Faux Pas Witnessed at a Ratatat Concert

1. Arythmic dancing - Yes, I realize that Ratatat (and opening band 120 Days) are dance bands. I get it. You're all on spring break, you've got your best white sportcoat and fashion mullet on, and you just want to cut loose. I sympathize, although being stereotypically white (ie: lame) and overweight, I politely choose to stand off to the side and perform the traditional concert head-nod. No big deal. I do however have one request: If you must dance, at least dance to the music. Every single person there took it upon themselves to do the same hippie-dance-sway bullshit for every song, regardless of tempo or breaks in the music. It was like watching a movie where the sound doesn't line up with the actor's mouth. Except this wasn't a movie, this was about 300 kids who wish the 80s never ended trying to dance to an 18 minute Phish song playing in their head.

2. Mosh-Humping - This term might be misleading, because there's no real moshing that goes on at a Ratatat concert, but no matter where you go, you will always see the normally socially-awkward couple trying like hell to make a baby right there in front of everybody. I'm not really a prude, but come on man, you don't want to blow your wad too quick, what are you going to do after the show? Grab some Chalupas and watch Will and Grace? Plan ahead. Although I will say this much: this is the exception that proves the rule of my previous comment. This couple were the only ones who did anything in time with the music, so good for them I guess. At one point I saw him put his hand up the back of her skirt when he thought no one was looking, and fingerbang her to the bass line of the song "Crips." I politely excused myself and grabbed another Coors Light.

3. Sucking - This is perhaps the greatest of all faux pas. 120 Days sucked, a lot. But having never listened to them before I didn't really hold that against them. I held out hope that Ratatat would bring the noise to compliment the already copious amounts of funk in the room. And when they finally took the stage (35 minutes late) they sounded good. "Wow," I thought, "they managed to pull off a great live sound. Why it sounds just like their CD! Wait a minute..." I had witnessed what was essentially the Guitar-Heroization of music, where all the loops, drops, and other goodies that make a Ratatat album sound really cool were being performed by the push of a button and a lot of standing around, while dueling guitars played (poorly) over the top of the preset tracklist. It was a disappointment to be sure, especially considering that other electronic bands (ex: the Album Leaf, and Grizzly Bear) were able to fully recreate the studio sound on stage without simply pushing a button for a prerecorded karaoke track. I'm glad I didn't pay for this show. Scene Legends don't pay for shows.

-Konrad Adenauer

Konrad Adenauer Endorses a Music Video

Video of the Week - "It's Not Over" by Chris Daughtry

Hey kids! Are you a white male between the ages of 14 and 17? Are you overweight? Would you be kicking ass in Sophomore Metal Shop if it weren't for all those unexcused absences? Is your dream to marry that girl with the pocketless jeans and the XXL Tazmanian Devil sweatshirt and build custom choppers? Then have we got the band for you! His name's Chris Daughtry, and he's a total hardass. If the name sounds familiar, it may be because he was on American Idol last season. But don't worry, this isn't your faggy little sister's (God... Kaytlinn can be so gay sometimes!) American Idol, Chris Daughtry got eliminated by people who just don't understand him, or you. After picking up a band and creativly naming them "Daughtry," he's totally kicking the shit out of that Taylor Hicks and the rest of those California Queers on the billboard charts. So do yourself a favor: when your mom's boyfriend is done drinking and watching Hannity's America, invite your lady over to watch some MTV. When this Daughtry video comes on, she'll get so hot looking at his Scott Stappian leather pants, that you'll totally get to second base. Bonus.

-Konrad Adenauer

Twee Twit

Watch this video by El Perro Del Mar.

I think this maybe the frailest human voice captured on any sound recording device in history. There are octogenarian librarians from Connecticut that stir up more controversy than this music.

Its like being baked inside a loaf of bread. You know your own death is imminent if you linger for too long, but as the doughy merchant of doom envelopes you bit by bit, all you can think is how very warm and inviting it all seems. By the time you come to your senses, though, its too late and you've already suffocated. El Perro Del Mar you crafty bastards.

Soothsayers Conclude, the Music Industry is dead.

They say an image is worth a thousand words. Therefore, I will leave you with this image which I think proves my point.

-Dr. Fortune Esq.

If you have to like a band that makes you less of a person, make it


HELLOGOODBYE

You know those letters you're supposed to write but never send for some assumed therapeutic value. Whether it was intended or not, this is one of those letters because, technically, you cant address an envelope to a particular section of sidewalk.

To whom it may concern -

The smell of cloves gingerly wafting its way towards me means but one thing; I’m entering the realm of that which I cannot stand. Much like Charybdis or the Sarlac pit, your particular band of laughable misfits waits to ensnare me with the accidental stupification that ensues upon me overhearing their indictment of the ‘Big Denim' lobby, or the commercialization of Raffi or some bullshit. My aversion to you utter human trash hanging outside of the organic coffee house is one of self preservation certainly, but more so of contempt.

If you utter, ‘Oh yeah, I know Rain and Karen who own this place. I can put my art up whenever I want cause commercial galleries are afraid of my work’, I swear to whatever malevolent force that put you on this planet I’m going to punch you in the fucking throat. I say this not out of irrational anger or rash reactionary irritation but of simple biological function. If your voicebox no loner is able to utter sound, I can’t hear you theorize about that Chomsky book you don’t understand, yet feel the need to talk about all afternoon. An afternoon you should be at that job your mom got you, but that conformist boss of yours expects you to wash off the black nail polish because ‘customers’ find it off-putting.

You bastards hang outside of a coffee shop all day, no doubt named after a Kerouac book or an Ibsen play, and fight the good fight against the conformist robots that pass you on their way to jobs or class. Much like the first unbeatable level of ‘The Rocketeer’ on NES, your conversations meander around the same general topic of art or literature, but because you boners never took the time to actually learn anything about it, they always end up at the same place – the continue screen. Having no other way to spend your time or – god forbid- your parents’ money, you gleefully press that A button, strike up another American Spirit, and start again with ‘I try to model my watercolor work on the minimalist French neo-realist notion of blah blah blah no one fucking cares.

-Clervius Narcisse

First post, W00t!

Let us begin by extending a very jaded welcome to SceneLegends, a site for people who know music was better in their day, yet are still under 30. If you're literate enough to recognize the above reference while simultaneously harboring a deep resentment for your contemporaries and their insatiable appetite for oversized sunglasses, Diesel Jeans, and swag from Spencer's Gifts, then congratulations: you're a pretentious asshole who has a profound natural ability to instantly pass judgement on those desiring to entertain you. But here, you're among other pretentious assholes, so welcome friend. Perhaps one day we will meet in real life to have a six dollar micro-brew, swap Yo La Tengo bootlegs, and mock those not in attendance.

-Konrad Adenauer