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Recent Articles
Recent Articles by Rob Harvilla
The VH saga continues. Welcome to Chapter IV, the Peppermint Patty years.
In Defense of the Genre
J Records
A look inside the mind of a crazed/brilliant R&B lothario.
Friday, April 20, Gothic Theatre, 1-866-468-7621.
What you need to know to be in the know.
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National Features >
SF Weekly
A blogger steals someone else's life story and calls it her own.
By Ashley Harrell
Miami New Times
The family of a dead judge blames a creeping fungus in the federal courthouse.
By Tim Elfrink
The Pitch
I worked at Kmart with John McCain's director of strategy.
By Alan Scherstuhl
Say Anything
Friday, April 20, Gothic Theatre, 1-866-468-7621.
Published on April 19, 2007
Say Anything's ...Is a Real Boy is the absolute zenith of MySpace-era pop punk. Deranged and volatile, with psychotically catchy choruses and anthemic chants and million-dollar hooks bursting in every direction, it's ten pounds of psycho in a five-pound bag. Fueled by Max Bemis's very public emotional struggles -- he's bipolar, which has caused the abrupt cancellation of several lucrative tours -- ...Is a Real Boy has that self-immolating glow of crazed near-genius. Bemis plays most of the instruments that aren't drums and enlists howling Greek choruses of multi-tracked Maxes to shout behind him, an endlessly surging army of glorious narcissism. The lyrics dwell on self-medication, self-loathing, self-pity and self-gratification. Every song sounds 8,000 feet tall. This is the album Weezer would've made next if everyone had loved Pinkerton when it first came out.