What the hale betch?

I was waiting for the light to change on Apache and Normal. I was waiting like a regular human. There were no flashing neon signs or whirlwinds of glitter or totally awesome backup dancers. However, little me, standing on the street corner, minding her own business, attempting to block the indecisive sun from her eyes, was the victim of a yelp-and-run. Now generally speaking, a yelp-and-run consists of a person, typically male, inside a vehicle, more than likely in the passenger side, howling, either words or beastly noises at an innocent pedestrian lady. Well, I know what you're thinking: I'm simply projecting my love for the TLC classic "No Scrubs" onto myself in a sort of sick and twisted way. But man oh man do you have it wrong. Today a gentleman, perhaps an ungentleman, stuck his head out of his car window, eyed his prey, commonly known as me, and from his mouth sprang forth these words: "THERE IS A GOD!" All right, I mean, people yell weird things at me occasionally, but I don't think I've ever inspired pure, unadulterated faith. This being said, I should probably get myself to a nunnery. Okay, seriously, I know I'm too attractive to be a nun. Calm down. Alas, this brings me to my burning question: Am I a "Monet?" If you have ever seen the movie "Clueless," as I have more times than I can count, you will recall that the main character, Cher, classifies her arch nemesis, Amber, as a "Monet." In case you aren't hip to the Beverly Hills jive, a "Monet" is a lady who can only be admired from a distance because up close she is a big old mess. Although I think I'm just as lovely up close, perhaps I'm messy in a more figurative sense. Messy like complicated, as opposed to poorly dressed. I've concluded that I am in fact some breed of "Monet" because those from afar, like our newest member of the iheartgodclub, fear me not, but the nearer in proximity, the more fuzzy/splotchy/unclear things become. I find this revelation mighty fascinating and thought I'd share it. Basically, epiphanies are weird; that's all.

Phantom Punch
Sondre Lerche
Norwegian songbird Sondre Lerche unleashed his inner tough guy with his fourth studio album Phantom Punch. Although delectable theoretically, Lerche cannot hide that his caged beast is more housecat than wildcat.
“Airport Taxi Reception” is a promising opener, but Lerche’s signature airy vocals are drowned out, while his lyrics lack the quirky sincerity of previous efforts. Phantom Punch’s title track is uneventful, with Lerche ironically growling, “You don’t want to feel the phantom punch.” Unnatural howling and crunchy guitars plague “Face The Blood,” and Lerche ends up sounding more like Green Day than supposed inspiration Elvis Costello.
Within the awkwardness of Phantom Punch, there are glimpses of what Lerche does best. “After All” has a lilting melody and unassuming personality that feels like Two Way Monologues, and the gritty closer “Happy Birthday Girl” exemplifies what Phantom could have been. Nevertheless, these don’t suffice redemption and we don’t want to feel Lerche’s rushed and misguided Phantom Punch.

Friend and Foe
Menomena
Can anyone say no to a Muppet Show allusion? Menomena prove that it’s fundamentally impossible after listening to the groovy pop that saturates the Portland trio’s latest full-length Friend and Foe. The sound achieved is a more danceable Cursive fused with sexy saxophones and vocals reminiscent of a more distorted and breathy John Roderick, of Menomena’s Barsuk label mates The Long Winters.
“Muscle’n Flo” is Friend and Foe’s equivalent of a money shot: staccato drumming, delicate piano and muted coarse guitar melt into a sway-inducing blend of mysterious sweetness. “Boyscout’n” feels fresh, and, if whistling poses a daunting challenge, jealousy of those proficient will overcome you, because the melody is that catchy. Friend and Foe is a seamless expression, worthy of countless replays from start to finish.