Times Boredom too busy to do ‘Best of’ Issue Right Now

We’ve been messing with you for a long time now and we want to apologize. We do not have huge corporate offices in downtown Albany and a staff of hundreds. We don’t even have enough money to pay our writers. Whether or not we write or publish articles is actually dependent on how much of our actual jobs we have to do, how much Fucking Christ band practice we have to go to, emptying the cat box, etc.

Therefore we will not, as we intended and asserted to many, be able to publish our ‘best of 2018’ article just yet. But watch the site and the facebooks, cause it’s coming. We will get it to you. We swear on the vast profits that Times Boredom receives from your viewership subscriptions and ad revenue every year. We appreciate your patience and apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you or your loved ones.

Sincerely,

THE ENORMOUSLY WEALTHY WELL PAID STAFF AND CORPORATE OFFICE DWELLERS OF TIMES BOREDOM

Times Boredom the last local music rag standing

Yet another local music publication is closing its doors.  So long, All Over Albany…

In other news, we just heard the Low Beat is for sale too. WTF?! Local music is coming apart at the seams…

Following the shutdown of the Alt in September, that leaves only terrible little bullshit sites like our own to cover the entire local music scene in the Capital District. We are so sorry. We swear it’s not our fault.

But now that we think of it, we’re pretty much all you’ve got left now, unless you wanna read the crappy arts section of the local news publications that ‘don’t know shit about shit’! So suck it up and read our drivel! MUWAH HA HAH HA HA! WE’RE THE ONLY TASTE MAKERS NOW! WE CAN MAKE OR BREAK YOUR BAND! GIVE US FREE PASSES TO YOUR SHOWS! BUY US BEERS! SEND US SEXY MEN AND WOMEN! OR ELSE!

Seriously, we mourn the loss of another great local music/events source and look forward to abusing our newfound power.

Dude, you’re playing in Burnt Hills tonight!

Jackson says you’re in the Burnt Hills improv set tonight so strap on your guitar and get down there!

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He says they have enough amps that you can double into someone else’s, but you need to bring your guitar and be there about 7 PM.

Oh and for tonight’s improv jam, as long as you’re familiar with your mixolydian in G Minor you should be fine — you know Garcia blues for Allah era. Easy stuff.

Also Grab Ass Cowboys may want you to do some screaming into an instrument mic through an fx processor on one of their tracks so bring an sm57 and a couple pedals if you remember.

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Show starts at the Low Beat at 8 PM.  Don’t be late!

Times Union Asininely Responds to Times Boredom

We recently criticized Times Union’s (you can find the article here) publishing and calling attention to yet another conservative, anti-Union, anti-state worker, anti-labor group’s biased studies and failing to at least publish any ‘liberal’ groups’ (such as NYPIRG) policy papers as well.

Here’s their tepid response:

Liz Moran joins NYPIRG

Seriously? You think we’ll be mollified that you’re reporting about a specific person joining NYPIRG instead of you actually even publishing one of their position papers, much less a ‘fair and balanced’ position paper that responds to the claims you’ve been publishing over the years that denigrates state workers’ abilities, says they get paid too much, that they’re the reason the state will go bankrupt (ok we took liberties with that last one, but we’re a real fake news organization. We’re allowed.)?

Get a clue Times Union. You suck.

Times Union once again tells its audience to go to hell

Oh Times Union, why do you continue to be the mouthpiece of terrible conservative anti-Union anti-job anti-stateworker rights organizations like the ‘Citizens Budget Commission’?

https://blog.timesunion.com/capitol/archives/284964/citizens-budget-commission-urges-vetoes-of-costly-bills/

If we were real journalists we might actually uncover how your owners or boards of directors were on or contributed to these awful organizations, which are the ones you increasingly help to publish the biased findings of (when was the last time you showed a NYPIRG study about the costs of not covering benefits or a CSEA article noting how little the majority of state workers actually make?).  You’re very lucky we’re not, but then again you did fire all your real journalists several years ago when you got rid of your own Union.  At least change your title; the irony of the fact that Union is the second part of your name is one of the reasons we just can’t stop criticizing your bafflingly unfair assessments and attacks against those that read your biased publication.

Bottom line is; why do you hate your audience?  We’re certain a large percentage of your readers and subscribers are state workers.  Yet you continue to publish pieces that denigrate them, say they make too much money, they’re bankrupting the government, etc.

You suck.

Haley Moley finds their voice on new ep, and it’s dark and haunting

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Haley Moley describes themselves as a ‘concentration of electronic, funk, and disco dj’s with rock experience steeped in atmospheric, dirty guitars’. What I hear from that is they do techno, funk, disco, dance music… and I need hear no more. I listen to mostly noise, doom, sludge, math; generally angsty miserable sounds that you absolutely CANNOT dance to.  I’m gonna hate this.

But I don’t. Not at all.

Perhaps if you like a group, you hear what you want to. And though I hear synth pop, it’s layered in with deep, introverted, minor keys that speak to me of a group that may claim or aim to be danceable pop but has been haunted into showing their true darkwave colors and demons. Indeed their first ep ‘Object Permanence’ was far more in the vein of the description mentioned above.  But in this new ep, I hear early New Order with dark alto vocals that are a cross between Patti Smith and Chrissy Hynde at the helm. And though much is owed to eighties synth pop frameworks and hooks, it’s covered over with layers of dark fuzzy bass lines and gothic guitars, until it sounds like its struggling with itself, its melange of sounds, its underlying dark emotions and lyrical themes… Sounds good to me.

And since all we pretentious writers interpret the songs we hear and write as though we’ve uncoded the peremptorily correct interpretations, I’ll be no exception here (since Haley Moley had the bad sense to include the lyrics on their cd thereby inviting me to delve into their meanings);

Apple of my Eye presents the proud time when someone you love and have helped form begins to rebel against you. Painful as it is, it’s what must be done in this world if an individual is to break free of their formative influences and become their own person.  And “it’s a beautiful day” when it happens.

Formidable Man is a superhero song for all us regular, flawed guys. You don’t have to be a body builder, a CEO or a die hard green peace activist to be formidable, to be everything to the woman that loves you. She loves you for your weaknesses and your strengths; even though you may be shy and wrestle with personal demons all day long, you face it all and do what needs to be done.  She loves the humility you exhibit on top of all the massive inner strength you possess.

Souvenirs (my favorite track) sets a despondent tone on a pensive tune about the inevitable and disturbing passage of time.  Shy backing instrumentation is punctured by forte piano chords that sound like they’re interfering with the mood of someone trying to come to terms with things by raising constant objections.  Best of all containing the brilliant one liner ‘Souvenirs… collapse the years’, about how tiny nostalgic items can remind you that no matter how much time has passed nor how long it seemed, it’s all just a moment we’re reminded of in small keepsakes that elicit all the feelings we went through at specific times in our lives.

I will admit that the title track Cloven is lyrically impenetrable.  And like the music, beautiful, dark, and abstract.

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Haley Moley may bill themselves as a collection of dj’s with tunes inspired by their dance music roots and experience, but when they get together they create something so much deeper, darker, and more interesting. And while they, like so many other great groups, are virtual small fish in their hometown of Troy, if they got the exposure to the much larger audience they deserve, they’d strike an enormous cord, again and again.

(did you see how I did that clever thing, inserting the title of the album into the concluding note? Yeah, I’m totally proud of that. Perhaps some day a real publication will reprint one of my reviews)

Underground Luche Libre Ring Field Report Part 2: Match for Supremacy of the Underground Local Music Scene

As you recall from our last field report, the revelation of this underground activity shook our understanding of how the local music scene operated, and we were determined to find the truth. Tonight we will share what we discovered about the shifting power dynamics between different music styles in the Capital District. The changes become more extreme every year: post-punk, pop-punk, vaporwave, techno-sludge, all battling not only for our ears and our wallets, but our hearts.

We want to learn if this network of musicians battling for rank can explain the mystery of why certain genres are popular one year and panned the next. If these absurdities somehow manage to bring balance to the erratic energy of the local music scene, then our terrifying foray into this darkness will not be in vain.

We left you last time waiting for the match to begin. We were allowed briefly to approach the ring and speak to the performers and promoters. We caught the attention of Scene Mayor/Master of Ceremonies Bobby Carlton, who leaned over the ropes for a quick interview. When asked about the lineup and the odds, he responded artfully as the seasoned politician he is; “These semi-finals always get me a little anxious,” he said, smoothing his lapels. “It’s distressing to see a solid post-punk band that worked really hard doing rough shows over one of our famously shitty Capital District winters come down here and throw it all into the ring. The battle is really for the supremacy over the summer season lineups, for all those good-weather gigs and festivals. And often this is only to lose out to some experimental noise artist from the suburbs that will move to Brooklyn in a month anyway. They might lose on a costume technicality, a chair to the back of the head, anything really! But we have to allow a fair fight. It’s an egalitarian system, really.”

E.S. Cormac, a.k.a. Lord Humongous, doing some deep hamstring stretches next to Bob, agreed. “Yes, it is some hard street justice served down here. Draconian, even.” He and his band-mate and tag-team battler, Kat Celentano, a.k.a. Yukari Hitsugi, took a quiet moment to sip mineral water from matching silver flasks.
“But how else would these things be decided?” Lord Humungous whispered. “No one votes. No one buys anything anymore.” Hitsugi agreed with a sad shake of her head and delicately tipped some water into the mouth of Mr. Whiskers, the smartly-dressed cat on Lord Humungous’ shoulder.

Suddenly, the starting bell clanged. Mr. Whiskers leaped from his shoulder perch to his chair in the VIP section. Bob returned to his place at the center mic. A team of Luchadore battle-fluffers hurried the strutting, hyped-up fighters into their corners. The noise of the crowd and the wrestlers throwing insults at one another was deafening.

Holy PinkSlip hollered across the crowd for last bets and then waved over Keith of Che Guevara T-shirt to help escort us back to our seats in the press box. We asked Keith if he was here to support his band’s drummer and rookie fighter, John Olander, a.k.a. The Big O.

Keith frowned and said through clenched teeth, “He knows the consequences if he loses again.” Holy PinkSlip checked her clipboard and clucked, “Yikes. 18-1 tonight. Says here ‘his energy level was so inconsistent working on the last CGT album, he lost all his backers.’”

Overhearing our conversation, event commentator Philip Donnelly covered his mic and laughed, “Sure, but look at him. You wouldn’t guess he’s the long shot.” Into the mic, he purred, “Well folks, looks like the Big O, is quite the smooth lounge lizard for tonight’s match.” The Big O, a beautiful woman draped on each arm, strolled around the ring in a floor-length, crushed velvet smoking jacket. The crowd gasped as the women pulled the jacket from his shoulders to reveal that his costume consisted only of black silk pantaloons and Persian slippers.
Christopher Brown, a.k.a. The Cipher, back-flipped across the ring and barged into Hans Christopher, a.k.a. Primo Voyager, who roared, “Hack! Steal costumes much?!”

Behind us, a woman wearing a veil and a black cocktail dress and leaning over a drawing pad whispered, “This doesn’t look good for Primo. He’s already on the defensive. And his match hasn’t even started. See, he represents the self-effacing rogue artists among us. The sardonic solo performers. There’s just not enough muscle behind that. It’s too much for one man!” She sighed. “I’m capturing the irony of that, visually, for the Super Dark zine.” We stayed respectfully quiet as she began sketching.

Primo Voyager pulled at his black tights and gestured rudely at The Cipher. “I’m in black tights! You have black tights! How’s anyone supposed to tell us apart?!”

“You’re topless, Primo. And The Cipher is dressed like a Ninja,” Hitsugi interrupted, trying to separate them. “Save it for the match, you two!” shouted Koko, bouncing across the canvas. The Cipher shouldered Primo Voyager roughly and glared at the crowd as he smoothed his mustache.

Phil announced: “There’s Chris Brown, a.k.a. The Cipher! Headlining tonight in the main event, tag-teaming with Koko Chaos against Lord Humongous and Yukari Hitsugi.”

“Don’t say my real name, Donnelly!” The Cipher shrieked, tearing around the ring. He hurled a giant brass gong at the press box. The crowd screamed and the row in front of us scattered. “Where the hell did he get that?” Anonymous Coward asked nervously from behind the broadcasting equipment. His companion flicked a scathing side-eye at him and said under her breath, “Who can even tell anymore.”

“The gong! That’s mine, dammit,” El Gran Mofongo moaned. “There goes my liability insurance, you ass!” He charged across the canvas at the Cipher.
“Looks like it’s all happening, ready or not,” sighed Phil into the mic. “Here is John Prusinski, a.k.a. El Gran Mofongo! He is normally one mellow fellow, but he’s already out of order with a Rip Snorter around the Cipher’s neck. This wasn’t even his battle, but here we are. Not to be outdone, here’s the Big O sneaking up on Mofongo. Looks like he’s feeling froggy. Yes, folks, he jumped and Mofongo was just bounced clean out of the ring.”

Lord Humongous cackled in amusement, did a few more lunges against the rope and blew a kiss to his cat before flinging himself at Koko Chaos.

“Speaking of chaos,” Phil yelled into the mic; “in the other corner we have John Gill, a.k.a. The Glowering Inferno, trying to get the Big O’s attention. He’s asking to be tagged in. Here he is, running a brutal Reverse Sneaky Pete on Mofongo, who just had an epic fail with his trusty Triple Lutz! Hitsugi has tagged in with Lord Humongous and is up on the corner ropes about to drop in with a Deadly Omelet but—what’s this—Hitsugi has spotted some attractive person in the audience with unusually lush eyebrows and—yes folks, Hitsugi is out. Lord Humongous and Koko are circling each other like panthers; this could get dangerous. Will he use his Inverted Monsanto? The Deep State? Are they any match for her Hustle? This is anyone’s match, folks.”

We watched in shock as the scene changed suddenly. Koko stared off into space and tilted her head. “Shh! Don’t you hear that? Listen to the sound it makes when his body hits the mat!” She grabbed Lord Humongous’s arm and gestured toward the Cipher throwing Primo Voyager repeatedly against the mat. “BWOOV, BWOOV, BWOOV” Lord Humongous said, nodding along with Koko Chaos. She peeled her shiny silver gloves off and exclaimed, “Right? We gotta sample that beat, that is gold. Come on!” Mofongo tore himself away from the Big O and shouted, “Me too! That’s going to sound amazing through my Temporal Disruptor pedal!”
Primo Voyager rolled away from the Cipher and stood with dignity. “Pardon me, but this all just…it just reminded me of something someone said to me a long time ago…someone I loved…” He did a swan dive out of the ring and out into the alley where he could freestyle in peace. The Cipher wiped himself off and reached into a fold in his tights, pulling out a small, fragrant moleskin notebook. “I need to go write this down into lyrics for a song before I lose it” he said in a husky voice and crept out of the ring in search of a dark corner where he could write undisturbed.

Hitsugi had snuck back into the ring and tried to tackle The Glowering Inferno but was now stuck at arm’s length from him, straining her forehead against his palm, her arms pinwheeling in the air. They made eye contact. The Inferno suddenly looked unsure of himself and she seemed to share his moment of doubt. “Why are we doing this?” The Inferno murmured. “Any of this?” Hitsugi stopped struggling and dropped to a crouch. “I don’t know,” she whispered. He sat down cross-legged in front of her and pulled a small packet of gummy bears from his union suit, offering her a few. “There must be a better way than all this violence, sound and fury.” They engaged in a deep conversation as silence started to fall over the emptying arena.

Bobby C. and Phil tried to summarize for the listeners. For all of us. “I think that’s a wrap, everyone! Thanks for coming! Thanks to our sponsors!” Bob shouted and hurried from the ring. Phil explained into the mic, “Well, Hitsugi and the Inferno seem to be exploring some kind of existential crisis, the Cipher and Primo Voyager are… writing songs or something…and Lord Mofongo and our headliners, Koko and Lord Humongous, all seem to be setting up to record various sounds from this event to make music…”

“Great. Just what this music scene needed: another experimental noise collaboration supergroup,” someone snidely commented from the shadows behind the VIP section.

It looks like nothing was decided here, no one won anything, and our understanding of the idiosyncracies of the capital district underground music scene is now even worse than ever (though there are clearly many more layers of ridiculousness to it). If it were up to us, the true winner of this over hyped circle jerk of a Luche Libre match would be the cutting, sarcastic comment we heard at the end.

This is Ne Nee Taartulas reporting for Times Boredom.