Kanye West’s Remix Of Beyoncé’s Drunk In Love Is Literally The Best Thing Ever

1. Just when you thought Beyoncé’s “Drunk In Love” couldn’t get better…


2. Yeezus released a remix that takes the song to a whole new level.

View this embed ›

3. Yaaass!!!!! OMG.


4. Update — Feb. 15, 3 p.m. ET: Beyoncé has released a short video to promote the remix on her official YouTube channel.

5. In the teaser, she’s wearing chaps and swinging a lasso, riffing on Kanye’s remix line: “That cowgirl, you reverse that cowgirl.”

6. Now, people are anticipating a full music video for the remix. But the cowgirl Beyoncé footage in the teaser is old.


She wore this getup back in 2011, for an Essence cover story that she wrote about herself. The teaser footage appears to have been taken from this behind the scenes video from the magazine’s photo shoot.

7. Meanwhile, Kanye’s ex Amber Rose is *not* psyched about this remix.

She tweeted, then deleted, her head-shaking review Saturday morning.

Read more: http://buzzfeed.com/mackenziekruvant/kanye-wests-remix-beyonces-drunk-in-love

Top 10 Rockers Who Are Better Than Elvis

Right off, let me just say that this list is not intended as a slight to Elvis Presley. I was just having a little fun with the title to generate some interest and emotion, but I’m an Elvis fan and his impact, popularity and chart success cannot be denied. But, let’s face it, when is the last time you heard someone cover an Elvis song? The answer is “never”, because Elvis couldn’t write a song to save his life. In fact, he scored hits with songs written by some of the artists on this list. That’s not to say that penning your own song(s) is the only measure of talent, influence and respect. His defenders will argue that he was a great arranger, making others’ songs his own, not to mention he was a vastly charismatic performer who even influenced some on this list, to which I would agree. But for this list of rock and roll pioneers, I wanted to look beyond the obligatory recap of Elvis’ superstardom and, instead, feature ten other legendary rockabilly and rock artists from the 1950’s who had a major impact on the course of rock and roll history.

This era of American music had a huge influence on the UK’s burgeoning pop scene (Cliff Richard & the Shadows, and Vince Taylor & the Playboys were early imitators) that would soon explode upon the States, and the world, in a big way with the British Invasion of the early to mid 1960’s. Many of those acts, from The Beatles on down, idolized these guys, imitated their styles and covered their songs. I hope you enjoy and agree with my selections, and as always, please give your shout-outs in the comments to anyone I may have missed!

Known as the “Godfather of the Power-chord”, Fred Lincoln Wray Jr. single-handedly introduced fuzz and distortion to the masses, paving the way for the heavy, riff-laden metal onslaught yet to come. His 1958 instrumental, Rumble, is quite possibly one of the most badass songs ever. When released, it was actually banned in some radio markets due to its “violent imagery”, which is quite a feat considering there are no lyrics! Despite the lack of airplay, it jumped to number 16 on the pop charts, but, more importantly, it had a big influence on such future guitar gods and stars as Eric Clapton, Jimmy Page, Bob Dylan, Ray Davies, Jimi Hendrix, Jeff Beck, and Neil Young, not to mention both Lennon and McCartney. Pete Townsend has directly credited this song as being the reason he took up the guitar. Wray’s importance transcends whatever modest chart success he had after Rumble, but he did have a couple follow up hits like Raw-Hide, Comanche and Jack the Ripper, among other less noted but equally raucous tunes. In what I feel is a glaring omission, he is not yet a member of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, but he is rightfully enshrined in the Rockabilly Hall. I could not locate a good vintage clip of him performing Rumble live, and though more recent footage of him exists, I chose to feature the original studio recording here so as to better appreciate the song in its rightful period context.

Bonus trivia: The 2008 documentary film It Might Get Loud features a great candid segment with Jimmy Page in his home music room, spinning a vinyl side of Rumble on his turntable, playing “air guitar” to it, and beaming like a youngster gushing about his idol.

Just as Link Wray seemed to appeal more to fans of a delinquent nature, Duane Eddie was there for the more straight-laced and clean-cut suburban white male youths of the day. Eddy’s unique guitar-playing style of plucking and bending the low strings high up on the neck to form single-note melodies, enhanced with tremolo and echo effects, earned him the nickname “King of Twang”, and his influences can be heard in the work of many later artists, such as George Harrison, John Fogerty, and Bruce Springsteen, to name but a few. The Shadows’ 1960 instrumental British hit Apache would appear to be a direct descendant of Eddy’s twang. His distinctive sound was further emphasized with the frequent accompaniment of gritty saxophone work by the late great session man Steve Douglas and, later, Jim Horn. His 1958 debut album Have ‘Twangy’ Guitar – Will Travel, rode the charts for over a year, making him one of the first rock stars to have success in the LP market. This album bore five instrumental hit singles including his best-known song Rebel Rouser, and was also one of the first rock records to be released in stereo. Overall, Eddy charted fifteen Top 40 singles and has sold over 100 million records, making him the most successful rock instrumentalist ever.

Bonus trivia: In 1960, Duane Eddy was the first rock musician to have his own signature model guitar manufactured with his endorsement: the Guild Duane Eddy DE-400 and limited edition DE-500. During his heyday, Eddy actually played a ’57 Gretsch Chet Atkins model 6120 hollow-body, and in 1997 Gretsch produced a “DE” version of the 6120.

Say what you will about Jerry Lee Lewis’ lifestyle choices, but please note that my admiration for these guys is focused on their lasting contributions to rock history, and not necessarily their personal lives. I certainly don’t think it is “cool” that Lewis married his 13 year old cousin, Myra, when he was 23, nor did most fans of the day, as it sparked much controversy and pretty much stopped his career dead in its tracks. That said, in his prime, he truly was “The Killer”, as his frenzied and dynamic piano playing and rowdy vocal style lit up the stage. His strict religious upbringing was a source of conflict for him – his mother enrolled him in bible school but he was kicked out for boogying up a hymn – and he always considered his rock and roll calling to be devil’s music. He grew up listening to gospel music and begun playing piano at age 8.

Other early influences were country icons Jimmy Rodgers, Hank Williams and Moon Mullican. Lewis had a near encyclopedic knowledge of honky-tonk, western swing and hillbilly blues, and he blended these styles into his own distinctive sound. Signed by Sam Phillips to Sun Records, his first single was an up tempo cover of country star Ray Price’s Crazy Arms, in 1956, but he broke through in 1957 with Whole Lotta Shakin’ Going On hitting number 3 on the rock charts, and Great Balls of Fire hitting number 2 (both went to number 1 on the country charts). His career was soaring, but while on tour in England, the British press found out about his marriage to Myra and ate him alive. The tour was cancelled, and upon returning to the States, he found that his songs were banned from airplay and he was lucky to land paying gigs at small clubs and dives. It took him over a decade to land back on his feet, finally scoring some country hits for Smash Records and touring into the 2000’s. But the Killer’s rock and roll legacy will live on, and he is rightfully a member of both the Rock and Roll and Rockabilly Halls of Fame.

Richard Wayne Penniman, aka Little Richard, once said “boogie-woogie and rhythm & blues mixed, is rock and roll”. I’d say that’s a pretty accurate description, and Little Richard, boogied like a madman. Growing up poverty-stricken in the deep south, Penniman was one of twelve children in a close-knit religious and musical family that often performed in local churches. Gospel artists of the 30s and 40s, and early jump blues styles, heavily influenced him, as well as little-known Eskew Reader Jr. (aka Equerita), whose style some might say that Penniman flat out copied. No matter; his outrageously flamboyant personality, explosive vocals, and hard-driving piano definitely kicked out the jams. He cranked out a string of, now-classic hits, that flooded the charts in 1956-57, notably Long Tall Sally, Rip It Up and Lucille, all of which hit number one on the R&B charts.

Numerous other hits placed in the top ten, including, probably his best-known song, Tutti Frutti. He also performed the title track for the 1956 cult-classic rock & roll film, The Girl Can’t Help It. James Brown and Otis Redding are among those who cite being directly influenced by Little Richard, as do rock luminaries such as Bob Dylan, Mick Jagger, John and Tom Fogerty and The Beatles, who covered a number of his tunes in their early days. Paul McCartney has said that as a young fan, he’d always wanted to sing like Little Richard.

In late 1957, at the height of his popularity, Little Richard abruptly quit rock and roll to record gospel music, and enrolled in Bible college to become an evangelist minister. He did come back to rock and roll off and on throughout the years, enjoying sustained popularity, but he never matched his earlier chart success. Nonetheless, Little Richard is a key figure in early rock and roll, and was among the first group of performers inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

Nearly everyone is familiar with the story of the tragic plane crash on February 3, 1959, that took the life of the beloved Buddy Holly, along with fellow musicians Ritchie Valens, JP Richardson (aka The Big Bopper) and pilot Roger Peterson, as they were traveling between gigs of a winter concert tour. But, in a career spanning all of about 18 months, Buddy Holly left a lasting legacy of rock classics and was a major influence on virtually every aspiring early rock and roller. Born and raised in Lubbock, Texas, to a musical family, Charles Hardin Holley (later changed to Holly) at an early age took up the guitar, fiddle and piano, and sang in the church and school choirs.

As a teenager, he formed the Buddy & Bob Western and Bop band with some high-school friends, performing locally and was featured regularly on a local radio station program. The station also promoted country and rockabilly shows in the area, often tapping the Western and Bop band as opening act. One of these shows featured a young Elvis Presley, which prompted Holly to drift away from a country sound and into rock and roll. Signed to Decca subsidiary Brunswick Records with his new band the Crickets, his 1957 single That’ll Be the Day shot to number one. More hits followed, including many posthumous releases. He was an innovator in the studio, utilizing double-tracking techniques and also dabbling with orchestration. Holly (like Elvis) helped bridge the gap between American black and white audiences. He was one of the first (possibly the first, sources vary) white performers at Harlem’s historic Apollo Theater, and eventually won over the crowd. Lennon and McCartney have cited Holly as a major influence, and the lads from Liverpool are said to have come up with their idea for their Beatles name as a derivative of the Crickets. A cover of Holly’s Not Fade Away was the Rolling Stones’ first U.S. single, and numerous other bands perform it regularly.

Bonus trivia: Don McLean’s 1971 hit America Pie features a lyrical hook “the day the music died”, which is a reference to the tragedy that took the lives of Holly, Valens, and Richardson on that fateful day. He is notoriously reluctant to discuss the meaning behind this song’s interesting lyrics, but has acknowledged that Holly’s death was an event in his own young life that affected him deeply.

Born Vincent Eugene Craddock, Gene Vincent’s legacy will always be defined by one monumental song, 1956’s Be-Bop-A-Lula, which is considered one of the most iconic songs in rockabilly history. But, if not for Vincent’s serious motorcycle accident in 1955 just before embarking on a six-year military stint, we would’ve been deprived of this classic tune. It was while recuperating in a US Navy hospital that Vincent, a guitar player since his teens, met fellow patient Donald Graves, who co-wrote the song with him. Vincent ended up buying the rights to the song from Graves for less than $50. With his military career over as a result of the injury (his leg was severely damaged, barely saved from amputation, and left him with a permanent limp and chronic pain), Vincent threw himself into music, playing country tunes for a local radio station in his home town of Norfolk Virginia. Station host Tex Davis became his manager and put together a back-up band, calling the unit Gene Vincent and His Blue Caps. A demo was sent to Capitol Records, which led to his signing and a four song recording session, which produced the single Woman Love with Be-Bop-A-Lula on the B-side. After radio jocks deemed the Woman Love as being “too suggestive”, they started playing the flip-side, which ended up occupying the pop charts for 20 weeks, rising as high as #7. Vincent and His Blue Caps also had a scene-stealing performance of this song in the previously mentioned film The Girl Can’t Help It.

As an aside, one can’t talk about the Blue Caps without mentioning the brilliant Cliff Gallup on lead guitar. His stint with the band was short; he played on about 35 songs in the early Blue Caps catalogue, but that was enough to establish him as one of the best guitarists of early rock and roll. Jeff Beck in particular, cites Gallup as a major influence, and in 1993 he released an album of Vincent covers as a tribute to Gallup. Unfortunately I could not find any live Blue Caps clips featuring Gallup, so this nice one of Be-Bop-A-Lula, circa 1958, will have to do. Here we see his replacement, the not too shabby Johnny Meeks on guitar, himself a member of the Rockabilly HoF, but he’s no Gallup. Give a listen to the studio version of this song for a comparison, but if you are a guitar fan or aficionado, I urge you to do yourself a favor and look up some of the other early Blue Caps recordings as well. Race With the Devil, Who Slapped John and Bluejean Bop are good ones, but I recommend 1956’s Cruisin’ if you want to hear a fabulous example of Gallup’s lightning fast runs. It holds up even today, but for the period, he is just incredible.

Vincent entered the Rock Hall of Fame in 1998, and was the Rockabilly Hall’s inaugural entry (certificate number 0001), presented in 1997. Unfortunately, Vincent’s later years were plagued by chronic pain and alcoholism, and he died of a stomach ulcer in 1971 at the age of 36.

Bonus trivia: George Harrison’s “Rocky”, the famously hand-painted psychedelic Stratocaster from Magical Mystery Tour, includes the word “Bebopalula” in the artwork, as an homage to Vincent. You can see a picture George playing it here.

Influenced by guitar-picking greats such as Joe Maphis and Chet Atkins, Eddie Cochran’s recording career started in country music, teaming with singer Hank Cochran (no relation) as The Cochran Brothers. As the story goes, after seeing Elvis perform in a 1956 concert, Eddie switched to a more rocking style, and The Cochran Brothers soon split, as Eddie’s rockabilly preferences became his true calling. His breakthrough came in 1956, when he performed the song 20 Flight Rock in the film, The Girl Can’t Help It, ironically in a plot-driving scene mocking how a “guy with an untrained voice can become one of the top record stars in the country”.

Cochran penned several hits, his biggest being Summertime Blues, later to be memorably covered by Blue Cheer and the Who. His use of overdubbing techniques in the studio on songs like Summertime Blues, as well as C’Mon Everybody, was innovative at the time. Unfortunately, his career was cut short when, in 1960, at the age of 21, he was killed in a traffic accident while on tour in the UK with friend Gene Vincent. Also in the car with Cochran was Eddie’s girlfriend, Sharon Sheeley, who was unharmed, and Vincent, who suffered a broken leg (same leg as the one already damaged from his earlier motorcycle crash) and other injuries. Like Buddy Holly, Eddie Cochran’s untimely death at such a young age has led to an immortal iconic status, and he is enshrined in both the Rock and Roll and the Rockabilly Halls of Fame.

Bonus trivia: Cochran’s 20 Flight Rock was a favorite song of a young Paul McCartney, and upon meeting John Lennon in 1957, he so impressed John by teaching him the chords and knowing all the words by heart, that John asked Paul to join his skiffle group, The Quarrymen.

Ellas Otha Bates was born in McComb, Mississippi, in 1928, and as a youngster was adopted and raised by his mother’s cousin, which resulted into a name-change to Ellas McDaniel. Stories vary as to how he acquired the nickname Bo Diddley, and Bo himself doesn’t seem to remember. Initially classically trained as a violinist, Bo changed course after seeing a performance by bluesman John Lee Hooker. Also known as “The Originator”, due to his role in the merging evolution of the blues into rock and roll, Bo’s signature style employed a pounding beat, “like playing drum licks on a guitar” he once said. He made extensive use of reverb, tremolo and distortion, which was innovative at the time. Bo designed his own guitars, and from about 1959 onward, he was seldom, if ever, seen without his trademark “cigar-box” bodied custom Gretsch that he affectionately named “Big B”. He later commissioned an Australian guitar builder for a replacement square-bodied unit he dubbed “The Mean Machine”. Bo is also recognized as being one of the first male rock artists to include female musicians in his band, most notably The Duchess (Norma-Jean Wofford), and later Lady Bo (Peggy Jones).

His first single was in 1955, with the double A-side release of his eponymous song Bo Diddley, flipped with I’m a Man, both of which hit number one on the R&B charts, although most people are probably more familiar with the Yardbirds’ exceptional cover of I’m a Man released ten years later. Many more songs followed, and while there were no more huge hits, classics such as Roadrunner and Who Do You Love have become rock and roll standards. Bo’s influence spans many well-known bands and musicians, notably the Stones, the Who, the Animals, Clapton, Hendrix, Billy Gibbons, George Thorogood and even AC/DC. Bo Diddley is a member of both the Rock and Roll and the Rockabilly Halls of Fame. He died peacefully at home on June 2, 2008 at the age of 79.

Bonus trivia: When Bo and his band appeared on The Ed Sullivan Show in 1955, Sullivan wanted them to play the Tennessee Ernie Ford song, Sixteen Tons, but instead they played Bo Diddley. This infuriated Sullivan, who, according to Bo, called him “the first colored boy to ever double-cross him” and declared that he “wouldn’t last six months”. The defiant smirk from Bo towards an off-camera Sullivan just before he starts playing is priceless.

Carl Lee Perkins grew up dirt poor on a cotton plantation near the small town of Tiptonville, Tennessee, and as a young boy toiling alongside black field workers, was exposed to southern gospel music, learning to play guitar from an elderly field hand. By the time he was a teenager in the 40’s, he’d formed a band with his two brothers. The Perkins Brothers Band soon became one of the more popular acts on the local honky-tonk bar circuit. A big Bill Monroe fan, upon hearing Elvis on the radio covering one of his songs, he was inspired to travel to Sun Records, in Memphis, to audition for Sam Phillips. There, he cut a single, a country song written when he was 14, called Movie Magg, which had minimal impact. About this time, Elvis left Sun for RCA and Phillips encouraged Perkins to pursue a more rocking style, which resulted in his recording his now classic song, Blue Suede Shoes. It was 1956 and this tune put Perkins on the map, as it shot to number one on the country chart, and number 2 on the pop and R&B charts, and became Sun’s first million selling record. Perkins and his band were ready to capitalize on this national attention, with gigs lined up on the Ed Sullivan and Perry Como television shows, but on the way to New York for the appearances, they were involved in a serious traffic accident when the driver of the car they were all riding in fell asleep at the wheel. The driver was killed, and Perkins suffered a cracked skull and broken arm. His brother Jay’s neck was broken, and though he was not paralyzed, he never fully recovered.

In the 1957 clip I’ve chosen here, you can see Jay back on stage playing 2nd guitar, but still in a neck brace, and he would die from complications of the injury just a year later. If this misfortune was not bad enough for the Perkins Brothers, only months after the accident, while still hospitalized recovering, they saw Elvis record his own version of Blue Suede Shoes, and perform it on the Dorsey Brothers television show. The song became Elvis’ third and biggest hit to date, charting to number 20, and Perkins’ momentum was stopped cold. He resumed writing and recording at Sun, however, releasing several more, now classic, rockabilly songs, and touring throughout the sixties and later as a member of Johnny Cash’s band, even writing a hit for him. Though Perkins never again achieved the same level of chart success as he did on that first million seller, his place in music history is rock solid.

Bonus trivia: All four Beatles were huge fans of Perkins, and they recorded more covers of his songs than any other artist. George, in particular, cites Perkins’ style as a major influence, and Paul once said, “If there were no Carl Perkins, there would be no Beatles”. Perkins’ Honey Don’t would later became an oft-played Ringo vocal vehicle for them, and the lads had even requested Carl’s presence at their 1964 recording session for this tune, which led to a long friendship between them.

In my estimation, Chuck Berry is the most influential rock musician of all time. It was Berry’s own hero, Muddy Waters, who convinced Berry to approach Leonard Chess of Chess Records for an audition, which led to his recording of Maybellene, in 1955. That song hit number 1 on the Billboard R&B charts, selling over a million copies, and he was on his way. His extensive discography includes such classics as Roll Over Beethoven, Too Much Monkey Business, Rock and Roll Music, Carol, Sweet Little Sixteen, Little Queenie and, of course, the standard by which all other rock and roll songs are measured: Johnny B. Goode. So many notable performers have covered Berry’s work over the years that I won’t even try to list them all. Ted Nugent once quipped: “If you don’t know every Chuck Berry lick, you can’t play rock guitar”. Check out this clip of Roll Over Beethoven and you can see where the likes of Pete Townsend and Angus Young got some of their stage moves, as Berry’s showmanship and guitar solo posturing were the prototype for future generations of rockers. As with many others on this list, his following was big overseas, helping shape many soon-to-be British Invasion acts.

The Rolling Stones were huge fans, and, in particular, Keith Richards cites Berry as a primary influence. The Stones’ covered a Berry tune on each of their first several albums, and their very first single was a rendition of Berry’s Come On. The Beatles also covered him extensively, and the Yardbirds and Animals also had success with Berry-penned tunes. Unfortunately, Berry’s career hit some rough patches later on over some rather sordid personal affairs, but as I mentioned in an earlier entry, I’m just focused on their music, and their contributions to rock and roll history. And so, in that regard, it is my opinion that Chuck Berry tops the list by a wide margin.

Bonus trivia: The Beach Boys 1963 hit, Surfin USA, is a blatant rip-off of Berry’s Sweet Little Sixteen, with a nearly identical melody and “city by city” lyrical theme (not to mention lifting the opening riff from Duane Eddy’s Movin’ n Groovin’). When originally released by the Beach Boys, Brian Wilson was listed as the sole composer, however, after being threatened by a lawsuit, Berry was granted sole writing credits and royalties to Surfin USA.

Once again I have found myself in a predicament where I really wanted to include a particular performer but couldn’t decide who to bump out of the top 10 to make room. So, instead of waffling forever about it, I am including New Orleans’ own Antoine “Fats” Domino here as a bonus entry. Obviously not as wild or flamboyant as the other boogying pianists on this list, it is perhaps his down-to-earth nature and unassuming personality that made him such an enduring figure to music fans. His first single, 1949’s The Fat Man, is considered by many to be the first ever “rock and roll” record, and, in a career that amassed sales of over 65 million records and no less than thirty-seven Top 40 singles (eleven in the top 10, and nine R&B number 1’s), he’s had more hits than every other ‘50’s rock legend except for Elvis. He was an important figure in the transition of rhythm and blues to rock and roll, as exemplified by his first crossover top 10 pop hit in 1956’s Ain’t That a Shame. Among his other notable hits are Blue Monday, I’m Walkin’, I’m in Love Again, and, of course, his unforgettable rendition of Blueberry Hill. Besides his own records, Domino can also be heard sessioning for such notables as Big Joe Turner and Lloyd Price.

He has inspired and influenced many future rock pianists, including Paul McCartney, Billy Joel and Elton John. Among the first class of Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductees, Billy Joel spoke on Domino’s behalf and thanked Domino for “proving the piano was a rock and roll instrument”. Though initially thought to have perished in the floods of Hurricane Katrina in 2005, Domino is still alive and well, living in his beloved New Orleans home, rebuilt in part with proceeds from the sale of a charity album Goin’ Home: A Tribute to Fats Domino, which featured covers by many notable performers.

Bonus trivia: According to Bob Spitz’s 2005 book, The Beatles: The Biography, the first song that John Lennon learned to play on his guitar was Fats’ Ain’t That a Shame, taught to him and a friend by John’s mother during the formative stages of what would become the Quarrymen. Years later, the Beatles’ Lady Madonna was a tribute of sorts to Domino’s style, and Domino himself covered it in 1968, which was his last charting single.

Read more: http://listverse.com/2010/09/29/top-10-rockers-who-are-better-than-elvis/

Scott Stapp Quasi-Endorses Romney

Scott Stapp was a guest on this morning’s Fox and Friends talking about the election, making waves through the crucial ’90s cockrock voting block. Stapp, a Florida resident, doesn’t outright say he endorses Romney, but he does say he’s unhappy with Obama (who he voted for in 2008).

“My heart and soul would really love someone like Reagan or FDR to come back and give us a New Deal,” says Stapp. Perhaps his sex tape partner Kid Rock, who performed outside the GOP convention, has influenced him.

Read more: http://buzzfeed.com/katienotopoulos/scott-stapp-quasi-endorses-romney

11 Tweets Between Evan Dando And Juliana Hatfield That Will Restore Your Faith In The ’90s

Juliana Hatfield and Evan Dando were the Mulder and Scully of ’90s alternative rock not-it-couples, with their ongoing did-they-didn’t-they-or-will-they-eventually romance. They were close friends and collaborators (still are!), and everyone with a heart not made of granite was curious about the status of their friendzone at some point. Rumors flew that Juliana lost her virginity to Evan, until finally in 2006 she wrote a letter to the editor of Boston music magazine Dig denying it (she lost it to Spike Jonze instead).

Now, thanks to Twitter, you can watch them talk and flirt and friendzone each other and do whatever the hell it is they’re doing. They’re both kind of perfect on Twitter, you should definitely follow them anyway; Juliana is charming and funny, Evan is weird and spacey, just the way you’d hope they’d be.

Sure, it’s a little creepy and gross to be obsessed with the friendship between two 40-somethings. But please, just let us have this. We need this.

2. Their discussion of Breaking Bad:

i just can’t stand it when jesse pinkman and walter white fight; i wish they would just hug, already. (i am deep into season 4 so far

— Juliana Hatfield (@julianahatfield) June 16, 2013

@julianahatfield so glad you’re watching BB !

— Evan Dando (@Evan_Dando) July 1, 2013

@Evan_Dando it’s so good, so dark, so depressing, i love it..the complexity of humans

— Juliana Hatfield (@julianahatfield) July 1, 2013

@julianahatfield I love you

— Evan Dando (@Evan_Dando) July 2, 2013


7. Juliana’s excitement about this t-shirt:

@Evan_Dando hey lookatthis—someone took this photo of us at a reading fest. in the ‘90’s & made a tee of it… cute pic.twitter.com/YrfF7aOQ0u

— Juliana Hatfield (@julianahatfield) April 9, 2013

8. This exchange about fellow Boston music legend, Peter Wolf of The J. Geils Band:

drive-by star sighting—peter wolf, outside cambridge formaggio kitchen

— Juliana Hatfield (@julianahatfield) April 12, 2013

@julianahatfield you’re not just crying Peter Wolf ?

— Evan Dando (@Evan_Dando) April 12, 2013

11. The time they discussed a BuzzFeed list that included Evan as one of the hunks of the ’90s:

@Evan_Dando my mom sent me this: http://t.co/PDsHVUbstO

— Juliana Hatfield (@julianahatfield) April 12, 2013

@julianahatfield life’s a bitch and so was I … Do as your told and lose your soul . Every single time . Ugly .

— Evan Dando (@Evan_Dando) April 12, 2013

(I obviously nearly fainted over this exchange.)

14. Whatever this mess was about:

@julianahatfield hi ! I was just defending you against some one out there who … was questioning our playing together .

— Evan Dando (@Evan_Dando) April 21, 2013


@julianahatfield love you

— Evan Dando (@Evan_Dando) April 21, 2013

Read more: http://buzzfeed.com/katienotopoulos/11-tweets-between-evan-dando-and-juliana-hatfield-that-will

“Now That’s What I Call Music!” Was The Only CD Collection You Needed

1. So visiting the CD store was always a little scary at first.

There were just so many choices. So. Many. CHOICES.

2. You could never remember a single thing that you wanted to buy.

“Why can’t I come up with one artist that I’m into? Wait, do I even LIKE music? What is going on?!”

3. Then, all of a sudden, it came to you.

The Now That’s What I Call Music! series did the choosing for you, and it had EVERYTHING you wanted (plus some other weird songs by, like, Adema, but that was cool by you too).

4. All you needed to do was add one of these babies to your collection in order to have it all.

Because who wants to make actual choices? Like, ew, no thanks.

5. Where else were you going to get 3LW…

6. …Creed…

7. and Shaggy all in one place?

Like you could on 2001’s Now That’s What I Call Music! 6? NOWHERE, that’s where.

8. A new one came out just about every six months in the 2000s, so the jams never stopped.

You never had to go without B2K or Christina Milan, which is to say that life ruled.

9. And the clean versions of songs you loved were simultaneously hilarious and awesome.

Oh, the edited cut of Mystikal’s “Shake Ya Ass,” now entitled “Shake It Fast?” IT WAS ONLY THE BEST THING EVER.

10. You could always skip the rando U2 track that didn’t really fit in but somehow made it onto every single CD.

No thank you, “Stuck in a Moment That You Can’t Get Out Of,” what are you even doing here? Put on the censored mix of Ludacris’s “Roll Out” again!!

11. But the truth was, the first one was really the best one of all.

Janet Jackson! Radiohead! C-Cherry Poppin’ Daddies? Whatever — Aqua!

12. Combined with this, it made every bus ride to school something you actually looked forward to.

“God, shut up and turn back around, Trevor, I’m bumping BSB.”

13. No wonder they can’t seem to stop making them.

The series is on its 84th release in the UK and its 46th in the United States, where the first 19 went platinum or higher. And for good reason, because these were basically the best part of growing up.

14. And you know you still have at least seven different CDs from the collection lying around somewhere.

Now and forever, these will always be the soundtrack to your youth.

Read more: http://buzzfeed.com/verymuchso/now-thats-what-i-call-music-was-the-only-cd-collection-you-n

Do We Need A Postal Service Reunion?

Ten years ago, Ben Gibbard and Jimmy Tamborello made a record, named it Give Up, pushed it out into the world, and then walked away. It’s easy to imagine them as movie bad guys, sauntering in slow-mo toward the camera, unblinking as the big-rig they just jacked ka-booms into a fireball behind them. This spring, though, The Postal Service is taking a long look back: They’re reuniting for a tour, headlining summer festivals, re-releasing Give Up with 15 bonus tracks of B sides and live takes. Maybe they’ll finally turn out the second record fans have spent a decade crossing fingers for — and maybe it’ll even be worth the wait. But I’m still over here trying to figure out the first one.

In late 2003, around the time I left home for college, one of my best friends from high school gave me a burned copy of Give Up, the silver CD-R decorated with neon Sharpie ink. It was a crucial transaction, impeccably timed, although neither of us could have known it then. I took my entire CD collection with me to school that fall, hundreds of discs tucked neatly into the massive Belkin case I stashed under my new twin bed, but that first semester it was The Postal Service I reached for over and over again, the album a balm for my newly fledged nerves.

All throughout high school, the idea of college had shone like a beacon at the end of a long, dank tunnel, beckoning me forward with its wild promises of intellectual and social transcendence. But once I arrived on campus, plastered my musty dorm room with Rushmore and Bob Dylan posters, and registered for the classes I’d been daydreaming about all summer, I was shocked to find myself not entirely happy. I was hundreds of miles away from my family, my friends, and my boyfriend, and wrestling with anxiety problems I wouldn’t recognize or tend to for years. These were pretty standard growing pains, but at the time it all seemed entirely unique unto me. I felt disoriented, untethered, alien — so alien, in fact, that I dressed as an alien that Halloween, wearing a sparkly silver antennae and a T-shirt across which I’d written, in glow-in-the-dark puff paint, “I am a visitor here.” I realized later that showing up to a huge campus Halloween party dressed as an earnest personal metaphor was probably not the best way to feel less alone, but such was the state of my life at the time.

The line I rendered in puff paint came from “The District Sleeps Alone Tonight,” a song from Give Up that had recently become my secret personal theme music. Gibbard sang of feeling out of place in the new life of his old love, and I borrowed his words to voice my loneliness even as I tried desperately to avoid heartbreak of my own. My boyfriend and I had been together for nearly a year, but I had no idea how our new 120-mile separation might wear us down. “I want so badly to believe / That there is truth, that love is real,” went the dreamily urgent “Clark Gable,” and I clung to the lines like a prayer. Give Up was so concerned with the viability of love in the modern age, I think, because Gibbard recognized how incredibly fragile the modern age really is: “Sleeping In” mocks the shrugging acceptance of global warming (“people thought they were just being rewarded”), and “We Will Become Silhouettes” imagines love in the time of nuclear holocaust. I was pretty wrapped up in myself, but not so tight that I couldn’t fit in these big-picture worries too.

Give Up understood the heartbreaking geometry of distance because it was a product itself of distance, pieced together by Gibbard and Tamborello via recordings mailed back and forth until something whole seemed to emerge. Gibbard’s general mood slid between wistful and maudlin, but Tamborello kept the darkness at bay, layering together complex textures from recognizable instruments — acoustic guitar here, piano there — and amorphous electronic elements that I had literally heard nothing like before. Often during those first months at school I would curl up on my too-small bed and hit play and just let the record burble and hum over me. The effect was downright womblike — warm, pulsing, weightless, a primal sort of comfort.

For a while, the only other people I knew who knew or cared about the record were my friends from back home. They all had their own Sharpie’d up CD-Rs too, our copies all littermates in an illegal brood — something about Give Up just begged to be passed along hand-to-hand like this, and anyway our nonexistent budgets trumped our consumer ethics. When I hit play, I liked to think my friends were all hitting play too, all of us in our little dorm rooms hundreds of miles apart. “When you scan the radio / I hope this song will guide you home,” Gibbard sang on “Such Great Heights” — yes, just like that, I thought. Listening to Give Up filled me with the same sense of relief as when I saw one of my old friends’ screen names pop up on my Buddy List — or maybe I just associate the record with AIM because it provided me with so many away messages. “Don’t wake me, I plan on sleeping in” was my go-to for Saturday and Sunday mornings, and I got a depressing amount of mileage from “now we can swim any day in November” as a balmy Southern autumn crept in.

Toward the end of the semester, though, something shifted. I’m not sure if it was some sort of finals week–induced Stockholm syndrome or just the simple passage of time, but I began to feel more and more of a connection to my less-and-less-new life at school. When I returned to campus after Christmas break, Give Up slowly drifted out of my regular rotation. It was as if the songs had been my emotional training wheels and was I suddenly cruising on two rims all on my own.

But even with the CD convalescing in its Belkin sleeve, I couldn’t quite escape the album. I didn’t need the songs anymore, but the rest of the world was just catching on. In the fall there was Garden State and the Iron & Wine cover of “Such Great Heights”; there were song placements in other movies, TV shows, in-store Muzak channels, wedding playlists, party mixes. My reaction to the band’s popularity spike probably looked like the typical early-adopter superiority complex, but my frustrations were more practical: Every time a song from the album popped up — in a friend’s car, on the produce aisle — I felt ambushed, kidnapped back to fall 2003. Even after I graduated and moved on to the next disorienting phase of my life, the songs still held sway over me. This might explain why I’ve never really gotten into Death Cab for Cutie; the very suggestion of Gibbard’s voice and his endless romantic woe is often enough to send me right back to that musty dorm room, that tiny twin bed, my mother on the other end of the phone saying, “You know, Rachael, you don’t have to call us every day.”

Knowing that the upcoming reunion would probably force a reckoning anyway, the other day I sat down with Give Up to give it a deliberate listen for the first time in years. I considered trying to approach it as if for the first time, but then figured that would be useless — there’s just too much history between us, like an old friend you can only ever understand as the person they were when you first met. But, hearing it again, I’m shocked by how much I loved the album — not for any aesthetic reasons, but simply because it seems like before I was never really hearing it. In college, I played the CD-R on my dinky boom box or piped it through my laptop speakers via some old pair of headphones, probably the same pair that came with my Discman years before. Of all the things in my life that are different now, apparently it was the acquisition of some decent noise-canceling behemoths that most altered the way I understand the record. I was almost literally experiencing the record with new ears. I noticed, for the first time, the warm crackle that suffuses the whole album, like a needle tracking a dusty LP just before the first song begins; I felt the skittery sonar pings of “Such Great Heights” rolling around in my skull like ball bearings. Even “The District Sleeps Alone Tonight,” my old cri de coeur, seemed suddenly alien — hey, did you know Jenny Lewis sings on the track? Yeah, I knew too. It just took me 10 years to hear for myself.

In late January, when news about The Postal Service reunion began to spread online, I watched to see who among my friends and internet stalkees would jump to register their excitement. I shouldn’t have been surprised that the ones who seemed most enthusiastic were all folks around my age, all of us on the raw cusp of adulthood when Give Up was first released. We’re not who we were when we first fell in love with the album — we’re long out of school, all creeping toward our thirties now, the trappings of adult life slowly settling in around us. (That boyfriend I had freshman year? Reader, I married him.) But it took so little to spark glowing reminiscences these 10 songs and the road trips and dance parties and sing-alongs and study breaks and weird nights alone they soundtracked for us. I found comfort in this, seeing all the ways the record fit into all these other lives, all the different ways it could be beautiful and useful. For all of us who clung to Give Up back then, a reminder of the record’s age is a reminder of our own — surely all these things just happened yesterday? Last week, at the latest? Don’t mistake this for nostalgia; not everything looks perfect from far away, no matter what Ben Gibbard says. But here again is this record doing what it has always done best — collapsing distance, collapsing time, dragging us backward, and pushing us forward and all in the same swift blow.

Read more: http://buzzfeed.com/rachaelmaddux/do-we-need-a-postal-service-reunion

Kanye West’s 13 Most Awkward Moments

1. When he made this derpy face at the BET Awards.

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2. When this awkward handshake happened.

3. Pretty much every moment of this awkward Saturday Night Live promo.

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4. When Kanye and Amber Rose touched tongues and took a photo of it. :(

5. When Yeezy posed for this selfie and stayed on his phone.

6. When Yeezy interrupted Tay Swift’s speech at the MTV Movie Awards.

7. When he wore this Cosby looking sweater.

Peter Kramer / Getty Images

8. When Yeezy asked Rihanna what it feels like to turn straight women gay in Interview.

Kevork Djansezian / Getty Images

Read the best of the awkward interview here.

9. When he stole my grandpa’s fishing hat and wore it on the red carpet.

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My grandpa wants that hat back, btw.

10. When Yeezy said this during a telethon for Hurricane Katrina victims.

11. And when Matt Lauer asked Kanye about the George Bush comments, and Kanye had a damn meltdown on live TV.

12. When Kanye channeled a chicken onstage.

13. When he walked into a Wrong Way sign.

Read more: http://buzzfeed.com/erinlarosa/kanye-wests-13-most-awkward-moments

11 Coolest Album Packages

1. Public Image Limited: Metal Box

As the title says, Johnny Rotten’s post-Sex Pistols band put out it’s 1979 record in a plain metal round box.

2. Science Vs Witchcraft: It’s Not Necrophilia If You’re Dead Too

Packaged in an empty floppy disc

3. Dead Kennedys: In God We Trust, Inc

The second side of the tape is left blank purposely to screw over the recording industry, who discouraged home taping.

4. Spiritualized: Ladies and Gentlemen We are Floating in Space (Special Edition)

The medicine-pack inspired packaging contained 12 separate mini-CDs (remember those?), one for each track. Each mini-disc popped out of a pill-style blister pack.

5. The Durutti Column: Return of the Durutti Column

The cover of this Factory Records release was entirely sandpaper, designed to scratch and destroy the album cover of whatever sat next to it on the shelf.

6. The Misfits: The Mistfits

Appropriately, a coffin-shaped box set.

7. The Rolling Stones: Sticky Fingers

Designed by Andy Warhol, the cover featured a working zipper. The photo is not of Mick Jagger, as is often assumed, but of one of Warhol’s models.

8. Lemonade: Pure Moods

This release from True Panther Sounds is available on a working USB rubber bracelet.

9. Alice Cooper: School’s Out

A flip-top desk revealed

10. John Lennon and Yoko Ono: Wedding Album

A play on the word “album”, it contained a replica marriage certificate, a photo of their wedding cake, and other wedding related items.

11. The Velvet Underground: The Velvet Underground & Nico

Early editions had a special sticker of the Andy Warhol banana print that users could peel back.

Read more: http://buzzfeed.com/katienotopoulos/11-coolest-album-packages