TRONIC
BLACK MILK / FAT BEATS
Do you know why I tend to cover so much hip-hop at the end of the year? It’s because most of the PR firms that keep my name on file have forever associated me with “sad-eyed indie pop”—consequently, the only time I can devote the space for my first true love is when the PR well runs dry, forcing me to delve into my own personal collection. EAT IT, YOU PR DOUCHEBAGS, I LOVE HIP-HOP. SEND ME MORE. Oh, and before I forget, pick this album up. Lead-off single “The Matrix” makes this worthy of purchase alone—I mean, Monch, Sean Price and Primo on one track? How can you pass that up? You can’t, unless you hate hip-hop. You know who else hates hip-hop? Nazis. Remember that.

FLOW: FOR LOVE OF WATER
IRENA SALINA / OSCILLOSCOPE
Oh noes, someone is stealing all our water! Sure luv, the privatization of potable water really is a huge problem. But really now, is all this hysteria necessary? Salina is at once overly didactic and slightly hysterical, before she totally veers into WTF territory as she delves into the “spiritual significance” of water. Water shortage is a serious problem, but it’s better addressed by someone other than a half-cocked hippie reject.

NYC
KIERAN HEBDEN AND STEVE REID / DOMINO
I am SO BORED. SO, SO BORED. HEBDEN HAS CHANNELLED THE SOUND OF MY BOREDOM AND PRODUCED A DISC THAT SOUNDS NOTHING LIKE NEW YORK AT ALL. I don’t know about anyone else, but when I think NYC, I think trust fund kids and shady banker types and people who make way too much money that would look much better with a bullet in the head—not this faux-world music electro-sizzle bullshit. 

THE SACRED BOOK OF THE WEREWOLF
VICTOR PELEVIN / VIKING ADULT
You either get Pelevin, or you don’t. (Or you either know who he is or you don’t, but I’m not responsible for educating your ignorant, uneducated ass. Philistine.) Consequently, you’ll either enjoy his intricately expansive explorations of post-collapse Russia through the lens of postmodern metaphysics and Eastern mysticism, or you’ll just scratch your head and go back to gently cradling John Updike’s balls. I personally think he’s the best thing out of Russia since Bulgakov, but your mileage may vary.

AN AUTUMN AFTERNOON
YASUJIRO OZU / CRITEIRON
Did I cover this already? I distinctly remember throwing this into my shit pile because of my burning, undying hatred of all things Ozu. Watching this slow-paced, mid-focus familial “drama” is as painful as getting crucified by your nutsack, but not nearly as entertaining.

WHAT WE DO IS SECRET
RODGER GROSSMAN /
PEACE ARCH HOME ENTERTAINMENT
And here we are, eagerly skull-fucking yet another corpse thrown from the back of the BIG BLACK VAN OF PUNK ROCK as it veered from urgent youth-oriented social movement to meaningless fashion symbol. You’ll excuse if me if I’m bored to tears by a rote by-the-numbers biopic about a man whose bald-faced grab for posthumous importance was both needless and ultimately absurd. Here’s a helpful hint to all you slack-jawed punk-fashionistas who still slavishly worship at the grave of Darby Crash: take a shower, and get a job!

NOMAD
HEADHUNTER / TEMPA
Man, I remember when dubstep was NEW! FRESH! EXCITING! But after nearly eight years of choking on the fumes of the underground, the genre as a whole hasn’t advanced much past its early flirtations with grime and two-step, dissolving back into the soupy primordial mess of UK Garage. Long short, guv: Headhunter is lazy, axiomatic crap, bringing absolutely NOTHING NEW to the table. Skip this unless you happen to have a soft-spot for mindless aural wallpaper.

EXIT
SHUGO TOKUMARU / ALMOST GOLD
Shugo Tokumaru is awesome. He is also insane. He sounds a bit like if Jim O’Rourke took a time machine, traveled back to the mid-eighties, beat Calvin Johnson bloody senseless, and then single-handedly decided to rebuild the twee-pop movement in his own image, making all the other Olympia kids worship him as some sort of strange, foreign God. This album will also cure herpes and make you shit kittens through the sheer power of love. I kid you not.

IN THE SHADOW OF THE MOON
DAVID SINGTON / VELOCITY/THINKFILM
I love documentaries. I love the idea of space travel. Therefore, I must absolutely love this exquisitely well-shot and excellently paced documentary about the Apollo missions. This is math. This is inarguable. As sure as the sun rises in the east, I must explode all over my keyboard at the mere mention of this film. So do me a favor and just go see it, while I nip off to re-hydrate myself. It really is quite good. Seriously.

TOWELHEAD
ALAN BALL / WARNER HOME VIDEO
I don’t actually own a copy of this flick, but I managed to catch it while it was in the theatres—and let me tell you, AVOID THIS STEAMING PILE OF HORSE MANURE LIKE IT WAS A KNIFE-WIELDING SYPHILLIPTIC ONE-EYED HOOKER. Ball’s a clumsy director, the screenplay borders on the asinine, and the entire narrative reads with the earnest self-importance of someone who thinks much too highly of herself. There are infinitely better coming-of-age tales with which to waste your time.             

I agree with your view on NYC.. it’s all electro-sizzle, fo shizzle. And I’m checkin out Tronic too.

Thank you! Very interesting .