s a big corporate chain, but the vinyl selection at this Target is complete bullshit. Where are all the old, weird albums no one’s touched for forty-plus years? Where are the obscure bands that are obscure for very good reason? Where is the art?! All I see is stuff I know and like!

I may be in my 30s with a career and a family and all that, but I’m still punk. Sure, I don’t have the time to drive into the city and flip through records for hours like I used to, but I still like to browse when I’m at Target picking up things for the house. And, yes, I’m grateful they even have a vinyl section. But if a Target employee doesn’t come over here in the next five seconds to judge me about what I’m looking at, I’m gonna have a full-on existential crisis.

Look at this selection. It’s nothing but bands I grew up listening to, classic albums from before my time, and some newer artists that were influenced by a lot of the alternative bands I love. Basically, it’s all stuff I’d actually pay money for. Talk about a cash grab.

This is so inauthentic. Where are the miles of obscure, terrible records that I feel stupid for not knowing and hating for the right reasons? Or liking, depending on what kind of “terrible” it is. Commercialism sucks.

The ambiance is all fucked up too. Look at this place. It’s bright and clean! Plus, there’s room to stand without constantly being in someone’s way despite the fact that there’s only ever one other customer.

I will hand it to them though, the music being played in the store is still just as obscure and unknown to me now that it’s zoomer pop. The music they played at REAL record stores was usually screeching vocals over what Pitchfork would describe as “minimalist” air ride sirens. But this zoomer shit is something I’d actually listen to so Target needs to fix that if they have any interest in having an authentic vinyl shop.

The Fuck?! My Favorite Band Changed Their Sound Without Consulting Me

Guess who released just some goofy experimental horseshit? My ex-favorite band. And guess who they didn’t consult before changing their sound? Me. How the fuck dare they?!

This is a personal attack because being a fan is the basis of my entire personality. Who the fuck am I supposed to be after my favorite band changes its sound and starts headlining electronic music festivals? Can I still wear tight pants and zip-up hoodies that stop at the top of my belt like I have done for the last ten years?

I have their logo tattooed directly above both nipples and I’ve lost thousands of dollars on their NFTs, but I never agreed to support a new artistic direction without advanced written consent. I merely want a record that doesn’t sound like disco fucked shoegaze.

I am not interested in hearing their next album unless they ditch this electronic phase and come back looking like college professors that play barre chords and Telecasters. That’s an acceptable direction they can go in. See? I’m completely reasonable.

On second thought, even if they asked my permission to change their sound, I probably wouldn’t let them. Their singer’s original look is the whole reason I got my septum triple-pierced. Do you know how long it would take for those gaping holes to heal? How would I get a job?!

If it were up to me, these musicians would be trapped in a creative purgatory they never venture beyond. I was happier with the way things were.

As a Facebook Top Fan award recipient for 163 weeks running, I deserve to be treated as such. So if I’m such a “top fan” I deserve to be a part of the band’s decision-making going forward because clearly, I’m the only one looking out for the best interests of everyone involved.

Termite Infestation Making Acoustic Set a Real Race Against the Clock

CORAL GABLES, Fla — A rare acoustic set from surf-rock band Branch Manager was reportedly marred by the venue’s termite problem, causing the gradual destruction of their instruments, sources confirmed.

“Oh boy, it was a real photo finish in there, let me tell you. Those little bastards were devouring my new Martin D-28 so quickly, we had to play our songs faster and faster just to get our full setlist in,” said Branch Manager guitarist Tessa Brialto. “At one point, I had started a song with the regular guitar, but by the bridge they had shaved me down to a damn ukulele! It really fucked with our sound. No wood was safe. We’re never playing the Timbermill Pub ever again, even if they manage to rebuild it.”

A licensed exterminator was promptly called by the Timbermill management, but problems arose before any work could be done.

“Ah, jeez, I’m so sorry. I meant to spray during their set, I really did. It’s just, I’d get caught up in their sweet sensual island rhythms and suddenly I’d be out of the drywall and out on the dancefloor,” said dismayed pest control technician Wyland Thorpe. “It’s that surf sound, baby! It just sends me through the roof, y’know! But, then that’s when the stage caved in and everyone else went through the floor. Again, I really do apologize.”

The swarm of termites notes that it was not even their intention to even begin to feed that day.

“We had just finished gorging ourselves across the street at the antique furniture warehouse and were just looking for a place to blow off steam,” the large group of termites spelled out, using their vast numbered bodies. “We didn’t eat their instruments because we were hungry…we ate their instruments because we thought they really, truly sucked as a band.”

“It made us sincerely thankful we don’t, as a species, have ears,” the swarm regrouped to add. “Hopefully they got the hint and will find other ways to express themselves. We suggest whittling.”

At press time, the now instrument-less Branch Manager was still determined to go on tour, with their first stop: the opening of the local zoo’s new free-range flesh-eating fire ant exhibit.

Animal Collective Making Hangover Much Worse

PROVIDENCE, R.I. — Severely hungover barista Carrie Potenza is in significantly more pain thanks to her manager’s insistence on playing Animal Collective, dehydrated sources confirmed.

“My friends convinced me to have ‘just one beer’ last night even though I worked the opening shift today. Needless to say I’m super hungover. I thought I could just guzzle some Pedialyte and barrel through until 1 p.m., but our manager Davey decided to play music that sounded like he force-fed his tabby cat salvia and let it take a nap on a Roland synthesizer,” said Potenza. “My head immediately started pounding like a drum machine. But then the singer began yelping about mildew on rice and rotten cherries, and I just about blew my partially digested dry toast all over an investment banker’s Americano.”

Coworker Ron Emmerich sympathized with Potenza’s early morning, freak-folk abetted crapulence.

“If you’ve ever been in a coffee shop before 9 a.m., there’s a 70% chance your barista is hungover and just one rude customer away from scalding a Karen and chugging a 200 tablet bottle of Ibuprofen,” said Emmerich. “But Carrie was looking really green around the gills today, and eight hours of noise pop was not conducive to a vomit-free workplace. I tried getting Davey to switch over to The Weather Station album and let Carrie wear sunglasses on the register, but he said Animal Collective was ‘good for the vibe,’ whatever that meant. Not being totally unsympathetic, he did allow her to barf out by the dumpster between breakfast sandwich orders.”

Although seemingly coincidental, a whistleblower codenamed “Not Panda Bear” claimed Animal Collective’s hangover advancing effect is not an accident.

“Of course Animal Collective isn’t real. You think any musicians would actually choose to sound like this? The whole ‘band’ was manufactured by Big Hangover to sell more Alka-Seltzer,” explained Not Panda Bear. “I shouldn’t even be talking to you guys about this. Apparently one of the members of Deerhoof tried to speak out before and some Bayer goons named ‘Fizz’ and ‘Plop’ showed up at his place and made him butt chug a whole bottle of Bankers Club vodka.”

At press time, Potenza has chosen the “nuclear” hangover cure option of stealing Kahlua from the cold storage and drinking it in the supply closet.

Review: Sex Pistols “Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols”

Every Sunday, we peer into The Hard Times’ vast vinyl archives to review a classic album. This week, we attempt to decipher the Sex Pistols’ game-changing debut “Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols.”

Historians debate whether or not the London quartet’s sole LP is the first punk album ever. But one thing is certain- it is written in a nearly indecipherable language called British English. Fear not! You are in luck. I studied this strange, archaic language by watching a few episodes of “The I.T. Crowd” repeatedly and thus can finally translate the record’s meaning to American audiences.

Let’s start with the title. “Bollocks” is a popular British English term for testicles, and it is wildly offensive. I apologize for typing the word in the previous sentence. “Sex” is some sort of ritualistic reproductive dance that I need to investigate further. “Pistols” is an American English loan word meaning “cute gun.” Put them all together, and what do you get? Actually, I haven’t quite cracked the code on that yet. But if you figure it out, please let me know.

The tracklist contains even more mystery. “Holidays in the Sun” conjures images of Christmas or Flag Day, but in England, the word “holiday” has a closer meaning to vacation. So it’s not about Halloween, you fucking dolt. It’s about being dragged by your parents to the beach for four days right in the middle of July. “Rubbish,” as the Brits (British people) would say.

The most infamous song from the album may be “God Save the Queen.” The titular Queen is the British rock band fronted by Freddie Mercury. The Sex Pistols could sense that they were ushering in a musical sea change with their anthems of punk rebellion, but didn’t want the public to forget their “mates” (friends) in another band. Musicologists call it “the greatest display of friendship in any art form ever.”

Lastly, the album’s cover features a stark yellow and pink design, though it is sometimes orange and green if you look at it between two and five in the morning. Yellow represents the rest of Europe, while pink symbolizes a pissed-off United Kingdom in the year 2020. The album cover accurately predicted Brexit to the exact year.

And what about the musical performances? I wouldn’t know. My record player is broken. Can I borrow yours so I can finish this review?

Score: 9.5 letter U’s in the word “colour” out of ten

/**/

Rest of Band Seriously Considers Helping Bassist Push Van

EAST LANSING, Mich. — Members of local punk band Appeal To Hell are seriously considering getting out of their tour van to help their bassist push it, according to impatient sources.

“Kev is our fourth bassist. The first two quit and the third went to barber school, so we’re excited to have him join for this tour,” said one of Appeal To Hell’s three guitarists, granted anonymity because he hasn’t come up with a cool stage name yet. “It’s not like we hired Kevin just because he has rich parents who promised to pay for the vinyl run of our EP, it’s because of his ability to play root notes on his bass fairly quickly and his tree trunk legs. This van isn’t exactly reliable and we need someone that can move this thing even up hills. As such, we are definitely really thinking about helping him push the van these last four miles to the venue. We make all decisions as a group, though, so we gotta wait for Miranda to wake up and she’s super hungover.”

Bassist Kevin Koening, pausing to drink a can of warm beer passed to him through the rear window, was unbothered by the Sisyphean task and public humiliation.

“I just want to thank the guys and hopefully Miranda for considering coming out here and helping me haul this five thousand pound van full of sound equipment, Ramen noodles, and overpriced merch,” said Koening, whose hands had gone numb from the cold. “Even though I’m new, I’ve seen how hard this band works every night playing our fifteen-minute opening set on this house show tour. If the rest of the band decides to get out of the van and push with me, that’s awesome. If they just want to get out of the van to make it significantly lighter, I’d sure appreciate that too.”

Michigan State Highway Police were eventually called to the scene.

“We got a call from multiple concerned drivers who saw a scraggly young man attempting to singlehandedly push a van down the highway. We were concerned for his safety, but more so for the safety of any singers or–God forbid– lead guitarists that may have been on board the vehicle. Live music at nontraditional, all-ages venues plays such an important role in our community. Upon arriving on scene, our officers promptly pepper-sprayed the young man and gave the rest of the band a ride to their next gig. Mr. Koening even thanked us for our service.”

As of press time, other band members were playing rock-paper-scissors to decide who would tell Koening he is going to have to call his parents for bail money.

No, Please, Immediately Tell Me About the Plethora of Bands My New Song Reminds You Of

Another track in the bag! I worked my ass off writing and recording that stellar blend of original riffs and lyrics and I was so pumped to show it off, but you just had to immediately spout off every band that it reminded you of. Okay, you caught me, I have musical influences. Just like every other musician who wasn’t the first fucking human to start tapping a stick on a rock!

Ya know what? Those influences happen to pop up in my music because they’re my favorite styles of music. That’s how it fucking works! Are you new? Or maybe you’re just a compulsive gold-star-craving opinion dropper.

And please, tell me each band that you’re reminded of during every single riff of my song. I love hearing, “Ooh, that’s like how After The Burial builds to their breakdowns” and “Ooh, that’s like the Counterparts breakdown.” Guess what? There’s a build to every breakdown. That’s what you’re fucking breaking down!

I could’ve built it up to what you thought was a breakdown, then misdirected you with a quaint coffee house jazz riff. But that’s Between The Buried And Me’s thing and you would’ve just said, “Ooh, that’s like Between The Buried And Me.”

I just can’t win with you. Would you like me to create an entirely new genre? Even then you’d probably be like, “That’s like progressive post-hardcore with early technical deathcore influences” or some shit.

“Ooh, he expressed an emotion, better throw the word emo in there too.” That’s you.

I hate saying that it’s all been done before because innovative music comes out all the time. But those innovators have influences too. So let’s just agree that music has in fact existed before me and from now on when I’m all excited to show you my new song, please resist the urge to make me feel like a fucking plagiarist.

Interpol Completely Sold Out of Medium Three Piece Suits at Merch Table

NEW YORK — Famously dapper indie band Interpol were completely sold out of medium three piece suits at their merch table during a recent show, confirmed sources who guessed they’d just have to go to Men’s Warehouse instead.

“I can deal with the fact that they were all out of my size, but I almost lost my shit when they said their on-site tailor called out sick that night too,” said longtime fan Alexander Barnum, who decided to go with an $80 pair of Interpol-branded cufflinks instead. “The last suit I bought from them was back in 2004 during the ‘Antics’ tour and I wore that thing into the ground. I now mainly wear it to bed or when I’m mowing the lawn, so I absolutely need to upgrade my high-end merch attire. You just won’t catch me wearing it to one of their shows, though. Only posers wear the suit of the band they’re going to see.”

Members of the legendary group expressed remorse for their lack of inventory.

“That’s the last time we team up with Gildan to make men’s formal wear,” said Paul Banks, longtime singer of the Interpol and 30-year print edition subscriber to GQ Magazine. “I mean, we didn’t think those suits were going to sell better than our ascot ties that show our tour dates on the back of them. Anyway, we’re dreadfully sorry for the inconvenience. Luckily, we had a few extra Giorgio Armani suits laying around the tour bus that we sold just fine. Sure, they’re not the same quality, but they do the trick.”

Music critic Gabrielle Davidson noted similar instances of bands running out of popular items at the merch table.

“If your product is unique to your band, it’s going to sell considerably fast,” said Davidson. “For instance, Vampire Weekend always runs out of cardigan sweaters and matching khaki pants at shows. Morrissey’s replica pompadours get scooped up halfway through his first tour date. And the Strokes’ line of cigarettes sell out before the opening band even plays. Long story short, if you want to sell merch, make sure it’s sweet as hell. Otherwise, it’s just a shirt with your logo on it. So boring.”

At press time, Interpol had no choice but to cancel a show last-minute after the bassist discovered a mustard stain on his performance suit, and unfortunately, no dry cleaners were open.

My Band Hired the Wrong Kind of Engineer but Now Our Bridges Are Structurally Sound

Choosing the wrong engineer for your album might ruin your music. My band, Butt Age, found that out the hard way when we hired the wrong kind of engineer to work on our new EP. Apparently, engineers can specialize in things besides music. Her focus was on bridges. Unfortunately, her lack of music production experience led to our album being unlistenable. Fortunately, the rickety footbridge behind our home studio is finally structurally sound.

We should have known something was up when our “engineer” said she was going to pick up some stuff from Home Depot. We brushed it off, assuming they had finally merged with Guitar Center. It got us even more excited because it seemed like she really knew her shit.

You might be thinking, “at least she did a public service by fixing the bridge.” Wrong! What good is a safe, structurally-sound path from our van to the studio if the music we make in there sounds like a bridge collapsing?

Engineering is ultimately a field dedicated to problem-solving, which is why we decided to cut our losses and hire someone else. But then the band had an epiphany: we can just do this shit ourselves! A few Audacity tutorials later and we had an EP on our hands.

Though this is still entirely her fault, we don’t have any hard feelings toward our former engineer. She’s still a good hang and the fact that she has no musical background whatsoever made her a perfect fit to be our new bass player.

Precinct Has Free Pizza in Break Room for Hitting Quarterly Murder Quota

NEW YORK – The 46th precinct in the Bronx is celebrating a record-high quarterly murder quota by offering pizza, games, and an overall good time in the break room to all officers for another job well done, sources with greasy trigger fingers confirmed.

“It really makes me proud to know that our men and women in blue are doing the best they could month after month, and it only makes sense to reward them for keeping the streets safe by eliminating as many perceived threats as possible,” said Police Chief Greg Pozliski. “Letting the crew blow off some steam, eat a slice from Vinny’s, and play a couple rounds of ‘pin the drugs on the unarmed minor you just unloaded an entire magazine into’ is great for team building and at this point a quarterly tradition. Whoever guesses how many spent bullet casings are in the giant jug in the front office gets a month’s paid suspension out of it, so I’m really excited for this go around.”

Local Recruit Officer Brian Miller is glad the team is being rewarded but is frustrated because he feels like he can’t get ahead.

“Last pizza party I only had 14 raffle tickets, and wouldn’t you know if I scooped up a 15th, I would have won an 86” high definition TV,” said Miller as he thrust his hips into the pinball machine that was rented for the occasion. “It’s not fair that Dyson won the TV, but they’re going by body count alone. Anybody could pop off rounds into a sleeping homeless man, they don’t even put up a fight. But let me tell you, the timeless thrill of running after a moving target who is carrying a negligible amount of contraband is worth so much more than watching NCIS in 4K. I’ll get ‘em next time.”

Local sociologist Joyce Hamlin weighed in on how at the end of the day it’s all about keeping balance within the precinct if they want to keep their numbers up.

“On one hand, if half the precinct is complacent, they’ll kill again. Conversely, if half is angry, they’ll kill again. Finding that sweet spot where everyone is on board with pulling the trigger is imperative when it comes to hitting your quarterly murder quota,” said Hamlin. “The important thing that Chief Pozliski needs to remember is to save the itemized receipts for all of the party expenses so he can properly claim everything against taxpayer dollars.”

At press time, multiple officers were unironically singing “Killing in the Name” at the karaoke machine.