1. Sparkle Pony, from the finale of season 1 of Portlandia, featuring Jenny Conlee of The Decemberists.
2. My Pretty Pony, from season 3 of Veronica Mars*, featuring Paul Rudd in a great cameo playing in a clearly grunge-era band attempting to do a resurgence for the millennial generation after a fall-from-grace psychological breakdown.
3. The fictional band in my head (called something like Horse Radish [rad-ish in the tubular sense, that is]) in which we wrote and recorded “Someday I Will Treat You Good” five years before Sparklehorse did.
(*have you not watched Veronica Mars? If you like Party Down, you should watch Veronica Mars. If you don’t like Party Down, get the hell off my wordpress this instant.)
Last weekend's 90s party at the Bell House. Allegedly. (Photos by metromix NY)
On the subject of nostalgia, it was recently brought to my attention (by the aforementioned CDR Radio, of all places) that the ushering in of a new decade this year means one terrifying thing: for the next 10 years, will all be subjected to the 50th anniversaries of everything that happened in the 1960s. Everything baby boomer, all over again, this time gilded with the cheap coat of golden paint that comes at the half-century mark. The Beatles and Vietnam, Camelot and The Graduate, The Sound of Music and bell bottoms, paisley and Dylan, Julie Andrews and Mao Zedong, Philip K. Dick and Dr. Seuss. Basically everything that defined our parents’ generation and set them apart from the blocks of clean-cut, button-down 1950s that framed their upbringing and set up what is probably the first truly iconic, identity obsessed, pop culture generation. It’s the same stuff we’ve been hearing about in repetition for the past 25, 15, 10 years, lauding it over again and again with re-releases, Rock Band memorials, commemorative plates and musical collections sold late at night by actors whose faces were last on TV during the space race.
Suffice it to say, I think we’ve had enough. Continue reading