Au (that’s pronounced “ay you”) plays the first show of their tour tonight in Seattle, and they’ll be hitting the road, including a show tomorrow night at Backspace here in Portland. (We’ve got the complete list of tour dates after the jump.)

In the meantime, here’s a new track from their forthcoming, amazing album, Verbs, which will be released on June 26th. Au’s Luke Wyland says it’s “an ode to the community of people here,” which isn’t hard to believe as members from Yellow Swans, Parenthetical Girls, A Weather, Gulls, Evolutionary Jass Band, and Ah Holly Fam’ly chime in to take part in the 21-person chorus.

MP3:
Au - Are Animals

Complete tour dates after the jump.

May 23rd: Seattle, WA @ Happy Times Fun Club *
May 24th: Portland, OR @ Backspace *
May 25th: Davis, CA @ The Firehouse *
May 26th: Irvine, CA @ UC Irvine *
May 27th: San Diego, CA @ The Che *
May 28th: Los Angeles, CA @ The Smell *%
May 29th: San Luis Obispo, CA @ Retrospect *
May 30th: San Francisco, CA @ The Cushionworks *

* = w/ Parenthetical Girls and PWRFL Power
% = w/ Abe Vigoda

UK pop stars the Kooks come to town on Monday May 26, to play a Wonder Ballroom show hot on the heels of their Sasquatch appearance. BUT… that’s not all! They’ll be sticking around town an extra day, to play a free, exclusive, acoustic show at Backspace on Tuesday, May 27. Backspace is tiny, so this should be memorable.

How do you get into the show? Well, it’s a MySpace Secret Show, so you’ll need to be friends with the MySpace Secret Shows Profile. Once you’ve befriended them through MySpace, you’ll get info a couple days before the show—you’ll probably need to print something out, like a bulletin, or something. So if you’re a Kooks fan, time to make a new friend!!

M83’s latest, Saturdays = Youth, is by far one of the finest records this year has had to offer. I absolutely love the fact that the thing manages to blend New Order-esque pop (like in the above video for “Graveyard Girl”), techno, and ambient shoegaze seamlessly, never quite sticking to one genre long enough, but never quite sounding like it’s trying to purposefully switch things up.

Plus, there are a few tracks on there that remind me of the criminally overlooked record Dreams Top Rock by Pluramon, which, I can assure you, is a glowing endorsement.

M83 play the Doug Fir tonight with The Berg Sans Nipple and The Fast Computers.

We sent our own Minh Tran to the Presets show last night, who captured tons of great photos. Take a look!


Lots more after the jump.

What’s the easiest way to create an internet sensation? Well, for Weezer it was populating their new video “Pork and Beans” with already established internet sensations! Let’s see, there’s the Chocolate Rain guy, the crying Chris Crocker guy, the guy knocking himself out with his own nunchucks guy, and… well, see how many YOU can identify!

Nice little story in the New York Times Magazine this weekend: “Return Of The One-man Band”. It focuses, of course, on the single, technology-assisted performer through the workings of Final Fantasy, St. Vincent and Panda Bear.

All and all, a nice little piece, but there is one thing I take issue with: St. Vincent (Annie Clark) isn’t really a one-man (or one-woman) band. With a supremely talented group of musicians behind her live show, Clark is a fairly traditional performer (and a staggeringly good one to boot).

Sure, Clark composes her music via laptop recording, but that really isn’t new. Ever since multi-track tape machines became available, musicians have been building songs by themselves (Stevie Wonder and Prince are two terrific examples—they both played most everything, down to the drums).

Using a laptop only changes two things:

1.) It’s cheaper. You don’t have to buy tape and a whole bunch of out-board effects.

2.) There’s no waiting for the tape to rewind for each take.

…ok, there’s sequencing too…but whatever…

So yeah, I believe Clark is fairly traditional. I remember an encore she gave at the Doug Fir some months (maybe a year?) ago. Just her and her acoustic guitar in the middle of the floor, surrounded by the crowd, covering Nico’s “These Days.” No microphones. Intimate and brittle, yet strong and full of feeling. Hot damn, she killed it.

Once it’s all said and done, I think I understand why writer John Wray wanted to include Clark in his piece—he got to hang out with her. And goddamn, sure as there’s blood running through my veins, so would I. What an intoxicating mix of beauty and skill, that Annie… She makes me shiver…

Unlike Joanna Newsom—honestly, its been almost two years and Ys still has yet to grow on me—Johanna Kunin balances the wonders of the forest (she sings about fireflies in a way that will make you want to ditch your possessions and live in an old growth tree) with the realities of the urban landscape. On 2006’s Clouds Electric, Kunin channels the whimsical without losing track of the push-and-pull of the human condition. She has recently been in Portland mixing a new album, which will most likely put her name on the tongues of those seeking a new mysterious singer/songwriter to place on the altar. EZRA ACE CARAEFF

MP3:
Johanna Kunin - Seaworthy Sleeper

w/Shelley Short; Mississippi Studios, 3939 N Mississippi, 8 pm, $7-8

Today’s band: The Heavenly States
From: Oakland, CA
Scheduled appearance: Sunday May 25 at 2:35 on the Wookie Stage
Evidenced gathered:

“Pretty Life”

One of the few national acts I haven’t heard before, the Heavenly States play soulful pop-rock, with dynamic shading and clever arrangements. Ted Nesseth’s voice has a husky quality, and Jeremy Gagon’s drums are hard-hitting. Like Spoon meets the Black Keys or something. I dig it. I also dig a tune on their MySpace called “Lost in the Light.”

Will I make a point to see them?
I think so! I’d really like to see J. Tillman on the smaller stage, whose set overlaps with theirs, but this looks like it will be worth seeking out.

You may not know this, but our End Hits captain, Ezra, is currently on vacation. And while he “claimed” he was going to New York to visit family, I, dear readers, have the inside scoop on where he actually is.

You see, about two weeks ago in London, a young 13 year old emo girl hanged herself in her bedroom. In their coverage, the Telegraph went and called My Chemical Romance a “suicide cult” band. OH NO THEY DIDN’T.

Now, MCR fans in London are staging a protest, trying to prove they aren’t “dangerous”, as many papers over there are claiming in their sensationalist coverage. The march is scheduled for May 31st. More than 300 kids (and, you know, Ezra) have signed up for the protest, and they’re planning on marching to The Black Parade, otherwise known as Ezra’s favorite album of all time.

So if you hear Ezra mention anything about visiting his family, just know he’s not talking about his biological family, but his brothers and sisters in sadness.

Photo NOT from last night

w/ El-P, Tuesday May 20th @ Berbati’s Pan

London’s Dizzee Rascal is a willing, earnest and engaging performer. Unlike a lot of stoic rappers who keep their head down and their pretension up, Rascal is all about the joy of it. He bounces, shucks and jives across the stage, all the while firing off a million words per minute. Even as an opener—a total injustice—Rascal dazzled.

The crowd seemed somewhat split between the Rascal and El-P’s camps. It was a strange pairing to be sure. Rascal’s minimal beats are short on hooks and almost completely devoid of melody. Instead they are driven by a rapid torrent of curt language. In contrast to Rascal’s sharp, raw beats, El-P’s set sounded almost like some techno-industrial apocalypse. (But holy crap, did you know Rascal toured with Babyshambles in Europe—how fun would that be?)

It was a shame that Rascal had the opening slot. His show is much more welcoming and upbeat than El-P’s (party vs. prog?). Still, many Rascal fans showed up and held the sing-alongs. After the show I made one note: “Dizzee = happy to be there, El-P = happy to yell at you.” (To be fair, El-P had a strong contingent of hardcore fans, pumping their fists, pressed against the stage.) Rascal is truly a strong, competent performer and easily a knockout headliner (as anyone who attended his Dug Fir show some years ago will attest to).

Dizzee and his hype man were totally on point. Their lines were crisp, even at the most break-neck of speeds. They were equally fun to watch—especially Dizzee never stopped bubbling. At one point, during “Old Skool”, the two jumped into a rehearsed dance routine. They pointed back and forth at one another, grinning sheepishly, then simultaneously busting into the running man which Dizzee took into the thing where you hold your shoe and pump your bent knee back and forth (what the hell is that called? It’s got to have a name…) Most of the set came from Rascal’s latest, Maths + English, but he closed the show with what might now be considered an early classic, “Fix Up Look Sharp.”

But yeah, anyway, Dizzee’s performance was on point. Total old school— voices as instruments, rhythmically propelling the whole deal. Bouncy and fun. Entertainment as opposed to introspection. Hard to find anyone who wouldn’t have enjoyed it.

Case and point: I brought a friend with me, one who doesn’t own a single rap song—no joke. No Public Enemy, no De La Soul, nothin’—a bonafide rockist. And he totally dug it. Bobbin his head the whole time. “This is fuckin’ rad,” he said. And well, what more do you want?

Songs that are often cute, charming, meaningful, and/or weighted? Check.
Songs divided equally among two beautiful tape-hiss filled sides? Check.
Streaming audio of said songs? Check.
Funny and quasi-awkward recounts of past relationships? Check.

If all of the above sound good to you, please drag yourself over to Cassette From My Ex, a new blog devoted to, you guessed it, mix tapes from old lovers. It’s kind of like Rob Sheffield’s book, Love is a Mix Tape, but for those of us who sometimes forget that they still make, you know, books.

This is what’s happening at the Someday Lounge tonight:

Holy crap.

OVER THE RAINBOW—Like the spastic little brother you never knew you had, Darren Keen travels the globe under the moniker the Show Is the Rainbow and performs an indescribable mix of confrontational electronic art-punk. Somewhere between genius performance art and a desperate cry for help, his live shows are an unforgettable way to spend an evening. EZRA ACE CARAEFF

w/Flaspar, Battlehooch; Someday Lounge, 125 NW 5th, 9 pm, $6

Athens, GA’s the Whigs have steadily been gaining traction as their no-frills, no-bullshit brand of rock ‘n’ roll reaches more and more listeners. Their user-friendly songs are likeable, if scarcely profound, and the trustworthy, hoarse vocals of frontman Parker Gispert give the band its distinct sound. The Whigs’ second record, Mission Control, is faster and heavier than their casually charming debut, as if the band has something to prove, or needs to keep themselves amped after so many nights on the road. It’s less memorable and less satisfying; it’s probably more radio-friendly, too, but fuck that shit. Still, the Whigs deliver live, as do local openers the Dead Trees, who also play everyman rock ‘n’ roll with both subtlety and urgency.

w/What Made Milwaukee Famous, The Dead Trees; Lola’s Room, 1332 W Burnside, 8 pm, $9.47

Heyo. Tonry here with a bit of news: There’s a new music video site in Grumptown. It’s called Pacific Noise, and since 2006 it’s been producing video podcasts on San Francisco bands. This March the site expanded north. So far they’ve covered just two Portland groups, The Prids and Reporter—one per month it would seem. Judging by the array of past Bay Area coverage, Pacific Noise could be a pretty cool little addition if the Portland bureau keeps at it.

The videos are Quicktime, so we can’t embed them here. Visit the Pacific Noise Portland site to check em out.

I’ve already mentioned how much I love Dizzee Rascal’s latest, Maths + English, so I’m going to go ahead and get Old Skool on you and take it all the way back to ‘04 when a little boy (dude was 18!) with a dream introduced the world to the word grime. Or was it gah-radge? Shoot, I can never tell the two apart.

All I know is that Billy Squier never sounded so good as he did in “Fix Up, Look Sharp”. Jesus that’s a single and a half.

Dizzee Rascal plays Berbati’s tonight with El-P and Busdriver.

We are but two short months away from the new Hold Steady album, Stay Positive, but dang if they didn’t go and get me all excited about it today by releasing “Sequestered in Memphis”, the record’s first single.

The track is very Boys and Girls in America, complete with rolling piano, polished hooks, and a crowd-friendly hand-clap sing-a-long. Their template hasn’t changed, but when you’re the greatest rock and roll band around, why mess with something that isn’t broke?

As Sasquatch! quickly approaches, I examine the line-up and check out bands I’ve never heard before.

Picture courtesy of Line Out.

Today’s band: The Moondoggies
From: Seattle (pretty much every band unfamiliar to me is a local band from Seattle)
Scheduled time: Monday, May 26 at 2:10 pm on the Yeti stage
Evidenced garnered: Three songs from their MySpace page

“Ol’ Blackbird” is dopey groove-rock, with a heaping side of sticky hippie jam. Tambourine shaking and LOTS of electric piano makes this track sound awfully dated, not really in a retro kind of way, either. The lyrics are pretty asinine: “Ol’ Blackbird way up in the sky/Ol’ blackbird keep on flyin’ high/Ol’ blackbird way up in the tree/Ol’ blackbird don’t bother me.” Fucking brilliant. Cough.

“I Want You to Know” sounds like ’70s soft-rock played by an all-male Fleetwood Mac. It gets rockin’ for a couple bars here and there, but never fully blows up. Plenty of piano, too, though, both regular and electric. Do these guys have seven keyboardists or just the one, who’s calling all the shots? As the song goes along, it solidifies, gaining momentum, but a false ending and reprise overinflate the song a bit, considering how easygoing it started off.

“Night and Day - demo,” however, is a peaceful acoustic song with appealing harmonies atop bluegrass fingerpicking. It feels like a small, puffy cloud floating along a blue sky on a summer day. Perfect for Sasquatch, right? It’s almost like a madrigal, but then the drums stomp on and that barrelhouse piano kicks in with the rest of the band. There goes that piano again, filling in every last bit of space with pumping groove. Someone please hand the pianist a Xanax, please? Soon, though, a slower “Heart of Gold” drumbeat picks up, and we’re off on a spacier vibe. The small, puffy cloud is rising higher, and growing.

How will they fare at Sasquatch?
They’re up against the Hives, so they might do pretty well. They should definitely attract the hippie contingent, who won’t be into the Hives. (Who is into the Hives? What demographic do they serve? Wanna-Swede white-suit-wearing hipsters?)

Will I make a point to see them?
I might. Their set overlaps with the lovely Thao & the Get Down Stay Down, so they won’t have me for the first few songs, but if Pela doesn’t do it for me, it may be Moondoggie time.

Listen to the Moondoggies here.

Step right up! That’s right, step right up, folks, and let your ears experience the amazing mind-bending power of Your Radio Sucks, the weekly musical podcast show bringing you the best new music by indie bands from across the world. Your host, Ned Lannamann, will take you on a magical journey through the titillating sounds of Blackstrap, Sybris, Douglas Armour, Jeremy Jay (pictured), Islands, Mates of State, Joan of Arc, French Kicks, and the Explorers Club. Listen here!

DEAD MEADOW, SUBARACHNOID SPACE, REBEL DRONES
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Jeff Tweedy once stated that the 10-minute synthesizer drone at the end of Wilco’s “Less than You Think” was inspired by the sensation leading up to one of his crippling migraines. It also represented the foreboding unease preceding a panic attack, another affliction that plagued Tweedy. While local band SubArachnoid Space has little in common with the Chicago post-Americana outfit, they manage to expound upon the physical and mental anguish hinted at in Wilco’s drone exercise. But rather than merely allude to an impending bout of neurological disquiet, their caustic ballasts of nightmarish guitar howls and hallucinogenic live shows are the sonic equivalents of full-blown panic attacks and throbbing cranial pain. BRIAN COOK

That above video is just darkness, noise, and some brief glimpses of fierce headbanging. It’s kind of awesome.

We sent our ace photographer Minh Tran to capture the all-age excellence of Seattle’s Smoosh and Toronto’s Tokyo Police Club (not to be confused with Tokyo’s Toronto Police Club) last night as the two bands shared the stage at the Hawthorne Theatre. Enjoy.

Smoosh:

Tokyo Police Club

My Lord, God of sweat, sunshine and vitamin D, yesterday was a long day—a pleasant one, but a trying one as well. There were a few bits of music that soothed the burnt skin, the dehydration, and mellowed the physical and emotional exhaustion like some sort of glistening, cool green aloe. I want to share them with you.

After the historic cluster-fuck of hope that was Barack Obama by the waterfront, and the slow torturous escape through the white-hot, bottlenecked cattle fields there is Sauvie Island. There must be. Over the bridge and into another world. Farmland, plains, grass, cattle. “Brushed Sky,” she called it.

I was all wrung out. No words, just long squinting, furtive glances, fidgeting embrace and a deep, confused longing. Eight glasses of water. Smoke some pot and just drive. Windows down, sunroof open, still wishing the motorcycle was running better. But yet, it’s nice to lean back. The stereo is a life-saver. Here, with the sun buzzing through a few thin clouds, it’s Panda Bear. Meandering and dense and foggy and bright. Sweet. Deep harmonies in the music match those the passengers have with the day and the land.

Music creeps away and falls asleep on the beach. Deep reverb clouds the mind. It’s helpful. Try not to think too much.

But other people are mad at me, or so it seems. Fuck it. Fuck them fuck anyone who would dare pose the question. This business is mine and mine alone. Rise above. Those Dirty Projectors—and Black Flag before them—have got it right. Aint nothing gonna ruffle my feathers.

By now the sun has set, but in my treehouse it’s still warm. Or maybe it’s just the sunburns. Nothing a cold shower and a cold beer can’t fix. Looking forward to nothing. But what’s this? Free tickets to Clinic? To turn them down seems a shame, so I wont. A cool motorcycle ride offers only a marginal shot of adrenaline. The dosage offered by the band, however, is more effective. Still swimming in some twisted haze but finally now embracing it. Worshiping the downbeat. Their surgical masks suggest a cool detachment, perfect for this strange day. Mmmmmm, thank you.

Now get me home—to a bed with a breeze. Asleep with all the windows open.

——-

The songs, again:

Panda Bear’s “Comfy in Nautica”

Dirty Projector’s “Rise Above”

Clinic’s “The Second Line”

Last Friday’s hot, hot, hot show from the Kills got me thinking about Alison Mosshart’s other band, Discount.

I doubt anyone can accurately map the distance between a forward-thinking Gainesville, FL punk band (Discount) and Mosshart’s surprisingly personal reinvention as the sexy, chain-smoking, faux-Brit fronting, Royal Trux’ing band, the Kills. Plus, it wasn’t long after Discount hung up the hoodie for good that Mosshart suddenly reappeared overseas in this new persona.

It was like she had an evil twin.

But while she fronted Discount—who rolled deep with the likes of Hot Water Music and Dismemberment Plan—Mosshart was the reclusive fanzine scribbler who would rarely face the crowd and was like a ghost after the band went off stage. It wasn’t quite “damaged goods” material—she wasn’t a backstage cutter or anything—but Mosshart’s shy presence added a great deal of heft to the band’s intelligent stab at killing pop-punk dead in its Chuck Taylors.

At first the band was one of many borrowing from the Tilt franchise, although even their earliest songs (see “Portrait of a Cigarette” below) showed a band who, if they managed to harness the songwriting of Mosshart, could evolve far behind the normally rigid rules of suburban punk rock.

The band did just that with 2000’s Crash Diagnostic, an excellent J.Robbins produced album that found the quartet restless with three chords and some empty ideas. While they might have bid farewell to their pop-punk fanbase (Although looking back on it now, the record doesn’t seem that different. It’s kind of like the ridiculous anger over Jawbreaker’s slick Dear You which was such a huge deal years ago, but now just seems trivial. That record is great, too bad it took me half a decade to realize it.), they did gain the attention from some cooler indie bands (see the aforementioned Dismemberment Plan) and were poised for some crossover success. But their label, New American Dream, went tits up and the band disappeared back to Florida, eventually breaking up after a farewell tour that came nowhere near Portland.

Here’s hoping that some Kills fans do the work to unearth Discount’s catalog. It might not be as hip, but there’s something a whole lot more authentic about Mosshart back when she was a punk kid battling stage fright while cloaked in a hoodie.

MP3:
Discount - Portrait of a Cigarette
(from Singles Collection Volume 2, buy it here)

Discount - Math Won’t Miss You
(from Crash Diagnostic, buy it here)

TOKYO POLICE CLUB, SMOOSH, WE BARBARIANS
(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) After months of waiting, Tokyo Police Club finally released their debut full-length (and first release on Saddle Creek), Elephant Shell, in April and well… it doesn’t quite live up to the expectations set by their early EPs. It’s not a bad album, really, but somewhere along the way, TPC’s endearing rough edges were sanded away, leaving a smooth, poppy nugget where there was once a raw, post-punky slab. For their efforts they’ll probably earn a few more soundtrack and TV spots, but for fans of the unpolished TPC, they’ll have to make do with the band’s live performance, which thankfully avoids having too much sheen. Instead, all of the promise of the band’s early obsession with dystopian robot takeovers remains intact, even when supplemented with new songs about tessellating broken hearts. DONTE PARKS

MP3:
Tokyo Police Club - Juno

Photo: Chris Schmelke

Shearwater. Picture not from last night.

Last night I ventured to the Doug Fir for the Clinic/Shearwater show. The two bands are nothing alike and each have amassed their own legion of dedicated fans. I can’t imagine any of those fans overlapping, but each band put on a confident, theatrical set that showcased their individual strengths.

As Shearwater took the stage, they turned on some lights on the floor that shone upward, rather than using the overhead house lights. This gave their set a stagey, vaudevillian ambience. It also gave me the impression they weren’t blinded by the lighting—as bands often are—and could clearly see into the audience. Their set began with Jonathan Meiburg singing a capella with his booming, theatrical voice for an uncomfortably long stretch, but he soon began plucking his banjo and the band launched into “Red Sea, Black Sea.” And what an unconventional rock band they were, with Kimberly Burke on what I can only call a mini-upright bass—it was the height of a full-sized upright bass but made with only about 30% of the wood—and long-haired drummer Thor Harris on a ragtag kit that included an old bass drum held together by rope and a furry tom tom. In between songs, Thor (who, with his long blond braided hair and hairy, muscular arms, looked like a Thor) drew his bow across a vibraphone to create ambient, droning, bell-like sounds. On one tune, the mighty Thor busted out a hammered dulcimer, which is a really cool-sounding instrument. With a couple other fellows in tow on keyboards and assorted trinkets, the band resembled nothing so much as a troupe of misfit music teachers.

It was a showcase for the moody, confrontational songwriting of Meiburg, and the music ranged from quietude to bombastic turmoil, often within the same song. I enjoyed quite a lot of what they were doing, and Meiburg picks durable, interesting chord changes—often in modal minor keys—that allow melodies to contour themselves to naturally. The band played remarkably well, with every note in place and no missteps; it didn’t seem at all spontaneous, but it possessed power. It was a little surprising, then, that they chose to end their set with a brief, dissonant hopscotch, with each member playing random squeals and runs on their instruments. Shearwater takes the dark elements of Okkervil River (of which Meiburg was, until recently, a member) and blots out all the hopeful assuring qualities, for a brackish, folksy stew that hits on a very deep level.

Then Clinic took the stage, and I can’t imagine odder bedfellows for a shared bill. Shearwater is arty in a museum kind of way, whereas Clinic plays minimalist trash rock, their only concession to artiness being the steadfast insistence on wearing surgical masks while they play. The masks were present (and the singer’s had a convenient mouth-flap), and they all wore awful Hawaiian shirts which made them all look like seedy bartenders from Cocktail 2: Stirrin’ It Up!. Clinic has a reasonably lengthy history and a sizable back catalog with which I am not familiar. Their earlier stuff seems to have earned the band genuinely dedicated fans, but overall, a lot of their music sounded similar to me. Their best moments sounded like trashy B-sides from long-forgotten bands in the ’60s. Some of their repetitive grooving got a little dull, but they kept the tunes short and punchy.

Lead singer Ade Blackburn jumped between guitar, organ, and melodica (out of which he got an echoey, spooky tone, no small compliment from me considering the melodica is perhaps my most hated of instruments). The band played for about 35 minutes, then took a short break—what seemed like a typical encore break—but when they came back they played at least five more songs, maybe more, before leaving for the actual encore break, after which they returned for a final pair of songs. The pacing was odd, but effective. Some of the one-chord thrashings reminded me of better songs by Archie Bronson Outfit, another, newer British band that may very well have been influenced by Clinic. None of Clinic’s songs really grabbed me or moved me (but I admit the riff from “The Witch” is still echoing around my brain today). Still, the masked lads from Liverpool kept me on my feet and my head moving.

In this video for “Hometown,” from UK (but not exactly local) darlings The Hugs, the band plays their stripped-down rock in a dimly lit room, before hitting a restaurant for a regrettable, too stoned to really talk, interview. Along the way, they pass a Mercury box, where singer Danny Delegato takes out our paper, flips through it, then tosses it to the ground and mumbles, what I believe is, “Fuck the Mercury.”

Well played young buck. Way to document the destruction of the one paper that has gone out of its way to praise your little band, even when you guys were still working the High School Battle of the Bands circuit. But given the band’s past history of making some very very very very stupid decisions, this shouldn’t come as too big of a surprise. Anyway, I don’t have issue with the “Fuck the Mercury” thing (if he actually said it, since the quality of the video is Zapruder-esque, plus he has a good point…), just don’t litter like that, since your mommies aren’t always around to pick up after you, okay?

Here at End Hits there are few things we love more than dudes in cut-off shorts. Lucky for us, the incredible Langhorne Slim was rocking just that look on Saturday at Doug Fir, an event capture captured by the lens of Liza Lubell.

I mean, it was really hot on Saturday, how can you blame the man?