Miss Imperial is now a done deal.
Here are the entries
you might have missed over the past year.
Thanks for checking in, and if you're still looking for me,
try The Memory Aid.

09 January 2007

"Your phony roots, borrowed guitar."

Curley-Forbes House, Oxford Mills, ON, 18-Aug-06

"Telling her
what to think
we are."

The more I listen to Metric's Live It Out, the more I think that Pitchfork has its collective head up its collective ass.



TRACK LISTING: Metric, "Wet Blanket"

2 comments:

Simon Thibault said...

"Pitchfork has its collective head up its collective ass."
no shit.

:)

thankfully, they occasionally say something worthwhile. like nice things about you.

Miss Imperial said...

I know -- it's kinda tacky to bite the hand that feeds. Indeed, I have nothing but love and respect for Joe Tangari, who has been very generous with his c.c Pitchfork reviews. He's responsible for two of the highest compliments that I and the band have ever been paid, in my opinion: 1) that I sound like a cross between Debbie Harry and David Byrne (I'm paraphrasing...or possibly hallucinating); and 2) that the back-up vocals on "Heavy as a Heart" are reminiscent of Fleetwood Mac (I almost died when I read that, even though I'd been aiming for The Bangles with those harmonies, haha. Man, Linda Bush, Julia Madill and Christina Teixeira are awesome singers).

Also, I cannot deny that Pitchfork is often a great source of information -- for many people -- and that should be appreciated. Besides, I can't honestly say that I have a problem with each and every writer the site employs...so, in retrospect, "collective" was too harsh a term to use, not to mention too smarmy by half. (Bad move on my part, since I often complain about this sort of snark on Pitchfork's end.)

That being said, every time I read the line describing Emily Haines -- or the ideal Emily Haines -- as "a little-girl-lost indie savant," I want to punch the screen. Pitchfork's an easy target, to be sure, but it's surprising how often the site actually fits the lyric from "Wet Blanket": "A clenched fist saying it's wrong to want more than a folk song."