The Tweener's Best of 07 list Part 1

Best Album: The Bees, Octopus

This album only has four great songs, but they are better than anyone else's great songs, so they win. The Bees are a British band that are unfashionable because they have a lot of dub and soul influences. That's so gay. Where's the fucking Kraut-rock jamz, doods? What about "sister ray" by the Velvet Underground? ! What do you guys have to say about that!?

In all seriousness, though, despite all the talk of indie rock being too white, all the good and popular bands these days have a little soul in their step. Spoon. TV on the Radio. M.I.A. Of Montreal. I embrace this trend with open arms, because I reserve the hope that one day, I will never have to hear another fucking word about Lou Reed or NEU! again.

Runner up: Of Montreal, Whatever it's called.

Best Show: Kurt Vile, West Philly Basement

I was so inspired by this searing, wall-of-sound, free jazz mixed with straight-ahead songwriting cocktail that I went out and scored a goal in my first 7-on-7 soccer game the next morning despite not knowing what soccer was.

Sportsman of the year: Lionel Messi, Barcelona FC/Argentina

I know what you're thinking: "You goddamn communist! A soccer player?!". Listen fellas, I love the NBA, NFL, and MLB, but let's face the reality that American athletes are roided genetic freaks who act like pieces of shit. Don't you think it's cute when the media tries to include some of personal tragedy story in every athlete's profile? "Oh yeah, it was tough when my best friend died in an car accident when I was nine. From that day on, I vowed to become the greatest tight-end in all of college football. I guess I kind of owe my 4.3 forty and 60 inch vertical leap to him". Fuck you, you narcissistic asshole. I hope you take enough hits over your career that you can't move after age 35. What are you gonna owe to your dead friend at that point?

Just look at Lionel Messi, however. A five-foot nothing, pug-ugly runt who is a magician with the soccer ball. I bet that motherfucker is just happy to be where he is. Players like Messi are the reason why soccer is appealing escapism: the sport's best players look like normal people that you could have a beer with. Most of them aren't even strong enough to rack up sexual assault charges. Yet, their wives are hotter than other athlete's.

Soccer players: Proving evolutionary-psychology wrong since 1500 B.C.

Best City I visited: Portland, Oregon

A combined bar/classic arcade. Doughnut shops that offer Captain Crunch as toppings. record stores that sell an ample supply of funkadelic t-shirts. Endless coffee shops. Beer available everywhere. Free, abundant public transportation. A vibrant music scene. Majestic bridges, mountains, and parks, all situated about fifteen minutes from each other. And finally, throngs of homeless people who sell dank weed.

Yes, Portland is what would happen if hipsters and hippies combined to make a city. And guess what: It is not a total disaster like you'd expect, but actually pretty amazing. I have no idea if it's any fun to live there, though. I'm guessing there aren't any jobs, so don't pack your shit up just yet.


Best Book: None

I can't read (read: Didn't read).

Philly Music Part 2: Kurt Vile

Has he read my big sunglasses post yet?

I know...Yesterday's post was supposed to be a review of Philadelphia musician Kurt Vile that turned into a two part series that was never intended to be. Sometimes, a guy just needs an excuse to bash Anton Newcomb and Brian Jonestown Massacre, even though no one has ever cared about them except the three or four idiots on Dig! who compared Anton to fucking Jesus Christ!

Anyway, this 2006 Kurt Vile EP has eight songs, and the name of the songs and the EP I can't remember because I don't have the cd at work. It doesn't matter anyway, because they only sell it at AKA Records and I bought the last copy. You'll never get your hands on it. Before you cry, remember I walked a long ass way to get it .

On this EP, Kurt Vile executes a simple lo-fi formula: Acoustic and clean-toned electric guitar strumming, some drum machine backing, a bit of ghostly keyboards, and reverb-drenched vocals. On one "jawn", Vile shows off his acoustic finger-picking style, and he is badass wit' it.

Vile is a decent singer and knows how to craft a vocal melody, which in today's indie environment, is like uncovering the fucking dead sea scrolls. He is a lazy singer, though, which sometimes makes him sound like he is phoning his vocals in from a traditional "landline" as they used to call them. As for the lyrics, they include some images like "alligator suit" and "pile of shit", so you can't go wrong.

Overall, it is a great album for the Fall. Fall, as you know, is a season that no longer exists.

By all means, check out this guy's live performances. They include blisteringly loud, wall-of-sound freak-outs that go well with a bowl. I don't if these songs were real when I saw them, or if Vile was just trying to scare the Penn kids away. The editorial staff at the Tweener certainly enjoyed them.

Anyway, although Vile tends to be a Philebrity favorite, he is often overshadowed by the bands he is associated with, like The War on Drugs and Relay. This is because he is most likely a chill cat who not concerned by fame, but in reality, I have no fucking clue. All that matters, however, is that he is a hell of a lot better than Anton Newcomb. Take that San Francisco/Portland.