BALTIMORE — Volunteers with the organization People for the Ethical Treatment of Acoustics (PETA (But Not Assholes)) recently rescued a badly mistreated Yamaha acoustic guitar from the local chapter house of the Delta Alpha Hoffa fraternity, righteous sources confirmed.
“This little guy has been through so much. I can’t even imagine how many coked-out frat boys have attempted to bang out a sloppy ‘Wonderwall’ cover on him just because they think it’ll be impressive enough to deserve a handjob,” lamented rescue worker Gail Freeman. “We’re gonna get this good boy here all fixed up – replace those ratty strings, clean some of those Skoal stains out, and see if we can’t sand off the spot where someone carved ‘McCoy Sux Butts’ into the headstock.”
Delta Alpha Hoffa’s community outreach chair Derek White objected to the abuse allegations made against the DAH brotherhood.
“It’s not all crazy toga parties and nightly panty raids like in the movies – we take pride in doing our part for the community. Just the other day we had our annual highway cleanup day and a full four of us weren’t too hungover to attend. That’s a new record!” explained White. “How could anyone think we would ever hurt a guitar? That’s like, as bad as snapping a brother’s Dave Matthews CD in half. I don’t care how mad you get, bro. There’s just no call for that kind of attitude.”
Peter Klein, owner and manager of inner harbor music shop Crab People Audio, detailed the vetting process that ethical instrument sellers use before placing a guitar with a new home.
“A lot of the smaller, local shops have pretty strict conduct standards for individuals looking to adopt a guitar. If I hand it to them and they immediately start playing ‘Sweet Child of Mine’ I take it right back and tell them to get the hell out,” explained Klein. “Some of the pawn shops around here are a little more relaxed about standards like ‘no shamrock tattoos’ or ‘refer to the fretboard as “the finger part,”’ but for the most part we’re all still looking out for the security of these precious, hollow-body angels.”
At press time, rescue workers also found a pair of badly beaten bongo drums in the fraternity house, which unfortunately, they were forced to euthanize.
Mayday Parade has yet to make a bad album wherever you are, and we are not joking in any way, shape, form, or satellite, but sadly this one just sounds complacent in a non-epic way from start to finish, and since good is the enemy of great, it’s hard to be religious when certain people are never incinerated by bolts of lightning. Sadly, the band’s sixth effort “Sunnyland,” and first of two as of now for Rise Records, just doesn’t take our breath away as the band mostly stayed the same throughout, and if we were them, despite “Black Lines” not selling as well as its four predecessors, we would’ve gone deeper into the sonic and songwriting direction there. Even its one-word album title sounds semi-lazy and phoned in in comparison to their other releases.
Mayday Parade’s fourth album, consists of one of their better opening tracks, “Ghosts,” which features Journey’s Brian May-like playing, but sadly the album tapers off as tracks come in and out. Honestly, this album’s biggest handicap is that it truly didn’t have a chance to be better than its self-titled predecessor. Still, its album cover, which kind of looks like a combination of John Denver’s “Labyrinth” and Roald Dahl’s “The Indian in the Cupboard” in the best way, would make a good t-shirt, so Fearless Records, if you’re reading this, and we know that you are, please send us an XL for our Covid ginger beer guts even though you don’t have MP on your roster anymore, you angel demons.
Yes, Mayday Parade has more than one album, and their newest LP “What It Means to Fall Apart” does far from that, and is the first mentioned here to be consistent throughout. Shoutouts are in order for the current lineup of Derek Sanders on lead vocals and sometimes piano, Alex Garcia on lead guitar, Brooks Betts on rhythm guitar, Jeremy Lenzo on bass, and Jake Bundrick on drums and sometimes lead vocals. Here’s to another lucky seven MP albums, one for the rocks, and one for the scary! Closing an album with a song called “I Can’t Do This Anymore” is scary when one wants more from this five-piece, but it kinda could be a form of notice to the end of it all. Think of them please.
Ah, yes, the very polarizing record from Mayday Parade! Departures can sometimes sound like arrivals: Imagine Mayday Parade listened to a lot of the now-canceled Brand New, the forever rad Smashing Pumpkins, a bunch of hipster Coachella acts, and purchased a ton of vintage delay guitar pedals on your rich and neglectful stepfather’s dime, and you have “Black Lines,” BY FAR, the most underrated MP effort and we are not taking any more questions regarding the matter. Also, this album is the last of their Fearless Records, err, records, and the band went out with a bang in every way but sales/streams/fanfare. Let’s be honest, this one may have been just out of reach for you in 2015, but now that you’re eight years older, and have had much more time to let your hollowness go, you need to revisit this one stat.
The band’s lone major label/sophomore release “Anywhere but Here” is a co-writer’s dream, but the band’s then-nightmare, as it was doomed from the start because of general apathy with the lineup. Still, despite the fact that “Anywhere but Here” alienated some, which means one or more, it somehow has a lot of staying power and various songs will always permeate their setlists, unless they are solely playing another album front to back. Produced by David Bendeth of Breaking Benjamin, Paramore, Of Mice & Men, and Joni Mitchell fame, this album sounds HUGE, but didn’t move many units, unintentionally making it a setback for the five-piece, even though it initially debuted at number thirty-one on the Billboard 200. Sadly sales dissipated after week one, and it seemed that the band would never recover, but with the next to be mentioned subsequent effort, it did! The end?
Oh well, oh whale? If this self-titled LP was flip-flopped sequentially order-wise with “Anywhere but Here” and released on Atlantic Records instead of an indie without a huge music video and radio budget, we firmly believe that Mayday Parade would’ve still been on a major label today and their radio hit catalog would’ve also been quite sizable. However, that wasn’t in the cards for this fan-favorite studio effort. Self-titled LPs often go in one way or another: Back-to-basics like what worked before or a major departure that may or may not successfully grow their fan base. This one is more of the former, and a grower that shows up and out, so when you see your friends who abandoned their pop punk roots for seemingly greener pastures, show them this album’s cover and scare ‘em back to Warped Tour forests.
What is truly obvious to us here is Mayday Parade may never be able to top their no “skip it” track debut studio album “A Lesson in Romantics,” and that’s ok, as Stuart Smalley said to you, but we will direct towards them, “They’re good enough, they’re smart enough, and doggone it, people like them!” You’d drink too if you had Liberace for a son, so walk on water or drown, and take this to heart: If you wanted a song written about you, all you had to do was ask, and we’d STILL say no. This album eventually went GOLD, yes, GOLD, which is an insane achievement for an indie or major label, so there is literal proof that more than Jamie was all over it.
This practically goes without saying, but Vanity Smurf, perhaps the most conceited being in the universe, will never, ever be given permission to enter Heaven. His entire being is centered on the seventh deadly sin, known as Vanagloria. Due to his insistence on carrying a mirror everywhere he goes and definitely not because he’s coded in any other way, Vanity will burn in Hell forever.
Much like his compatriot (or maybe brother or cousin? It’s hard to tell) Vanity, Greedy’s existence is based on one of the capital vices, and he will not be safe in Heaven when the Apocalypse comes, and all is razed in fire and water. Surprisingly, his sin is not actually greed but instead gluttony. Little motherfucker loves to eat.
Brainy Smurf wears glasses, and that alone should cast him down to the Pit with the fallen and the nosepickers. But he also teems with arrogance, sure that his delvings into the pathetic “scientific” workings of the known world will somehow save him from damnation. They will not. You have only learned what you must be afraid of, Brainy.
Scaredy Smurf is a gutless coward, much like the traitor Judas or Luigi from the Super Mario games. God likes courage. God demands courage. He will not suffer those who are scared of a mere volcano, as Scaredy was in “The Sky Is Smurfing! The Sky Is Smurfing!” In fact, God is in favor of volcanos. When you toss stuff in one, it totally belongs to God after that.
Try to raise an imitation of the Lord’s creation through mere inks and canvas, will you? Saint Peter shall never call you a friend, Painter Smurf, and your name will be forgotten along with so-called artists like Michelangelo, Thomas Kinkade, and what’s-his-name. You know, the guy who always liked drawing things and stuff? Anyway, he’s in Hell now.
Smurfette is not a true Smurf. That is actually a couple of points in her favor, as being one of those blue weirdos starts you out behind. However, she has blonde hair, and as we all know, blondes have more fun. Fun leads to Hell. If you go to Hell, you don’t get into Heaven. See how that works?
You’d think that being Grouchy is a sin, but it’s really not. As far as God is concerned, you can get into Heaven even if cows, rotten smurfistroni, and gold all make you grouchy, much as they do to this particular unhappy entity. However, Grouchy Smurf once drowned a man because he was feeling annoyed. He’s a straight-up murderer.
Azrael the cat was named after the Angel of Death, who bears the scroll of the Living and the Dead and will someday bring us all from this benighted world into what comes after. This cat is kind of a little bitch, though, and makes fun of his owner, so he’s getting the same treatment as Garfield: straight to Hell!
Alchemy is forbidden by God, as are all forms of witchcraft, sorcery, and baseball. This Smurf has spent his entire life trying to become like unto the Lord, able to transmute dross matter to gold and other dumb shit like that. It hasn’t given him a lot of time to sin, though, so he might glimpse the hem of an angel’s robe before he’s torn apart by demons.
Clockwork Smurf is basically a robot created to do chores for his creator, Handy Smurf, which is totally God’s thing, and he doesn’t like it when people muscle in on his turf. Regardless of that, Clockwork has no soul and never shall have one. Even the concept of Heaven is alien to this aberration of Divine law.
The Submariner Date 116619 wristwatch is actually just nicknamed “the Smurf” because of its blue Cerachrom bezel, a fine piece of craftsmanship by the good people at Rolex. However, watches don’t get to go to Heaven. They have a separate afterlife, which you will never know more of. Let’s move on.
To dream is to doubt reality, the very fabric of God’s creation. Thus, Dreamy Smurf will never truly be able to enter the Kingdom of Heaven, but paradoxically, his ability to fantasize about things he will never do makes him closer than many others of his cursed species to be able to imagine eternal paradise. Sucks for you, Dreamy.
Scruple, the apprentice magician, will never know the peace of God’s Kingdom because of the whole magic thing. However, he’s double screwed because he’s from New York, and it’s extra difficult for New Yorkers to get into Heaven. It has something to do with the water there, we don’t really know why it’s such a big deal.
The only way Nosey will kneel before the throne of the Almighty is if he finds some really, really good dirt on his fellow Smurfs and snitches on them. Heaven isn’t like prison, if you find out some nice juicy gossip, you gotta tell God first thing. He really doesn’t like being the last to know.
Bigmouth the Ogre doesn’t have any friends, and you need to have friends to get into Heaven. It’s a buddy system thing.
Somehow, the sexually charged vocals of the human embodiment of a beige swatch from Lowe’s still make you think about your college girlfriend. Maybe Janelle will take you back if you call and apologize for throwing up at her sister’s wedding. She’s been married to your cousin for fourteen years, but it’s worth a shot! If you daydream about the life you would’ve built with Janelle and her family in upper Maine for too long, you’ll probably clip several people using Bird scooters in the bike lane. Thankfully, you’ll be so emotionally available, you’ll cry with them!
If the intro track to this EP doesn’t make everyone think you have a dude trapped in your trunk, every second of “Entombment of a Machine” will. Whatever you do, don’t ask why you placed this album on the same page as The Roots’ “Things Fall Apart” and Savage Garden’s 1997 self-titled album until you’ve safely rear-ended the Honda Civic in front of you.
Everybody loves “White Pony,” but what about the album you lost your makeout virginity to? This was the album that made you a love-drunk sicko that abandoned skateboarding and childhood friends for any girl in the mall food court that looked at you right. So, jam “Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away)” and have an extra-sweaty dry-humping session with the cop that will inevitably pull you over for being too horny.
The lyrics to this album will let everyone in the Target parking lot know your BAC is above .08. So don’t break it out until you’ve finished the open container in your front seat. Also, hang onto that hitchhiker for a while because you need an alibi more than you need a drinking buddy.
This album is as terrible as it is fun which makes it the perfect CD to listen to while pulling into your old elementary school. No teacher thought you were old enough to listen to Limp Bizkit in ‘01, so it’s time to prove what a big, strong man you became by blaring “Rollin’” while picking up your girlfriend’s son thirty minutes before dismissal. Jaydain Murphy doesn’t need social-emotional learning any more than you need to turn down the Limp B-I-Z-K-I-T.