Wolfmother

In all honesty, I really want to someday be stranded on a deserted island. Not a "desert" island, mind you, because that would totally suck, considering there'd be no trees, animals, caves, fruit or the potential for scantily-clad island chicks with coconut bikinis. A "deserted" island, one devoid of any semblance of organized society, would be pretty tight; and I'm sure if I landed on or was exiled to such an island, there would be a CD player and either an ample supply of batteries or an outlet. This would enable me to have the oft sought-after "deserted island music experience"--I'm guessing I'd be able to bring the music of 5 artists, but if I was sent away in exile I might only be permitted two. Only two? I know, a total gasp, right? How could one choose?

From my perspective it's pretty easy. Over my 26 years on this earth, I've come across two bands that, as the kidz say, "own my face" more than any other: the Phish and Led Zeppelin. For my money it doesn't get any better than this, and I would have absolutely no problem whatsoever living out the rest of my days on some tropical island where I could eat raw fish, swim, chill on the beach, develop my theories regarding the nascent legal field of cave law, and listen to sick tunes from those two bands all freakin' day.

Granted, it sucks major scrotum that both these bands have called it quits and are no longer churning out face-melting and ass-kicking music. But left in the wake of the demise of Zepp and Phish are a crop of young face-melters, bringing an energy and intenstiy to their music that would make their musical "parents" proud.

While I have found more bands cast in the mold of Phish that occupy my ears as of late (Tea Leaf Green, Raq, Umphrey's McGee), I am constantly on the lookout for bands whose sound, like the masters of nordic-goth-metal-rock themselves, rapes, pillages and otherwise obliterates everything in its path. To me, the music of Led Zeppelin is like a roving gang of vikings, sweeping through villages on immense riffs; crushing buildings with colossal and destructive drums; seizing and boning your women with the help of screeching vocals, really tight jeans and a bulging crotch; and then, when it seems that there is nothing left to do but pull a General Sherman and burn that bitch to the ground, as the unstoppable force leaves town, they drink all your JD. Fuckers.

Until this past weekend I had found but one band that played no-nonesense, balls-to-the-wall, Zepp-esque music: Rose Hill Drive. If you haven't heard these dudes, you have no choice but to start listening ... now! (Go here to get your listen on)

This weekend I was fortunate enough to be reading glidemagazine.com's Top 20 albums of 2006 and decided that "Wolfmother" sounded like an awesome and potentially skull-owning band, so I legally "happened" upon their album and was blown away. At the risk of pulling another of my famous "White Stripes" episodes (I had never heard of the White Stripes until 4 months ago. After hearing them and being pretty impressed, I thought I'd let a few of my closest confidants in on this great "new" band I'd just stumbled upon. As it turns out, I think I was the only person on the face of the earth not to have heard of the White Stripes by summer '06. Evidently I need to get out of my cave more often), if you've never heard of Wolfmother, get on that shit ASAP. If my telling youse to listen to this great new band Wolfmother is like saying "you should really check out this new band The Rolling Stones," then you can lick my grundle. Either way, just fucking listen.

In keeping with my policy of no album reviews, I'll just say that they're definitely a viking power trio, and listening to them on Christmas eve night left my brain raped and pillaged, which is just the way St. Nick likes it.

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On to football.

Christ. I don't think I've ever seen a professional football team play as poorly as the Gmen did this weekend. That was scary bad. I'm not even going to rant and fume about how I'm tired of Tiki and Shockey, how Coughlin and his band of merry retards needs to go, and how Eli just stinks. Well, there you go, I just did.

The 4:00 game in the tri-state area was Cincinnati at Denver ... in the fucking snow. Booyah! Does it get any better than Christmas Eve, egg-nog w/ rum, a dank cheese h'orderve prepared by Mama Prukaz, and playoff atmosphere football in the snow? Nope. Damn, this game had it all: huge hits, a sick int from the only shutdown corner left in the NFL, an awesome late-game drive by probably the best young QB in the league, one of the classic blunders in all of sports and, oh yeah, snow. Man, if I was a Broncos fan I'd have an enormous boner for Jay Cutler; that kid's gonna be the shit.

As for the Jets/Fins game, well, that was maybe the most boring game of football I've ever seen. I guess I have to give credit where it's due, so kudos to the Jets for likely vaulting themselves into the playoffs. But I don't think there has been a more boring successful team than this year's Jets; it's like watching a bunch a' guys in green running through molasses. And if I was a receiver for the Jets, I'd kick Chad Sexington's ass--there's not a QB in this league who leaves his WRs more vulnerable to getting anniahlated by defensive backs than the Rhodes scholar. Get some mustard on that ball, Chad.

Oh, and let's all give a round of applause to the winner of AndyWon'tYouBrownBagMe II fantasy football: The Gambler. His Madden Curse squadron led by the real Manning and junk-food eatin' Marvin Harrison defeated Crablefarts' Steel Enima for the league title. Enjoy that loot, Mr. Gambler. I guess I'll let you buy me a beer at Langerado.

Werd.