Man, I’ve listened to this record maybe twenty times and I just don’t think I “get” it. Yes – it’s great. Arcade Fire have released their third consecutive masterpiece, and I join every other right-thinking person on the planet in being elated about this fact. And it sounds fantastic – the production mistakes of Neon Bible have been corrected, and the record pops out of your stereo in a way that even Funeral didn’t. The bass is especially prominent, turning some of the slower, waltzy numbers into low-key new wave bangers. The Suburbs is close to the ground; it hums and thrums.

But some of the elements don’t add up for me. The lyrics are intelligent and thoughtful, but I don’t see any grand statement cohering. The lyrics on Funeral were impressionistic, deeply felt, colorful, humorous – that album truly felt like a call to arms for all the kids stuck in the suburbs, feeling their feelings without any way to appropriately express them. And Neon Bible was a claustrophobic nightmare, with the band always one step ahead of the great yawning maw of an inevitable apocalypse. But I don’t hear anything on that level here; yeah, the suburbs are boring, and if you want to be an artist you should probably move to a big city. And indie kids don’t dance at rock shows. So what?

The old-fashioned car on the cover made me think this record would examine the well-manicured suburbs and plentiful cocktails of John Updike’s short stories from the 70s, a kind of period piece. And that’s the vibe you get from about half the songs – they’re elegiac, with subtle melodies that reveal themselves slowly. (There’s a lot of repetition on hand here, unfortunately supporting most people’s ideas about some kind of conceptualism at work. I say “unfortunately” because I don’t think the record itself can support that kind of intense focus – if the main concept is what I think it is, then they didn’t do enough with it to justify spending over sixty minutes on the subject.) But even early on, Butler starts whining about the “businessmen drinking [his] blood,” which makes me believe that he’s writing from his own unique perspective. And since Butler was born in 1980, he had the same Goonies childhood all the rest of us did, and it wasn’t that stifling.

Look, this isn’t a bad record. As I said earlier, it’s pretty great. I will keep listening to it until I wring some satisfactory meaning from it. But the band did themselves a disservice by calling the damn thing The Suburbs and being so serious about the whole thing. It’s true that Arcade Fire make all of their contemporaries look disposable and tacky, and they’re one of the only bands that can convincingly claim U2 / Radiohead stature. (Their career is starting to look exactly like U2’s, actually, with all of the awkward transitional records removed from the equation – I’ll call The Suburbs their Joshua Tree without feeling weird about it. [The Suburbs is Arcade Fire’s Joshua Tree.]) But the suburbs? Really? Maybe it’s because I never made my great escape to a major metropolitan area, but it’s not that bad out here. I mean, we’re still people. We’re not dead inside. We, too, listen to Arcade Fire.

Do you like indie rock? Do you like girls? Do you love Lincoln Hall, Chicago’s newest and best music venue? I’ve got just the show for you. Girls Out Of The Garage (presented by NoVo Arts, Inc.) is a showcase for some truly awesome Chicago talent. Shit pops off on January 28 at Lincoln Hall, and the doors open up at 7:30p.m. Line-up, you ask? The Wanton Looks, The Maybenauts, Leslie Hunt, and Scotia Widows will all be performing high-octane, femme-centric rock ‘n’ roll on this night, and the whole thing is only gonna cost you ten bucks! If you’re not familiar with the bands, that’s not important; they all get the Official Oswald Hobbes Seal of Approval, and you’re going home with some new favorites for sure. To wit:

The Wanton Looks: These ladies are absolutely rad. They’re getting some good attention local (Greg Kot big-upped them) and it’s well-deserved -- this is the kind of fun, sloppy punk rock that floats my boat all the way down Devil River, straight into Satan’s warm clutches. When these guys record a full-length, I’m gonna buy two copies: one to listen to all day long, and another to cuddle up with at night. Check out a video of them playing the rad-tastic “Demons” at the Double Door:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=zWD-5U02BQs

Leslie Hunt: I like to think of Leslie Hunt as “the music fan’s Katy Perry.” The sound is sophisticated, with an obviously disparate range of influences, but it’s all tied to together with Ms. Hunt’s distinctive personality and truly compelling voice. She’s got a record out right now called Your Hair Is On Fire, which you can purchase now for ten bucks. I know that’s a lot of money for all you bottom-feeders that think music should be free, but it’s a good deal considering how much play you’ll get out of this. Also, is that an excellent title or what? Here’s the extremely goofy video for first single “American Dream Man”:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=fpJfo7Rp3ZU

The Maybenauts: These guys list some truly ridiculous influences on their MySpace (“The Zombies, Duran Duran and Kraftwerk in a rock-and-roll blender,” for example) but the music speaks for itself: simple, sharp riffs with awesome vocal harmonies. My favorite track is probably “Love Is Blind,” mostly because I like the surf-y, girl-group sound, which shows remarkable depth for a band still in its infancy (they formed January of ’09), but also because the lyrics display a sense of humor that sets Maybenauts apart from many of their super-serious indie contemporaries. Here’s a video of them performing another of their winners, “No Eggs”:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZFnZR2e-xcU

Scotia Widows: This here is cool stuff -- ragged punk with song titles like “Amish Sluts” and “Good Music.” And they’re doing shit the right way: their demo is available for free (just click on the link and you’ll find some more info), which means you have no excuse not to check it out. If you like getting your ass kicked, you will love Scotia Widows. (Couldn’t find a video for these guys, so just get the demo, listen to it a hundred times, and thank me later.

So, to review: The show is called Girls Out Of The Garage, it’s January 28 at Lincoln Hall in Chicago, 7:30p.m., and you can purchase tickets for ten bucks right now. Trust me when I say you don’t want to miss this show.

Sad news for fans of good music: Jay Reatard was apparently found today at his home in Memphis. Reatard (born Jimmy Jay Lindsey, Jr.) was a joyfully obnoxious practictioner of borderline-symphonic pop-punk; his most recent album, Watch Me Fall, was one of 2009′s best, and that was coming after a roll of incendiary singles compilations from Matador that found him becoming an unlikely blogosphere favorite. Aside from being a truly gifted craftsman of lo-fi symphonies to boredom and destruction, Reatard was also an electric stage presence and lightning rod for trouble and controversy. Needless to say we’re gonna miss this dude, and we never even met him. AssaultBLOG’s thoughts and prayers go out to his friends and family. Here’s the man in action:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=uzfrhJCVy30

Update: According to Pitchfork, Reatard’s death is now being investigated as a homocide and police are looking for a suspect. Not sure what this could mean, or why anyone would want to murder Jay Reatard -- but there you go. This could get weird. Buy yourself a copy of Blood Visions anyway.

Sometimes I think all forms of music are equally valid and beautiful; when I’m in a gentle, contemplative mood, I can appreciate anything. During these sojourns in Sensitive World, I truly believe that music is the best and purest method of emotional expression available to the human race, and that everyone should have a band and create whatever their heart dictates, no matter how lame.

But that’s not true. The best kind of music is punk rock, and most everything else is just hippie bullshit. Direct Hit! is a totally bullshit-free band, and I hope they go out and murder Animal Collective and whoever else the flower children are grooving to now. Go to Direct Hit!’s website, click “play” on their mp3 widget, and the first thing you hear is a raw voice screaming the instructions in this article’s title. That is, as we say, rad. The music that follows does not disappoint – it’s melodic pop-punk that’s about as “hardcore” as pop-punk can really get. These guys are fast, tight, and clearly insane. These are the three qualities most highly treasured around the office here (at least among myself and Mr. 51% – Third World Timmy seems to prefer comically pretentious pomp-rock by failed movie actors), so Direct Hit! instantly went into heavy rotation.

You can download their recently-released EP #3 right now, for the price of your choosing, at the aforementioned website, and I strongly suggest you do so. (I also suggest you donate a few bucks, since these guys deserve some cash for making music so blissfully funny and squirrel-shit nuts). These are songs about guns and zombies and murder, and they are totally awesome. Like it or not, this is your new favorite band.

So this is making the rounds now and we’d be remiss (as fans of both gnarly punk rock and Kristen Stewart) not to join in: it’s the first official trailer for The Runaways, with K. Stew as Joan Jett and Dakota Fanning as Cherie Currie. Those two are the biggest names, but I’m probably even more excited about Scout Taylor-Compton portraying Lita Ford; Lita is by far my favorite Runaway (and not just because her and Nikki Sixx used to summon the power of the beast while they were shacked up in the ’80s; she also had a little song called “Kiss Me Deadly” that will gladly whup your ass every single time you hear it), and you’ll remember Taylor-Compton from the unconscionably awesome Rob Zombie Halloween flicks. The trailer is a  bit bare bones, but whatever – this looks like fucking rad:

A lot of people got excited when Led Zeppelin (kinda) reformed last year to play a benefit show. I didn’t. There’s nothing to be gained from a full Zep reunion – their catalog is almost flawless, and their legacy speaks for itself. Them Crooked Vultures, on the other hand, is a much more enticing proposition. Dave Grohl, the closest our generation has to a Bonham, teams up with super-charismatic Queens of the Stone Age frontman Josh Hamme and Zeppelin’s own secret weapon, John Paul Jones: this isn’t a supergroup, it’s a dream team.

Of course there’s always the possibility of this turning into some newfangled version of Damn Yankees (see: Audioslave), but I’m happy to report that Them Crooked Vultures’ self-titled debut is an awesome and essential slab of prime swamp rock. The reliably magnetic Homme has pulled Grohl and Jones deep into his scuzzy orbit; the record could easily pass for a new QOTSA disc, except it’s head-and-shoulders above everything those guys have done since Rated R. The twist is provided by Jones, who supplies his usual variety of textures and tones and lends the album a dynamic variety that makes it, even at a somewhat mellow-harshing seventy minutes, compulsively listenable throughout.

The basic format here is established right away: opener “Nobody Loves Me & Neither Do I” showcases everything that makes this band special: Grohl’s thundering fills, Jones’s background flourishes, Homme’s clever double entendres (“Don’t hold it against me / Unless it gets hard”). And the album steamrolls forward from there; most of the tracks settle in for five or six minutes, building atmosphere with circular, repetitive riffs and hypnotic rhythms. You probably won’t find a better record to simply get high and zone out to this year, but there’s some straight fun on offer too. “Bandoliers” and “Elephants” both take lumbering, Page-y riffs and slow them down to a crawl before exploding into righteous fury and then settling back down again; “New Fang” and “Mind Eraser, No Chaser” are pure punk blasts with delightfully sweet chorus melodies.

If you’re looking for a shot of Zep, “Scumbag Blues” would fit nicely on the first half of Presence, and “Reptiles” sounds like a sequel to “Trampled Under Foot.” Foo Fighters fans might be disappointed – Grohl doesn’t get any mic time – but people who still like getting blitzed and playing In Utero at full volume can really rejoice. Dude still has a special gift for running his shit and making it look easy; he drives every song here, probably with a grin on his face. And Homme is in especially fine form, too – his playing is creative and varied, with slinky, seductive lines giving way to master-blaster power chords giving way to masterful solos giving way to psychedelic freak-outs. Them Crooked Vultures always feel one step away from the edge – there’s just so damn much of it. But these guys earn the run time, building atmosphere and then blowing holes through it.

You already know if this is your cup of tea; all three personalities here are well-defined brands at this point, and the combustion that results when they’re in the same room should come as no surprise. The only real shocker here is how damn good these songs are. None of the thirteen tracks sound like leftovers, and spontaneity and song-craft carry equal weight. The musical touchstones are obvious, but here’s a visual: think about the astral ballet near the beginning of Stanley Kubrick’s 2001, with the massive spaceships gliding around, huge but still dwarfed by cold, dark space. Listening to this record, you start to get an idea of how those astronauts inside feel.

I almost quit the idea of starting my own clothing line altogether when I first started out because I literally didn’t know what to design. What could I put on my t-shirts? No one likes a shirt with just a logo on it–unless you’re Nike. I didn’t like semi-offensive parody shirts. I couldn’t use band names. I couldn’t afford any sort of licensing to use comic book superheroes. Essentially I was left with NOTHING.

The insecure designer in me was ready to quit

Not until I finally sat down and started listing things I thought were cool was I finally able to think of things that couldn’t be owned by anyone, that I could use as centerpieces to my work or at the very least hidden accents that would add to the detail. The finished list contained things that were cool for use in a t-shirt, that I would not get in trouble for using. My list ended up looking something like this:

Wolves are cool. Three wolves is better.

Animals

• Wolves (Mostly serious on this one)
• Cats
• Dogs
• Dead animal skulls
• Spiders
• Tarantulas
• Hawks
• Bald Eagles
• Bats
• Werewolves
• Giant Bugs
• Wolverines (Thank you spell check for this suggestion)

Cool Symbols

• Radioactive Symbols
• Stars
• Devil Horns
• Crosses
• Crossbones
• Poison Labels
• The Sun

Affliction has sort of (tm)'d this look.

Affliction-ize (if that’s what you’re into)

• Skulls
• Chainsaws
• Blood spats
• Lasers
• Barbed Wire
• Machinery
• Welding sparks
• Vampires
• Rays or bursts of light
• Broken Glass
• Grunge Textures
• Rust Textures
• Torn Paper
• Scratches
• Music notes

Military & Vehicles

• Atomic Bombs
• Airplanes
• Jets
• Guns
• Tanks

This also would have worked under the animals heading.

Nature

• Fire
• Explosions
• Floral Shapes
• Lightning Bolts
• Smoke

Other notable items

• Fist Pumping (in general this is a cool thing to do)
• High Fiving?
• Any sort of public domain imagery, or things over 75 years old

You get the idea. Are Pomeranians cool? Meh, but hey I’m sure that guy is out there who thinks they are… and I’m pretty sure he drives a bright orange Mazda Miata.

Feel free to add your cool things to the list at the bottom. Even if they’re inappropriate, which probably makes them all the more awesome.