The Decemberists

Venus: "Colin Meloy discusses the perils of narrative songwriting, the political implications of making a war-themed album, and how fatherhood has affected his music by Ann Friedman The story goes that a poor Japanese man heals an injured crane he finds one day after a storm. Shortly thereafter, a woman appears on his doorstep, and they fall in love and marry. His wife offers to support them by weaving beautiful silk fabric to sell at the market, but only if the man promises never to watch her work. They make enough money to live comfortably, yet the husband greedily pushes his wife to weave more and more, oblivious to the fact that her health is deteriorating. Ultimately, the man gives into temptation and peeks behind the curtain in her weaving room. There he sees a crane sitting at the loom, plucking feathers from her body and weaving them into silk. The crane sees him, flies away, and never returns. Something about this simple tale resonated with the Decemberists’ Colin Meloy, who first read the story at a Portland bookstore several years ago and knew immediately that he wanted to write a song about it. Meloy eventually spun the folktale into several songs that mark the beginning and end of the Decemberists’ fourth full-length album, The Crane Wife. With several tracks that soar past the 10-minute mark, The Crane Wife isn’t exactly what you’d expect from a major-label debut (the band recently defected from longtime label Kill Rock Stars to join Capitol Records). The album has the familiar cast of characters and lit-major lyrics, but the sound — equal parts Steely Dan, Yes and Portland indie — marks a departure from the band’s previous efforts with its unapologetically gloomy tone. I called Meloy at his home in Portland, two days before he was set to embark on a national tour."

I am better than your kids.

If you work in an office with lots of people, chances are that you work with a person who hangs pictures up that their kids have drawn. The pictures are always of some stupid flower or a tree with wheels. These pictures suck; I could draw pictures much better. In fact, I can spell, do math and run faster than your kids. So being that my skills are obviously superior to those of children, I've taken the liberty to judge art work done by other kids on the internet. I'll be assigning a grade A through F for each piece: You spelled America wrong asshole. Also, I could have sworn America's colors were red, white and blue. There's no yellow anywhere, traitor.