Pickin’ On Pitchfork, Volume IV: David Cross Is One Funny Mo-Fo!

A while back Pitchfork posted a review of the new David Cross album (he’s one of the funniest comedians out there…Mr. Show, anyone?), and it wasn’t very flattering. As a matter of fact it was downright insulting. So when the brain trust at Pitchfork called up Cross and asked him to list his favorite albums he took the opportunity to parody the Pitchfork “style” of record critiquing. He made up a bunch of phony bands and albums, complete with phony commentary on each, and a couple of the results are below for your perusal. I haven’t laughed out loud like that since I heard REM broke up. Enjoy!

David Cross: Fake Album To Listen To While Reading Overwrought Pitchfork Reviews

May I suggest listening to Until it Happens/You Let it Happen, by Maximum Minimum. The fourth album (not counting the re-release of the first three 7-inches on HugTown Records) reaffirms the band’s status as the godfathers of the Taos, N.M. “crying scene.” Like a gilded phoenix rising from the toxic ashes of the death of mercurial lead guitarist, Peter Chernin, Maximum Minimum snarls back like a taunted tiger on steroids (also on acid). RATING: 8.2

Why not listen to As I Became We by Tishara Quailfeather. The virulent and hermetically sealed pinings of the world’s only triple gold selling Native American artist living in an iron lung. It’s as if newly dead, and thus still pure angels, reached down into The Virgin Mothers throat and gently lifted out the sweetest and most plaintive sounds man will ever hope to hear in this life. RATING: 7.17

Only the Proletariat Floss’s by Screaming at the Mirror. With a truncated syncopation and approach that rivals only Tosh Guarrez pre “FartFlap”, “S.A.T.M” has taken steps to dismantle what was previously only dared mantled by the great Gilda Thrush when she fronted “Cycle Clause”. It’s as if Genghis Kahn got together for breakfast with Oliver Wendell Holmes and Virginia Wolfe and ordered just a bowl of homemade granola and then skipped out on the check. RATING: 11.-111

Check out University of Blunts’ Dirty Dirty Dirty Dirty Dirty Dirty. It’s like a 505 Groovebox as designed by someone who reads only Braille. Actually, to clarify, only if that same designer got caught in a transformer with Brindle Fly and decided to travel 50 years into the future and bring back what might have sounded retro thirty years from now if the future takes it’s more than lugubrious, predictable course. RATING: 4.001

Why not have the latest Wittgenstein’s Mistress CD playing in the background? On Gift Code, WM’s latest offering, we find flutes a flutter, strings a stringin’ and melotrones a melotronian. In what is likely to be remembered more for its’ chorus of “Get on the bed bitch…now!” then it’s subtle and rich tapestry woven, (most likely by candlelight) and suffused with an undercurrent of malaise and ennui, the titular track bends, breaks, and ultimately regenerates into a malevolent whirlstrom of angst and twee. RATING: Four Point Six and One Half.

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