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Beatz By The Pound brings you your daily dose of house, disco, techno, and electroid information, straight from the mouths of the dedicated dancers, vinylphiles, and enthusiasts whose lives march to the constant pulse of the mighty bass drum. Join us for a trip through a clubgoing nation that celebrates a music that's without beginning and without end, equally hedonistic and introspective, sexual and spiritual, snobby and communal, and always misunderstood by someone.

"Your simplicity will quench the driest soul." - Teena Marie
"There is no music after techno." - Wolfgang Voigt

Stylus’ international assault on the art of the pop single has transmogrified itself into a daily blog format. From Monday to Friday, the Jukebox's eyes and ears will cast themselves over the latest singles from across the globe, then rate them out of ten. From Akon to Zdenka Predna, Alan Jackson to Shiina Ringo, MCR to UGK, Bersuit Vergarabat to Bertine Zetlitz—let’s get ready to agree to disagree.

As Andrew ponders the nightlife and various scenes that surround him in New York City, he concludes that he's far better off with Intensities in Ten Suburbs. Join The Good Dr. as he contemplates why Crank was snubbed at the Oscars, why the US government has still yet to launch a counter-attack at the UK for last year's Blunt Invasion, and why he can't remember the name of his 12th grade English teacher but does remember all the words to the Old Navy Performance Fleece jingle. Time to get a watch.
Lizzyville

Elizabeth + Colville = Lizzyville (because 'col' is French for 'white trash.') Lizzyville's a town in your mind, bookmarked on your 'puter, where the mayor is cruel, kind, musical, poetical, rantical, not all that radical. Tastemaker, borrower and stealer, enfin, a blogger on a quest; a lifelong courtship with music writ in 12 pt Times New Roman c/o Typepad. Citizen of many lands, AKA nowhere woman, there for you with songs, tears, feathers and claws. Penchant for electronic & folk & all things rock. Even Third Eye Blind. That is to say, much love; a pinch of yeesh; an eyebrow raise.

"Criticism must talk the language of artists. For the terms of the cenacle are slogans. And only in slogans is the battle-cry heard." -- W. Benjamin

At age four, Mike watched the video for Michael Jackson's "Thriller" on MTV while sitting in his father Tim's lap over Halloween weekend. Peanut Butter Words is, at its essence, devoted to the endless unraveling of that moment—the revelation of Jackson's lunar transformation, the fear of the werewolf Jackson, the comfort of father Tim's lap, the flight from the lap into the cold world of personal growth and understanding. Peanut Butter Words takes fingers for tongs and second skin for sanitary gloves. Peanut Butter Words is also about girls and the obfuscation of girl-related rhetoric.

What is cinema?—art or entertainment? Plastic or dynamic? Capitalist or socialist? Not that any of this matters, but at The Children of Marx and Coca-Cola Dave Micevic attempts to articulate the medium’s polarization anyway. Needlessly subjecting himself to the lowest dregs of cinematic expression, only to counter them with the timeless classics of its undisputed masters both new and old. Think of it as a testament to cinema’s ongoing integrity, or a mocking acceptance of its failings.
The Cure for Bedbugs

Playground and thought dump for the assorted musings, gripes, theories, and failed punchlines of Stylus's teenpop correspondent and his upstaging peanut gallery (which could use more peanuts). Join us as we tirelessly fight against the War on Lindsay, champion Bolton, Canada's reigning bubblegum brainiac (pictured above), and get otherwise all riled up about Ashlee and Aly & AJ and all of the rest.

The idea behind Trouble With Classicists is to provide a forum for the sketches, songs, and other various works in progress of Matthew Weiner — not only a window into the creative process but to present a series of snapshots in motion. Each night he works, he posts the results as mp3’s, as they develop, so the listener can hear songs as parts are added and subtracted, changed and re-worked, and so forth.
World of Wümme

“Teenagers Unite” is the permanent mantra heard in the World of Wümme, for though we age gracefully and our tastes become more refined, we forever cling to that 18 to 35 demographic until we choke out our last breath. If anything, this blog is a resource for young soldiers fighting a daily culture war on the streets. It’s a document filled with detailed tactics and strategy handed down to future generations aimed at creating a brave new world. We have a responsibility to reverse the predictions of an Orwellian fate and to build, to unleash a vertical proliferation of kaleidoscopic colors and deafening sound.
 
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