The Joup Friday Album


“Yo, Melissa, Imma let you finish, but I have one of the best Friday Albums of all time.”

No one invited me this week, but I have to take the stage. I have to mention it, this Elephant in the room (well it was once a Donkey, then a…whatever, then begrudgingly welcomed back as an Elephant when it looked like it might get its trunk on the peanut-keys. ‘Off she went with a trumpety-trump, trump, trump, trump’). It’s been two weeks since the combined nationwide clapping and gasp abruptly went reverberating around the world like the amplified unveiling of a waterfall of severed genitalia. To think, I was once torpid with apprehension at the prospect of the Romney-bot, who in retrospect looks like a chuckling uncle with no more nefarious-a-skeleton in his closet than a used-car lot, albeit with a dog strapped to the top of one of his inventory.

The Joup Friday Album: Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti – Mature Themes

mature themesEver since reading Grant Morrison’s Invisibles I have wanted to build a time machine. Why? Not, as one might think, so I could go back in time and choose alternate, diverging paths paths from that which I originally did; not to alter regretful decisions – I have none; and not to kill Hitler (although that one is tempting). No, my interest in a time machine would be to go back and re-experience certain things from my past. Now, these are not key “life events” that I’m interested in, rather moments that have haunted me since their occurrence; moments that I would like to go back and witness again in a newer, informed capacity. I would do this in an attempt to understand how some random, seemingly inconsequential events have stuck in my heart and taken on an import greater than the sum of their parts. My trail for these adventures would begin with the fact that these iconic memories almost always occur when particular places and people coalesce with music; perfect moments crystallized in time by my relationship with the world around me as it becomes set to music.

The Joup Friday Album: Alice Cooper ‘From The Inside’


Is it better to burn out than to find Jesus and excel at Golf alongside Pat Boone?

Those of us that on some subconscious level bought into the myth that I just misappropriated might be familiar with how glamorously masturbatory it can be to corkscrew oneself into the woodwork every night. But after a few years, as the herculean resilience of your youth begins to desert you, your early thirties turn into a nightmarish rapidfire montage of deeply regrettable bouts of bald-eyed sleep deprivation and burgeoning psychosis. Shredded nerves from screams piercing the wee small hours and shit smeared walls begin to take their toll and you find yourself rocking in a corner questioning who the hell you are. Then eventually the kid gets old enough to go to school and things sort of work themselves out.