Motor City Music Conference ... REVEALED!

I'm (sorta) back to the land of the living. After being cooped up in my Hamtown loft for the last few days churning out mad Tuss-fueled PHC, your Uncle Grambo reluctantly trudged back down to the city today. Everybody must get paid, yo.

Anysluts, I decided to take my lunch hour and wander over to the Motor City Music Conference and check out the haps on the proverbial craps. And whoa, what do you know, THERE ARE REAL LIVE PEOPLE WALKING THROUGH COBO HALL! I saw a band playing in a wrestling ring while thrashers gleamed the cube pounding Red Bulls, I saw the artwork of legendary graphic designer Mark Arminski, talked to a couple of teenagers wielding a boombox blaring their new CD (btw -- they were TOTALLY high), and sat in on a panel discussion fronted by Paradime. All in 45 minutes. In other words, NINE KINDS OF BEST!

Seriously people, if you have any local pride whatsoever, you should show up today or tomorrow and support this thing. Whether it's attending a panel (come out and rep yr Uncle Grambo TOMORROW, 2:30 PM in Room 02-41!!!), hitting up a show (don't miss the rumoured star-studded cover of Mott The Hoople's "All The Young Dudes" tonight at Jacoby's!), or tossing back a few beers with Darren McCarty and Kid Rock, you should get your ass down to The D™ today or tomorrow and support the MC2. Honestly.

All Tussed Out

Best. Website. Ever. Detroit Radio Bumper Sticker Flashbacks. BABY!

You've bookmarked The Gurgling Cod, right? Cuz where else are you going to read about Nigella "Best Tees Evs" Lawson and Tie Domi in the same post? JuxtaPolePosition 2005.

Also highly recommended: Skeet On Mischa. Every post is genius. Seriously, riddle me this ... WHY HAVEN'T YOU BOOKMARKED DOUG REINHARDT YET?

Remember krumping? Yeah, me neither.

Anyone else as surprised as I am that Stephanie McMahon hasn't posed for Playboy yet? Cuz I'd buy that for a dollar!

Foxy Jazz. On fire. As if hobnobbing with BaBa WaWa and Martha Stewart wasn't enough, she just revealed some follow-up reportage on the whole Some Blogs meltdown. Rumour has it that Kasey chick is (and I quote) "a whale", but at least one pic suggests otherwise.

So, as a nation, how do we deal with the remnants of this back-alley blogbortion? Fortch for The Blogosphere™, people like Kerry ToTC exist. After receiving an apologetic email from this so-called "Mr. James Stanford", she advocates against sinking to the level of SomeBlogs and instead advises that we all turn the other cheek. Me, I'm with Thighs. He deftly responds to apology from the author of SomeBlogs, whomever that might be, with the following ... "Thanks for the apology, but yer still a cockmuffin and 3/4." I couldn't have said it better myself.

And now a few oldies butt goodies. Bullet stizz.

• Or was that Peabs? [fifth item]

• Trousersnake in "Die Hard 4"? There's going to be a "Die Hard 4"? WHY?!?

• "Project Greenlight" producer Chris Moore is set to make his directorial debut with a remake of 1975's "Race With The Devil." Worst! Gulager rulez! Where's Pete Jones when you need him? Or Erica Beeney, for that matter? I mean, honestly, couldn't you have found a better screenwriter than AICN's Drew McWeeney?

• Enjoy your trips to Tunnel BBQ and the Million Dollar Saloon while you can, yo. Cuz pretty soon you ain't gonna be able to cross the border without a passport. Worst. Although, some say lunch at TBQ is worth busting out your passport.

• The Freep reveals the best places to grab breakfast in The D™. The list is so great that I'm even willing to forgive them for failing to include The Breakfast Club (John R just south of 13).

• Natasha Lyonne is psycho. [via Gossip List]

And unless you're just now crawling out of some sort of self-imposed media consumption fasting period, you know that this weekend is all about the Motor City Music Conference. Over the course of the next three days, over 400 bands will be showcasing in over 40 downtown Detroit venues. Think the Hamtramck Blowout, but with an expanded focus that includes out-of-town and national acts. Also, there are dozens of panel discussions occuring at Cobo Hall on everything from "Deconstructing the Rock Critic Cliches" to "Artist Development in a Do It Yourself World" to "Making The Internet A Home For Your Music." You should definitely make time on Saturday afternoon to attend the latter, where your Uncle Grambo will be joined by Rob "Dorkwave" Theakston, Zac Johnson (also of DataWhat? and Porchsleeper fame), Sam Valenti IV (CEO of Ghostly) on a panel moderated by the esteemed founder of Motorcityrocks.com, Ryan Sult. Bring cupcakes. It should be a hoot of legendary proportions.

Additionally, there are TONS of great shows occuring over the next three days. If I can get over this cold, you'll probably see me perched out at 313.jac for the MCR Showcases, featuring mega buzzworthy performances by the likes of The Prime Ministers, Porchsleeper, The Javelins, A Thousand Times Yes and Great Lakes Myth Society. I'm also going to try and check out Sunday Runners, a highly buzzed-about, British Invasion influenced "melodic pop band" from Chicago, when they hit the Fifth Avenue stage at 11pm on Friday night. I'll also be popping by Fishbone's in St. Claire Shores on Saturday night for the triumphant Last Tourist comeback concert. So bovs!

Put A Fork In Him (Respectfully), He's Done

While the Cahiers du Cinema crowd would probably sneer at the assertion, there's no doubt in my mind that Roger Ebert is the greatest film critic of all-time. While he's not even close to being my personal fave (gotta give it up for modern day Darghis and late `90s Gleiberman), there's no arguing that Ebert has done more for the profession than any other critic. I've got an unformulated Masters thesis spinning around my head that compares the achievements of Ebert and Michael Jordan and the role that the city of Chicago played in their respective successes, but that's another story for another time.

Instead, your Uncle Grambo would like to try and convince Ebert that it's time to hang it up. At least on television. You can and should continue to write your column, Joe Falls stizz, until your dying day. But as anyone who has watched "Ebert And Roeper" in syndication lately will sadly attest, it's painful and embarrasing watching a post-stroke Ebes try to trade bon mots with the only man who lusts after teen starlets more than I do.

Take, for example, this exchange from this weekend's review of "The House Of D":

Ebert: "(The characters in the film) remind me of baked potato characters. Now I know you don't know what those are."

Roeper looks at him quizzically, nodding his head.

Ebert continues. "...These are characters that have been tugged, scrubbed and rubbed until they're huggable, lovable and eatable. I got that off a flag."

Roeper: "Uh, okay. I thought there for a second you were describing a porn movie."

Baked potato characters? Say WHAT? Listen, there's a difference between being inventive and being senile. This metaphor clearly falls in the latter category, as well as a perfect example of the kind of thing that a good newspaper editor would catch and delicately clean up before publication.

Ebes, my man, you are an institution. You are to film criticism what Army Archerd is to business side of the film industry ... a journalist without parallel. Which is why your Uncle Grambo suggests you pay heed to the class that Army has shown in recent years; someone clearly advised him that he should only emerge in public during Oscar season. You should follow suit. That way, you can control your image and your appearance and prep accordingly. You can continue to write, there's no reason to separate you from your passion. All we ask it that you STOP HAMMING IT UP ON THE TEE VEE. Swiftly. Promptly. Preferably before this weekend's episode airs.

On behalf of your fans out there, at least consider this route. We thank you.

How Old Are You Now, Anyway?

iTunes. So best. Eff streaming content, I want downloads. Hence, I am loving that major labels have taken to offering iTunes exclusive content well in advance of "traditional" street dates. For instance, yesterday bought iTunes customers the opportunity to download the new jawns from both Coldplay and The White Stripes. As of 5:12am this morning, the two are sitting at #1 and #3 as the Top Downloaded Songs on the iTunes chart (Gwen Stefani's "Hollaback Girl" is sandwiched in the midds).

This spells good things for Coldplay. Despite all of the bad press (multiple album delays, reports of tabloid strife with The Gawky Bird, the least appealing album cover artwork since Blind Faith) and having a remarkably bland and forumulaic first single, the band seems primed to move some units. The bigwigs @ Capitol are probably breathing a big sigh of relief right about now -- hopefully now someone can focus on giving Idlewild some support when "Warnings + Promises" streets Stateside later this summer (August?).

But, more importantly, HOLY FUCKING SHIT HAVE YOU HEARD "BLUE ORCHID"?!? Big Matt sent me the mp3 on Friday afternoon, and then went on to describe it to me on Saturday night as (and I quote) "not really being safe for women or children." Your Uncle Grambo would have to agree, while also adding "the elderly" and "those with a bum ticker" to that list of folks who should avoid this song at all costs. The song is THAT hott.

For those that thought the guitar lick from "E-Pro" was the fuzziest foot stomper you'd heard all year, think again. "You've got a reaction", Jack sings in the song's first line, and I think he's directly addressing you, the listener, in an attempt to warn you that your proverbial balls are about to be not-so-proverbially rawked. Then, about 30 seconds in, Meg enters the fray and starts crashing cymbals harder than Animal after a crank binge. Then, just when you think shit can't possibly get crazier, it does.

After revisiting the monster riffage that opened the song (approx. a minute and twenty seconds in), a deafening roar travels from the left speaker directly through your brain and out through the right speaker. Although I'm not sure exactly what the sound is, it sounds exactly what your Uncle Grambo would imagine a jumbo jet buzzing about three feet over your head would sound like. It's primal, it's raw, and it reminds me of Mav and Goose buzzing the tower in "Top Gun" ("Negative, Ghost Rider, the pattern is full"). I wouldn't be surprised if Jack snuck out onto a runway at Metro Airport to capture that sound. Effing brills (and best experienced in a car with a premium soundsystem, windows rolled down and flying down the highway at 80mph).

By this time, your brain is sufficiently deep-fried and hard-boiled from the sonic concoction of aural buzztascity. Don't worry about the fact that your index finger is drifting towards the << button on your radio -- that's a perfectly normal reaction. You see, at this point, you already can't wait to hear the song again. Your subconscious is telling you so, that's all.

Fortch, the final minute and ten seconds of "Blue Orchid" fails to break any new ground. Which is actually a good thing. Because if it upped the insanity factor from the first 90 seconds, I'm fairly convinced that we would have an epidemic on our hands. Vaginas would be exploding like the frickin' Fourth Of July, the sky would rain hellfire and brimstone and the streets would overflow with liquified candy canes.

The more and more your Uncle Grambo thinks of it, the only way this song could up its all-time-best-ever factor is if they hired Gulager to direct the video. "Uh, can we make that a crack pipe? Why not? You got a problem with drugs?"

Jack White. Some say he's the real mothafucking deal.

It's Called 59 Consecutive Scoreless Innings, Bitch

Why should you let me into Misshapes, Mr. Doorman? BECAUSE I'M OREL FUCKING HERSHISER!

Set your DVRs! Bynes channels Dawn Wells in a "Gilligan's Island" fantasy sequence on this Friday's "WILAY." Want to touch the heinie! [via Robair, naturally]

Peace the fork out, Ford Taurus. You should be proud, you had a good run. I always thought that the Mercury Sable was your better looking sibling, but even this jaded ex-Ford kid thought that the SHO was megafuckingbestever.

Affleck. Garner. Engaged?

I love it when you call me Ill Poppa Il Papa. Eggs Benedict revealed. The Hitler Youth ... some say even more embarrassing skeleton to have in your closet than "Electric Youth." Pope Ratzo. No buzz.

If your Uncle Grambo had any say in papal affairs, I would've cast my ballot for Darko Milicic. Hey Hot-Lanta, how'd it feel getting lit up for 16 points, five rebounds, three blocks and two assists last nizz by the #2 pick in the 2003 draft? Yodel atcha, Darvin Ham. We love ya, you got your ring last year, but now it's time to head back to wherever it was you came from. D-A-R-K-O!

Why does MC Ren take exception with the spelling of his name?

A) It is often mispronounced
B) It's spelled R-E-N but he is actually raw
C) It's very easy to forge
D) It causes fools to sweat him

If you know the answer to that question, I suggest you take The Legendary N.W.A. Quiz. [via Tha Clizzark]

Anyone out there who thinks that life isn't getting overly complicated, take note. Remember the food pyramid? You know, the one that tells you how much of each kind of food to eat every day in order to maintain your healthy, nutriously sexy bod? Well, now instead of one pyramid for us all to abide by, there are 12. How many times do I have to remind you that this is EXACTLY what happens when you name that speed-freak slash ESPN-reject Denise "Don't Call Me Tracy" Austin to the President's Physical Fitness Council.

Nice sleuthing, Jazz. You earn two gold stars and five brownie points for unearthing that hottness. Face it, Some Blogs ran its race a l-o-n-g time ago. What started off as novel and funny (if very inside humour-y) quickly became hurtful and ridiculously mean-spirited. Good riddance, Green Day stizz. By the way, I don't believe YOU, "Mr. James Stanford". I still think it's that Kasey Doshier chick, whomever the fuck that is. I hope you had the time of your life.

Zing!

Have you met The Barkers? Worst. Parents. Ever. Especially when Travis gets behind the lens to shoot Shanna for Playboy (NSFW-ish).

Courtney Love drops trou at Jumbo's Clown Room. Circa 1985. Definitely NSFW. Much like the Getty, Jumbo's is a famed Los Angeles institution that I'll probably never step inside of. Tis truly a shame.

"Look at my button down striped shirt! Fucking look at it! This shirt means one thing! I’m coming home with some pussy tonight! That’s right! It’s been a long week at the office and it’s time to blow off a little steam! I am a Junior Vice President! I have business cards that say “Junior Vice President” on them! They’re glossy and magnificent! Here! Have one! Take it!" [via Beantown Paulie]

SNL Season 30 ... REVEALED!

Over the three or so years that Nummer and H-Bomb have been writing these SNL recaps for me, I've probably only been able to watch four or five episodes. It's certainly not because I'm out nightclubbing or what have you on Saturday nights ... more often than not, I'm home on my couch and fast asleep.

Howevs, I recently picked up a DVR (I know, I know ... quickly replacing "strippers stole my digital camera" as my most overused story). And let me tell you folks, it's changed my life. Now I can watch Ebert + Roeper without feeling like arse the next morning! Now I can watch "Subterranean" when I get home from work on Mondays! And, best of all, now I can watch "SNL" whenever the hell I please.

Anyway, I guess my point is that because I used to watch the show so infrequently, I sometimes felt like Nummer and H-Bomb are a little hard on the cast and guest hosts. But now, having watched (and re-watched) the last two episodes, I'm more confident than evs that these two are the preeminent "SNL" experts in this hemisphere. They manage to perfectly encapsulate almost all of my feelings about both the Cammy Diaz and Tom Brady episodes in an easy to digest format. And even though I thought that "Tom Brady's Falafel City" was funny, I know realize that it's because I hadn't seen "Derek Jeter’s Taco Hole," "Al Sharpton’s Case de Sushi" or "Donald Trump’s House of Wings." That's why these two get paid the BIG BUCKS!

Anyway, please enjoy the duo's reviews below. Razzle.

The Dorkwave And The Damage Done*

Just so you know, I've started and stopped at least 10 paragraphs that attempted to encapsulate the events of Saturday night. I mean, after all, it's hard to come up with words to describe an evening in which Big Matt mysteriously transformed into a robot.

But I'll press on. Without getting too sentimental, it's been really amazing to witness the fruits of your friends' labour pay off in spades. I'm cognizant of the fact that I'm mixing metaphors, but please bear with me. There's only one word to describe when an idea ("Let's throw a dance party!") that is so pure and honest and uncalculated and unmotivated by money or success or fame (in spite of the calvacade of press the boys generated last week) comes to fruition with such abundant success, cheesy as it might sound. And that word, my friends, is PRICELESS (thank you, Billy Crudup). While multiple members of the Dorkwave entourage expressed fears to your Uncle Grambo that their 15 minutes was running out (that's a normal reaction to being interviewed by Lee Thomas), this observer thinks EVERYONE who attended the L.I.T. First Anniversary Bash will always remember the events of Saturday, April 16, 2005 with fondness and wonderment. Sweat stains be damned.

Fortch for me (and for posterity's sake), there are billions of photographs on The Internerd that captured the hottness in over 5 megapixels of glorious color. First stop, check out Hardac.com for nine (!!!) pages of hottness. A few of the more splendariffic recaps can be found at featured on Trent Is The New Blog, Random Noise Bursts and Gilbert Grape. Bovs.