It finally happened.  All of my hopes, dreams, aspirations…all of them, finally realized and simultaneously made infinitesimally small in the shadow of perhaps the only human being worth anything in this oversaturated and completely pussy-ass world, not to mention my greatest hero and, dare I say, mentor in all things necessary to leading a life of fulfillment and happiness.  I’ve been crafting makeshift shrines and praying to them every day when I wake up, and every night before I fall asleep only to dream of his dumb little beard, and completely empty, thoughtless blue eyes for the chance to simply gaze upon him in person.   Well, all of my stalkerish hard work finally paid off, because two nights ago I met Mac Miller.  And not only did I meet him, I somehow ate the right candy bar, winning the golden ticket admitting me and a few other totally awesome not at all vapid and uninterested industry folk to preview his new album at his private listening party.  Needless to say it was a dream come true.

            To inhibit my thoughts from becoming overwhelmed with sexual desire, I made a point to keep a notebook handy, detailing each track individually, paying the upmost attention to Miller’s brilliant subtleties, and riveting social commentary. Rather than trying to organize my fan girl thoughts into a traditional review, I’d instead like to share with you what I wrote down that magical night—a track by track account of my thoughts, feelings, physical reactions, and perhaps universal experience with Mac Miller’s brand new masterpiece album, Goosefuck Park …or was it Goosepoop Park…fuck, I was so excited, I couldn’t even care when he told us what it was called!

Track 1- What the fuck.  What the fucking fuck.  Is that a Sigur Ros bells sample?  Is Mac Miller fucking singing?  Where are we, my fucking middle school playground?  This is going to be a longer night than I thought.  Hopefully he passes the blunt soon.

Track 2- Lyrics to the hook:  “Tell your mother, mother fucker.”  He’s like Bob Dylan and Plato wrapped up in one bro-ed out bridge troll.  Beats pretty hot though, wonder how much he paid for it.

Track 3- Jesus fucking Christ.  A hyphy flip of the “Let Me Clear My Throat” sample.  Nothing about this is cohesive, it sounds like 6 different songs playing at the same time.  Still hasn’t passed the blunt…to anyone.

Track 4- Everything about this song is completely uninspired.  So much so that I can’t even write anything witty.  Boulder’s gonna love it. Mindlessness for the mindless.

Track 5- second blunt lit. IF YOU PASSED THAT SHIT I MIGHT NOT FUCKING HATE YOU SO MUCH. Dumbass.  Definitely the most complicated his flow has been though.  Kinda like Aaron Carter went to college, got his dick touched accidentally by a girl he unsuccessfully roofied but told his friends after she gave it all away, smoked way too much weed (completely to himself, I might add, the selfish bastard), learned how to rhyme “fuck” with “fuck,” and used the money from “Aaron’s Party” to pay for another hopefully short lived rap career.

Track 6- IF YOU’RE GOING TO DO A TRAP SONG, YOU SHOULD PROBABLY KNOW SOMETHING ABOUT TRAP MUSIC. THAT IS NOT WHAT A TRILL-ASS HI-HAT SOUNDS LIKE YOU FUCKING PIECE OF WONDERBREAD FUCK.

Track 7- oooooooooooo it’s the feel good track! I was waiting for it.  Totally called it on the Aaron’s Party vibe, I hope he gets sued for stealing that shit.  He’s so stoned he can’t even mouth the words to his own songs anymore.  It’s like watching a bearded baby try to hold conversation with a Nobel Prize winning physicist.

Track 8- Just watched him try to pose for a picture featuring his chain and a bottle of Crystal, but he obviously hasn’t figured out the proper technique for the cliché rapper pic, cause he totally fucked up and ended up almost dropping both.  Pretty sure this is a Clams Casino beat, and it’s hot.  God I wish he’d stop rapping.

Track 9-  I can’t hear anything over the subs, so I think I like this one the best.

Track 10- HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT IT’S A POP PUNK SONG.  ASHER ROTH’S ANNOYING ASS LITTLE TROLL OF A YOUNGER BROTHER IS RAPPING OVER A GARAGE BAND VERSION OF A GOOD CHARLOTTE SONG. GOD IS DEAD.

Track 11- all I can hear is another uninspired preset beat, something about Scott Pilgrim, and a hook that has “Chillin at the playground” actually in it.  God damn, Mac, you HARD AS FUCK.  It’d be funny, if he was self aware.

Track 12- HOW MANY MORE OF THESE ARE THERE. PLEASE STOP SINGING. PLEASE.

Track 13- Sounds kinda like a kids bop version of a dutch house song.  3^rd blunt lit.  Still has yet to hand it to anyone except the kid who probably rolled it.  Is that Mac’s mom? Manager maybe?  She fly as fuck…

Track 14- HOLY FUCKING SHIT THERE’S 14 SONGS. THERE’S 14 SONGS ON THIS ALBUM. IT’S THE GOD DAMN MAC MILLER ODESSY. I feel raped.  Maybe not raped, but violated in some way…how does this happen?  I need more drunk, and I need to go to sleep and forget this ever happened.  Yeah man, bro-high-five me like two more times dude, I’ll totally get your shitty fucking album in the FADER.  No, shit sounds good, really, I mean it, you’re a modern Mozart.  Cool, yeah thanks for the free booze and party mix, you fucking overgrown 8 year old.  Maybe if you just passed that fucking blunt…

            And so it was.  The faithful night that I suffered my worst existential crisis, and was reborn like a Phoenix, risen from the ashes of Mac Miller’s latest travesty.  I can’t say I’m better for it.  Hell I can’t really say I’m worse for it.  But all of my fears have now been cauterized and dealt with, so in a way, I’m untouchable.  I’m like Bruce Fucking Willis in that one movie with Samuel L.  So thanks for that Mac, I guess.  Really, I appreciate it.  See you never.

AND THE TWEET VERSION OF THAT GOES SOMETHING LIKE THIS:

@macmiller’s new album fucking sucks.  Big surprise.

WHY THE FUCK DOES ANYONE READ PITCHFORK?! THIS…THIS FUCKING POST-BIRTH-ABORTION, THIS NEW ERA FISHNET NOOSE TO HANG MYSELF FROM IS CONSIDERED A “BEST NEW TRACK” ON THAT CULTURAL SEWAGE DRAIN OF AN INTERNET PUBLICATION.

            LOOK, I UNDERSTAND THIS CHICK IS SAD…LIKE WAY, WAY, OXY OVERDOSE, DEPRESSING-ASS, WHITE-GIRL-PROBLEMS SAD, BUT PITY IS NO FUCKING REASON TO GIVE TWO SHITS ABOUT “EMA” (IF THAT IS YOUR REAL NAME, SAD GIRL), MUCH LESS IS IT REASON TO GIVE HER TERRIBLE, ABSOLUTELY UNLISTINABLE ALBUM AN 8.5 (WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!) ON AN ALL TOO TRUSTED, AND VERY POPULAR PUBLIC FORUM.

APPARENTLY, “MARKED” IS “the song that best captures the record’s inherent darkness and redemption, and the transformation that takes place during its four-plus minutes is both subtle and devastating.”  THERE IS NOTHING SUBTLE ABOUT FOUR MINUTES OF EAR-RAPE, BUT I ASSURE YOU, THERE IS PLENTY THAT IS DEVASTATING.  YOU’RE BETRAYING YOUR READERS.  THIS IS NOT BEST NEW MUSIC.  AND WHO THE FUCK MADE THE EVERYTHINGIHATEABOUTTHE80S VIDEO?

Sorry for yelling.  Throughout history there has been a lot of really bad music that has gotten a lot of attention.  Journalists, since the conception of “payola,” have agreed to talk up dreadful noise for merch, drugs, money, or simply because their editor told them to.  This is nothing new, and I understand and accept that, BUT WHO THE FUCK PAID WHO TO GET THIS SHIT ON PITCHFORK. I MEAN, SERIOUSLY.  You’ve gone too far Pitchfork, and I mean it this time.  You gave “Hot Sauce Committee Part Two” a 7.0.  Let me repeat that: YOU GAVE EMA EXACTLY 1.5 MORE POINTS THAN YOU GAVE THE BEASTIE BOYS. YOU MATHEMATICALLY PLACED SAD GIRL ABOVE ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT MUSICAL PROJECTS OF THE LAST FIVE DECADES.  IT’S FUCKING ALL IN THE NUMBERS, YOU OVERBLOWN WORDPRESS, YOUR SHITS OFF.  I’ll agree, “Hot Sauce” is nothing special, BUT IS THERE NO SENSE OF PRINCIPLE LEFT IN THE WORLD?! FUCK!

It’s fine, Dickfork, and I’m sorry.  I’ll quit being an ass.  You’re entitled to your opinion, and I respect that blahblahblah I’m going to go have a crisis THANK YOU VERY MUCH, GOODNIGHT.

Like, stupid in a good way.  These guys are obviously weirdos…bored weirdos at that, and the result is some heavy, technical, downright confusing Irish prog-grind. HOT BRAINS TERROR, the upcoming clusterfuck available OCTOBER 1^ST FOR FREE on their bandcamp is going to be a doozy.  They’ve released two tracks from it (one here, and one here) and both are what I’ve come to expect from IEYF, only this time it’s like they’re taking themselves much more seriously than they did on their 2010 Irritant release.  Or at least, as seriously as two dudes who play grind can take themselves.  “Eels of Love Lake” is like a tour of metal as a genre.  Black Metal, Doom, Sludge, Mastadon tech shit, and of course, moments of pure chaotic noise-bliss, all wrapped up into one nice little Pandora’s box.  “Brainwolf: Revenge of the Preist” is one of those songs that makes you wonder why/how it hasn’t been written previously.  Every section is meant to be exactly where it is, and while nothing has anything to do with anything else, it’s jarring dissonance flows like an Eno tune.  Mid-tempo blasts usually piss me off too, but like I said…everything is where it’s supposed to be.  Not to mention the title has to be one of the better names of this decade.  And the ending…oh boy the ending.  Definitely cop this one, if you’re into, like, cannibalism and shit.

OCTOBER FIRST. STOKED.

WELL, BJORK IS STILL FUCKING AWESOME

And still batshit crazy, but what does that even mean?

Peep this new video for her song “Moon,” from the new Biophillia appalbum, or appum, or alpum, or applbum, due to be out October 11^th on Little Indian/Nonesuch Records.  I don’t have an ipad, don’t really want one, but goddamn, the descriptions make it sound like so much fun.  Not to mention Bjork is a compositional genius, with a voice like some raybeam-super-hot-x-ray-vision shit.  She has a way of violating you like a therapist, but keeping you eerily aroused the whole time.  I love/hate it.  Or late it.  Or lohatve…fuck it.  Anyways, I love the moon, I love miniharps that are also dresses, I love wigs, and I love weird yellow mossy rock crystals… it’s like she made this video for just me.  Thank you Bjork.  Thank you for still being so freaking cool.