Local rockers Shipwreck complete their utter and total domination of the West Coast…
11/14/2007
Mappy wanted to write today’s entry. So here it is:
“01010010100100100100100100010010110101110101011101
101010000101001001001010010010111010100100010101010
100111101010010000101001001000001010111010010010010
010000100111100110100100100101001001010101111010010
010100101010100101010010011100100101010010101001010
10010101010010101010010100100010”
Owned! Face! You gonna take that from a frickin’ robot?
The Outland Ballroom – Springfield, MO
11/15/2007
We’ve decided to write our own press. Seriously, we don’t know if you know this, but the way the biz works is that 1) you must refer to it as “the biz” (or the “biz-nass”) and
2) you hire someone to ask strangers to criticize you.
This person you hire is called a publicist. Hiring a publicist to promote your record is kinda like paying someone to ask a really hot girl to go out with you, when you know damn well that the hot girl will probably 1) ask “Who? Never even heard of him” or 2) say “I only sleep with famous people” or 3) make fun of the size of your penis.*
Anyway, we say fuck it. We say it all the time in fact. “Fuck it” is virtually our motto.
So fuck press. We write our own from now on. Behold!
“Shipwreck’s Rabbit in the Kitchen with a New Dress On is a work of soaring beauty, immense sorrow, and heroic intellectual courage…it is a soul-shaking album.”
–The New Yorker
“Shipwreck’s new album is an 11 out of 10. Yeah, it goes to 11.”
-Pitchfork
“Shipwreck’s live show is a wild and hysterical joyride through the American wasteland high on LSD and Viagra.”
–Better Homes & Gardens
“Shipwreck is my beloved son. I give you RITKWANDO so that sins may be forgiven.”
-Jehovah
See. It ain’t that hard.
*You know what we’re saying, right? We’re not alone here, are we? We aren’t the only band who frequently gets the criticism that our music sounds like it was created by the poorly endowed, right?
Bluebird – St. Louis, MO
11/16/2007
7,000 some odd miles and we’ve managed to avoid any run-ins with the man. Sure, he stopped us at the border patrol in Arizona and we had to get rid of all of the illegal aliens we were coyoting, but that’s expected in our line of work. And we had that brief stand off with the ATF in Central Texas, but we had that coming. But other than that, fuzz-free for the whole trip. That is, until St. Louis, where we got pulled over because we rustled the leaves on the street when we peeled out of a stop going from zero to fifteen in 8.7 seconds. Seriously, the officer told us we rustled the leaves suspiciously. Now admittedly, we don’t have no fancy ass anti-leaf rustling tires, but who can afford those? And they don’t come in dubs. And we don’t roll on anything less than dubs.
Mike and Molly’s – Champaign, IL
11/17/2007
Here we are. We’re almost at the end of our journey. We’ve traveled across many lands and saw a good portion of this great nation of ours. (If you’re reading this in France then take out the phrase “this great nation of ours” and replace it with “the kick ass nation of America which saved our pansy asses in W-W-2.”)
We’d like to say that we saw a million faces and we rocked them all, but frankly, I doubt we saw more than five or six hundred and of those we only rocked about 60%.
But this isn’t just our story. It’s your story, too.
Through this tour diary, you were there with us when we set off through the uninhabited wastelands of Iowa. You were there with us when we played an encore for the orange tree in Oakland. And you were there when we passed through the Swamp of Sorrow where poor Artax drowned. And you were there when we passed through the Southern Oracle and Falcor flew us to the Ivory Tower. And you are here now! As the Nothing approaches! All we need is a new name! Why can’t you believe it? You must save us! Run to the window and yell out our new name!!
—-
You totally did it, didn’t you? You’re such an idiot.
Well, boys and girls, we’ve come to the end of our story, but it wasn’t the end of Shipwreck. No, they went on to have many magical adventures in many fantastic lands.
But that’s a story for next time…
—-
…not really. Seriously, you’re pathetic.