I help edit Flavorwire, geek out on teen TV for the L.A. Times ShowTracker blog, and write about music for a few places. I'm also in the midst of co-editing, with Niina Pollari, a zine and book project called "It's Complicated: Feminist Writers on the Misogynist Art We Love," which you can also follow on Tumblr.
Ugh. Bonus track because it’s not on Spotify: I loved Her Space Holiday when The Young Machines came out. I bought the album, and it’s still on my shelf. But for the life of me I can no longer comprehend what I saw in it. This song is a condescending, crypto-misogynist emo mess. There’s more than oneincredibly inelegant rejoinder to critics. (Seriously, there is an extended “I fucked yr wife, bro” joke.) I mean, there is really nothing redeeming. Even the beats sound dated already.
I will stand by Home Is Where You Hang Yourself, though.
For real, this is the most embarrassing album I own, and I have a whole treasury of early Bright Eyes releases.