So there I was, just golfing and shit, then this lady jump kicks me in the stomach. Good thing my hat stayed on, though.

So there I was, just golfing and shit, then this lady jump kicks me in the stomach. Good thing my hat stayed on, though.

Looking back, I’m glad we went all out for our wedding. I’ve never looked better.


PARAMORE’s 4th Album is a Love Letter to Handjobs and Cyndi Lauper.

Contrary to popular belief, I am NOT a teenage girl. My apologies to all the cool, older men who frequent this tumblr in the hopes of one day bedding me in the parking lot behind SUBWAY (eat fresh)… I am almost positive that probably won’t happen. Sorry.


My lack of vagina aside, I’m a HUGE “P-nut” (P-nut of course being the name that all hardcore Paramore fans call themselves). I’ve followed Paramore’s career from album one all the way until now and by “followed” I mean “listened to their music and saw the topless picture of the lead singer, Hayley Williams, when a friend texted it to me”, so I guess you could call me a full-fledged P-nut. All jokes aside and MUCH to the dismay of my wife and man friends, I LOVE this band.


Released just one week ago, PARAMORE’s self titled fourth album is a definite departure from their familiar, only-kinda-gay sound and stands as a testament which proudly blazes a defiant path directly into the mouth of super gay. Lead singer, Hayley immediately disappoints fans with her new haircut. Had they spent the time and money on actual cover art versus the awkward, colored chalk-dust smeared photo of the three original band members which comprise “Paramore”, we as fans would have enjoyed the music that much more, imagining the little pixie as her somewhat attractive former self. Instead, those with eyes to see are doomed to have their listening experience forever tainted by the trauma of Williams’ selfishness. So, if keeping score as you read this review: off to a bad start, Paramore.


The album opens with the track Fast in My Car, a song that sets the tone for the entire record. It’s very stupid. As a parent, I’m both shocked and infuriated by the band’s unabashed support of lawlessness as Williams boasts “We’re driving fast in my car”. You know who else liked driving fast in their car? Princess Diana, you reckless assholes. And just LOOK where she is now! Dead. It’s that kind of album, concerned adults. The chorus is super catchy and incredibly satisfying to sing while only wearing socks, driving your car fast.


The second track is called NOW and was released as the first single.  NOW is possibly the worst song on the album (next to all the ukulele bullshit). It earns that honor just 5 seconds into the piece with a complete, a-tonal and entirely off-putting screech by the singer, cautioning some unknown person or creature (possibly a large spider) “Don’t try to take this from me, don’t try to take this from me. Now-ow-ow-ow, ow-ow”. The aforementioned “this” she’s referencing? One can only assume that she’s talking about a beer-battered TWINKIE as the rest of the song is about carnival food.


I love this album, don’t get me wrong. Highlights are Ain’t it Fun, Part II and Proof- three songs that swim the listener through a sea of gospel and new wave; nearly sucking them down into the Mariana Trench of white kid reggae and POP. But none of that matters because somehow, trapped about halfway down the track list is the greatest song ever written. Of all time. Ever. Still Into You.  


Still Into You is the reason for this review. Never before has one piece of music inspired me so much as to write an album review. Search the internet, my private notebook collection and even the recesses of my mind and you will NOT find a single album review ever written by this old shit, or by me, Gabe Martinez. Go ahead, I’ll wait.


Having both a masters in music theory and classical composition, I’m well aware of the individual components that comprise this particular piece of music and they aren’t revolutionary. They aren’t even original! Still Into You is 80s synth-pop’s mug shot after a serious night of binge drinking with No Doubt, spray painting with DEVO, date-raping a younger AND older Cyndi Lauper then finishing it all off by gently putting a big toe in the butthole of Paramore’s last record. However, when you ProTools the whole mess together you get the MOST catchy, feel-good piece of sweet-sixteen greatness that this world will EVER know. The song is SO GAY but the video is EVEN GAYER (go watch it. I dare you not to start antiquing). My goodness! Perez Hilton was overheard calling it “faggy” while having sex with eleven Jamaican men on the production floor of a dildo factory. In SAN FRANCISCO! That’s how gay Still Into You is and son of a BITCH do I LOVE it.


You’re asking, why is it gay? What’s your problem? Consider the first verse where the singer talks about her hands. One simply can’t count the years wherein she’s been with her love (the noun that she’s presumably singing to throughout the whole song). Why not use her other hand to help with the task? Because, “I need the other one to hold you. Make you feel, make you feel better.” It’s WAY too busy administering a constant flurry of hand jobs. This song, like most songs on Paramore’s current offering is all about jacking off a dude. Still Into You is the ULTIMATE bait and switch, tricking your brain/very being into loving and repeatedly singing the SHIT out of a catchy tune that is all about hand servicing a teenage boy in a dimly lit Laundromat.


Exhibit 2? The lyric “and even after all this time, I’m into you” clear as a bell. Hand jobs. I rest my case.


Buy this album and listen to it while your life completely falls apart because it surely will, due to your neglect. Because you will ignore everything else on planet Earth when you hear Hayley Williams and her team of spungos bounce their witchcraft around the cockles of your soul.


********* Nine Stars out of Five

The President and Vice President of Mexico offering their thoughts on Obama’s State of the Union

The President and Vice President of Mexico offering their thoughts on Obama’s State of the Union