Posts Tagged ‘Music’


September 7, 2010

I’m thinking of changing the name of this blog to Dirty Fucking Hipster Who Wants to Experience Cee Lo’s Naked Body in a Totally Heterosexual Way dot com. Check out the official video for “Fuck You;” I apparently posted the unofficial (whatever that means) video a couple weeks back. This one is much better.

Official video for Cee Lo’s “Fuck You”

This dirty hipster highly suggests pre-ordering the soon-to-drop EP, The Lady Killer from Cee Lo’s website.

“Fuck You,” song of 2010? Thoughts?! -DFH

Arcade Fire: Sold and Re-Sold

September 2, 2010

Never was a big Arcade Fire fan. Then they had Terry Gilliam direct an online live webcast of their sold-out concert at MSG. Not that I give a shit about the director of Teen Wolf 2, but the production of that concert was top-notch. Fortunately for the band, the concert itself was also terrific. Following that, I was sold. Arcade Fire are certainly among those brave, adventurous modern bands that are both doing something new while keeping it accessible and attractive enough to invite new people in.

Then I caught wind of their latest music video. You want to talk about pushing the envelope. Consider it pushed. And consider this dirty fucking hipster re-sold.

Do your bored self a favor and check it out here:

Arcade Fire have achieved a seamless integration between their band, the band’s music and the technology that exists around them. The sort of integration that had previously not existed; not within music, not within art on the whole, and not within any brand or other commercial outlet. They are certainly carrying the torch for the internet generation, and proving what good, what creative good can be made of the web. This lazy hipster is certainly impressed, perhaps even motivated? Well, we’ll see…

If you didn’t at least deeply appreciate that video, stop reading this blog, you’re a mental case and I have no use for your eyes. -DFH

Two Post from Deli Mag This DH Endorses

September 1, 2010

Saves me doing a lot of work I don’t feel like doing. Nice work, Deli Mag!

FIRST: New Video from The Drums (I still have something to say about this new breed of Indie music that is somewhere between a satire and a blatant copy of a previous style of music, but I’ll save it for another post. This particular song is still very good, regardless.)

THE DRUMS – “Down By the Water” (Would like to hear from the readers about whom the band resembles/might be portraying; I’m thinking The Righteous Brothers. Hit me.)

SECOND: A really great NYC band this dirty motherfucking hipster loves. Apollo Run doubtless puts on a top-tier live show. Don’t be a dipshit. Spend $8 of your freelance paycheck and go see them. According to their myspace, they’ll be playing next in NYC at Rockwood 2 on Sept 16.)


‘Nay. -DFH

“Fuck You!”

August 27, 2010

Dude, it’s Cee Lo. That means it’s good. Though I be a straight man, with how awesome this guy is, I have to admit that I kind of want to see his rod. I imagine it being really, really fucking cool. This this:

Cee Lo’s latest single

Bueno? -DFH

New Video from Yeasayer: They’ve Done Weirder

August 17, 2010

It seems that in the several months since the release of Odd Blood [read the review here], Yeasayer have taken a half-step toward reality. That is not to say that the band's marketing and imaging isn't still very strange, but compare this video to that for "Ambling Amp" and you, as the viewer, will feel as though you are experiencing something from the realm of Earth rather than, I don't know, Middle Earth?

Regardless, it's a terrific song and certainly an entertaining video.

Official video for Yeasayer’s “Madder Red”

Official video for Yeasayer’s “Ambling Alp”


The Bees: Like a Cooler Version of CS[N]Y

July 21, 2010

Grabbed this off Stereogum. It’s a really great track from a British band called The Bees. I’ve begun to hear their name circling a bit lately, but was surprised to find out that their upcoming album is their fourth. Well, anyway, enjoy this track; it’s very good.


Live Review: The Morning Benders (MHoW) 4/24/10

May 3, 2010

I still don’t know the name of the openers’ opening act, but let’s just say that their “lead” woman came off as something closer to terminal cancer patient who had been granted her wish to perform at the Music Hall of Williamsburg. Rubbish. This dirty hipster, as lazy as he may be, does not have enough time to waste discussing such a band. Painful. Fortunately, the two bands whose names were written on my ticket, Holiday Shores and The Morning Benders, were terrific.

After taking a stroll down Kent to try and wash the bitter taste of the opening act’s set out of my brain, I reentered after Holiday Shores had begun their set. The room was beginning to fill up, and a much-needed adrenaline boost was delivered to the audience by an (unexpectedly) excellent band. I couldn’t help but say out loud: “this is the kind of music you want to hear at a show,” even though I was at the show alone. I got a weird look from an unattractive girl. This is when sunglasses at night come in handy.

Holiday Shores
Holiday Shores

Following Holiday Shores, I grabbed a beer , okay, a couple beers, drained the lizard and heading back into the room. Doesn’t it suck when you leave for ten minutes only to find that the only place to stand is right next to the stinkin’ sound guy? Either way, anyone who has read this dirty hipster’s review of The Morning Benders’ album will know that I was highly anticipating this show. I did not leave disappointed.

The Morning Benders
The Morning Benders

The Morning Benders lived up to their title as the headliner and put on a truly remarkable show. They were charming, engaging and, perhaps most importantly, tight as all hell. They executed every note to utter perfection. Julian, the lead guitarist, manned his instrument with a noteworthy adeptness, striking notes with both a machine-like precision and a genuine passion. But the show really rotated around Christopher Chu. Chu is a singer’s singer, ya dig? He delivers his lines with a contagious youthful sincerity. And, despite the fact that he resembles the sort of fresh-faced dweeb I’d push down the stairs in middle school/a prostitute in Apocalypse Now, he bears a commanding and professional presence on-stage. Heartfelt, melancholic songs of love, upbeat dance songs, brilliant musicianship and an undeniable band chemistry made for a truly outstanding performance. This dirty hipster highly, highly recommends seeing this band from Berkeley as soon as the opportunity presents itself. There are, allegedly, still tickets remaining for their July 28 show at Summerstage with the Black Keys. Skip Union Pool for a night and put that PBR money towards a ticket to see The Morning Benders. -DFH

Eric Clapton and the Past, Present and Future of Rock n Roll

January 7, 2010

The Beats begat the Hippies;

Who begat the Punks;

Who begat the 80’s;

Who begat scenesters;

Who begat the hipsters;

Who begat ?

For a movement that has shown itself to be nothing if not self-conscious the hipster brigade has great trouble answering the simple question, “what is a hipster?” Is it the clothing, the neighborhood, the music, the diet, the, the, the…? Well, in short, no; it’s not any of those. But, far too often, when faced with the question of what a hipster is, the most common answers given by both hipsters and, um, others alike, revolve around those things. The look, the location, etc. Isn’t that rather silly? In fact, doesn’t that, as a hipster – if you are one – kind of offend you? Have the phenomena of Facebook Live Feeds, Twitter, blogging and internet dating made us so surface-oriented? Have I used enough question marks in this paragraph?


Think of how you’d describe the Hippie movement. I’ll tell you, when I think of those people, the first thing that comes to mind is an ethic, a credo, an ethos – you know, like the tenets of National Socialism, say what you will about them. Same with the Beats and the Punks. Sure, there were physical expressions (clothing, music) that allowed them to identify themselves and be identified appropriately by others; but, to be identified as something and to be defined by something are two entirely separate issues. Yes, a hipster wears a flannel shirt and a vest, and the girls don’t show off their tits or their legs. Yes, a hipster listens to Grizzly Bear. Yes, a hipster lives in north Williamsburg, Greenpoint or Bushwick. Beyond that, there must be something more, no? A definition?!

Before I deliver what I can only imagine will come across as a self-indulgent sermon about hipsterdom, watch this video of Eric Clapton. Trust me, it’ll make sense once put into context.

Hipsters started popping up around the country in the late-90’s. Saddle Creek packed the hipsters’ lunch while Rivers Cuomo put their clothes on. Julian Casablancas and Albert Hammond, Jr. brought the hipster to the big City right around the turn of the Century, and, as typically happens when something catches on in New York, the whole world caught wind. That’s why Lebron needs to come to the Knicks. But, that’s for another post. (And, to be totally honest, this dirty hipster half wishes he’d stay in Cleveland and teach the children a thing or two about loyalty. You remember which sin is Al Pacino’s favorite in The Devil’s Advocate, don’t you?) Once the identity had been disseminated to the masses, pockets of hipsters began sprouting in cities around the world, especially in the northeastern part of the United States. Philadelphia jostled for rank with Brooklyn for the first several years of the aughts. Man Man, The Teeth and Dr. Dog shaped the scene in Philly, which, in turn lent its sound to the Brooklyn bands like White Rabbits and The Harlem Shakes.

Rivers Cuomo - a lesson for all hipsters in fashion

So, that’s the identity. But what about the fucking definition? What. The Fuck. Is. A hipster?!

This dirty hipster has an idea, and it’s not a particularly pleasant one. Ahem…

the hipster movement has no definition!
It’s not a movement!

It’s not a revolution! It’s a reaction.

It’s a reaction of a generation firewalled. This country has grown too big to have a collective consciousness. No number of Facebook messages is going to incite a riot on Pennsylvania Avenue. And, why would we want a riot, anyway? We’re safe aren’t we? Even in these “trying economic times,” are we really all that afraid of slumming in the shadowed streets with distended bellies? Are we worried our president is going to ship us to gas chambers or have his guards open fire on public gatherings? Americans are comfortable. (It’s impossible to stave of generalization, here, so just deal with it. You get my point, don’t ya?) Americans have been comfortable for quite some time now. So, it kind of makes sense that this generation feels the need to be uncomfortable. Self-imposed poverty is nothing new to youth movements. In fact, it’s more or less a staple. The difference this time round is that there is very little more to the movement than the notion of self-imposed poverty, and there need not be more to it. It’s a simple reaction. It’s half conscious, half unconscious, and it’s simple. It may suck to realize that it’s so ordinary, but that’s also kind of the idea, isn’t it? We hipsters are not giving a middle finger to the world. Rather, we hipsters are engaged in a conversation with those who will write our biographies and we are pretending to listen. Is it just me or is there something perfectly and beautifully ironic about that?

One thing the hipsters can certain hang their hats on is that there has been a resurgence of Rock n Roll as a result of the movement’s attitude. Granted, it’s not what Pitchfork or Rolling Stone would classify as “Rock Music,” but that’s because Pitchfork and Rolling Stone don’t get it. Sure, it’s typically more lilting, typically less extravagant than Led Zeppelin or The Rolling Stones or Cream. But, what Rock n Roll is, always has been and always will be, is the musical and ethical expression of the nation’s youth. Luckily, the hipsters survived the 90’s and have successfully separated themselves from the grossly over-produced, over-hyped, over-syndicated dog shit that wedged its way into this country’s treads after Kurt passed. And some really beautiful music has come out in the past five to nine years, and it seems to really only be getting better. As radio dies, bands no longer have to adhere to the 3.5 minute pop structure. As music videos die, bands can once again concentrate on their words and meanings instead of their hair. It’s very nice, but we should be very, very careful about taking too much credit for that. For, who this can all be attributed to is Eric Clapton. And John Lennon and Paul McCartney. To Elvis Presley and Chuck Berry. To Mick Jagger, David Bowie and Marc Bolan. To Bonzo, to Roger Watters. It’s attributable to Tina Turner, Bono and Paul Simon; Eddie Vedder, Anthony Kiedis, John Frusciante, Kurt Cobaine, Billy Joe Armstrong, Thom Yorke, Julian Casablancas and Jack White. It’s all Rock n Roll, man. All of it. Department of Eagles, Girls, Phoenix: Rock n Roll. It’s the way that “Badge,” a track originally recorded in 1968 (that’s 42 fucking years ago, people) was still powerful in 1986 in Switzerland, and was still powerful when Clap, Ginger and Bruce got back together at The Garden in 2006 – and people went ape.

Let’s keep the pressure on. Let’s not let bullshit find its way into the hipster identity, because the hipster identity is all the hipster has. Let’s remember what Rock n Roll is and what it’s all about. It’s about inclusion through filtration. Everything gets a shot (how else is a little spanish dude like Santana going to make it big unless someone says, “yeah, you can open for the Paul Butterfield Blues Band?”) but it’s got to impress to stick. The hipster movement will be dead soon and there will be nothing left but nostalgia. And that nostalgia can either be reminiscent of that which hovers around the 60’s, or it can be that which hovers around the 80’s. I know which one I’d prefer… “Where is my place?” Think about it. -DFH

Debut Post / Hank and Cupcakes 12.15.09

December 16, 2009

This initial post has been a long (long, long, long) time coming. Finally, thanks to a terrific performance by one of the hip, Brooklyn scene bands, Hank and Cupcakes, this dirty fucking hipster has put down his sub-par grandma slice from Sal’s and has gotten the inspiration to start this darn blog.

Photo courtesy of SUPRAMOD

On a Tuesday night in Williamsburg there’s not typically that much going on. Metropolitan isn’t flooded with large groups of newly-acquired New York residence like it is on a Saturday night; Union Pool (really, since the first cold day of the year) is a barren wasteland; the hotbed that is N. 6th is uncomfortably tame; but, there is luckily a great act playing at Knitting Factory. I hadn’t been there before, so this was a welcoming invitation to check the joint out. Not exactly the charming back-room digs at Cameo, though not quite an overdone venue that you’d find in Midtown – overall pretty nice.

Anyway, Hank and Cupcakes took to stage a little after 8, opening for The Prigs. Right off the bat this band introduced something sexy, something raw and taboo to a room full over cross-armed hipsters. Apologies in advance for the liberal use of sexual simile and metaphor that is to follow. To paint a picture of how the set started, imagine it’s 3am on a Friday and you’re a guy who hasn’t been laid in a while. The 60 hour work week sucked – again. You’ve just gone out with the guys and sauntered home drunk alone. Suddenly, as you’re brushing your teeth, you get the text message you’ve been fantasizing about getting for the last several years. It’s that girl you always wanted to fuck, and she’s looking to get down. She shows up at your door before you have time scatted open books around the living room and create an iTunes playlist. And it’s fuckin’ on! Two songs hit you in the face and before you’ve had time to put into perspective how awesome what’s happening really is, you’ve had an orgasm.

Photo courtesy of SUPRAMOD

Cupcakes, the band’s drummer/lead-singer who proves you neither need kick triplets nor a drum throne to make a phat beat, clad in glittering purple spandex tights, utters between songs, “well, so much for the foreplay.” Just what must have been on everybody’s mind. The next several songs continued on with the same sensual, erotic fervor. Smack in the middle of the set is a brilliant cover of Joy Division’s “She’s Lost Control.” Hank, the bass player extraordinaire, who surrounds himself with an arsenal of pedals and triggers fit for a space shuttle pilot, and hammers out intensely intricate melodies. At times it seems as though there are 10 people on stage all playing rare, exotic synthesizers, when in fact, of course, there are only two. Following the an excellent cover Cupcakes flitters from behind her drum kit and drifts nymph-like along the front edge of the stage while Hank fiddles with his whistles and bells in preparation for the next song. It was a perfectly placed comedown from a previously (nearly-)overwhelming set. It was that moment when you (remember that you’re a drunk mid-20’s guy finally getting it on with that girl you’ve always wanted) hold the girl in your arms, both completely out of breath and acknowledge in a silent embrace how great the sex you just had was. The duo ended the set with a new song that was the hookiest song of the night. Sent me home singing about some dude named Jimmy who’s apparently got a TV show, question mark?

In this dirty fucking hipster’s estimation, you’re doing yourself an injustice by not seeing this band. I recommend bringing a date because you may not make it out of the venue before getting laid. -DFH