Here’s a rundown of everything that “happened” on this blog, just in case you were in a coma or unfrozen recently. 2007 was an interesting year, one that will go down in the history books as being one of the worst years of my life for personal reasons. Musically speaking, it fared only slightly better. But I’ll get to that in my next post.

January
Figure skating routines set to the Pipettes and an early wave of Winehousemania (before the drugs, booze, jail, etc. crushed it all). Brown Recluse Sings made their way onto the late, great Veronica Mars, and I professed my love for Yoko Ono’s Yes, I’m A Witch remixes and the new EITS. Somehow, the world cared about my opinion on blipsters — if only because I managed to make the ghost of W.E.B. DuBois sound so badasssss. Tyvek & caUSE co-MOTION! played a house in South Philly and it was really fun. I finished my graduate school applications right around the same time as Blades of Glory started doing press, and I freaked at the similarities between the film and my EMP from the year prior.

February
I braved the inaugural PhillySoundClash, which was so bad it justified drinking and the eventual hangover. This year I am planning a fruit-pelting session, like the ones they hold in Ivrea, Italy every year. I did my first-ever “Lovers Rock” Valentine’s Day show and it was a lot of fun. What can I say, it was a short month.

March
I saw Blades of Glory, was very unimpressed. I wrote about Narthex’s still amazing and totally essential “Noise In My Pocket” over at PaperThinWalls and made the weakest attempt at making a NCAA tournament bracket. In one week I heard the Feelies’ in a Volvo commercial and wrote about Blues Control (who are playing, this Sunday 1/6 at Big Jar — no snoozin’ kids, OK?) for the City Paper. I became openly hostile and angry upon learning Veronica Mars was getting the axe. HJ celebrated it’s 1000th post; a statistically low number considering I’ve had a blog since 1999. Last but not least, I welcomed the Calc-U-Phone into my life and cried my way through Marissa & Kara’s Sassy book.

April
In this month I covered a yawnariffic Spoon concert for Pitchfork and was nearly booted out of the club in the process, and was utterly dismayed by the new Mary Timony album. Skaters championed for more hip-hop in the sport and I laughed at their weak attempts to contemporize. (That’s probably not a real word, but hey, fuck you it’s my blog.) Tritone’s owner, Rick D, unexpectedly passed away and I still don’t believe it actually happened. I also covered the inaugural Popped! festival for the City Paper blog and lost a lot of valuable sleep time in the process. I still keep on reminding myself to mail the issue of SPIN with Modest Mouse on the cover to my parents, since it’s probably the only time my photographs will ever grace its pages.

May
Cat Macros finally broke through the HJ bubble in this month, and I came clean about my constant desire to listen to AC/DC. Fellow MHS alums Roadside Graves found their way onto the pages of Pitchfork; next to David Copperfield, Robert Hegyes and Lonnie Price, it was nice to see someone from my godforsaken town finally “making it.” I got really excited about the Budos Band, White Denim, Silver Daggers, and indie rock oldies such as Noise Addict and September 67. A panel on radio featuring Jerry Blavat and others confirmed my suspicions that radio today keeps young people at an arm’s length or more. I was enraged to find out Gossip Girl would replace VM on the CW network schedule; little did I know I would become addicted to the show months later.

June
For some insanely stupid reason that I’ll never comprehend, even with the help of hypnotherapy, I entered a blogging contest and wound up covering shows for Billboard this summer. I saw Superchunk, made fun of the shitty press release for the new Magik Markers album (c’mon, you know it was baaaad), and non-plussed my way through the new Spoon album. Even with all this excitement, I still managed to hold down a summer assistantship, some part-time work at WPRB, my regular job and got into grad school. I’m kind a great like that.

July
Happy Birthday! Ingmar Bergman, along with other cinema greats, is dead. The Oxford Collapse played McCarren Park on my birthday and I got waaaaasted. I am now ready to apologize for any inappropriate behavior displayed on that particular day. I went to the Pitchfork Music Festival but could not find solace in the free ice cream or shady backstage area. My First World Problems subsided when I went to Svea and ate salt pork. I arrived home to find my landlord had died the same weekend, setting off a chain of ridiculous personal life events that I won’t begin to mention on the blog.

August
I started grad school and got pissed when American Idol rejects decided to crash karaoke. I also called out a crappy R.J. Reynolds-sponsored concert with Dinosaur Jr, but it would be months before bitching about tobacco companies meddling in indie rock became a cause celebré. Aesop Rock sent me a customized CD, with my name poorly pronounced and all. How cute! I finally heard Tegan & Sara’s “Back In Your Head” and I haven’t stopped playing daily since.

September
BCO had an amazing thread about West Philly fan fiction and I became an expert on the Meg White $3x t4p3. Clockcleaner and Paul F Tompkins made me laugh. Pilam held its first rave since the 90’s. Regarding that decade, I realized it was best summed up in short bursts of two-word phrases. Also: more rave.

October
And more rave, but this time I was a DJ at one. Yeah, I’m still as confused as you are. I also came to the realization that A Place To Bury Strangers is only loud if you’re a gigantic fucking pussy. Despite the fuck-ton of homework, I actually managed to take a vacation to Vermont. [Best New Foliage], believe the hype. WPRB ushered in a new era with its first-ever fund drive and succeeded beyond its wildest expectations. Seriously the best week of WPRB I’ve ever had.

November
Kinski blew an audience of 12 away at Johnny Brenda’s, Alan Licht read at work the same night. I got to read an advance of No Wave and ignore the uncharacteristically shitty review it received in The Wire: this book is worth it. Ned came with me to WPRB for a show, and I lost a dollar in a bet over the correct pronounciation of Sonic Unyon. (Ned, I’m still waiting for my rematch. You’re going down, punk.) I stumbled upon the kinda-sorta lost Constantines video for “Young Lions,” and holy fucking shit I still can’t believe that I saw Pylon in concert. I fell in love with Love, Fluxus by HollAND and broke up with Project Runway.

December
Oh, come on. Like you don’t know. I covered Seal’s ice skating event for Idolator and crushed over Redd Kross circa ‘82. When I wasn’t fighting on the internets, I was data-crunching and paper-writing — two things I never did as an undergrad. Also, I told you to vote for Mister Splashy Pants, ’cause it was the true and right thing to do. And then I just stopped posting because I was either too sick (whee!), busy with holiday crap or watching Yacht Rock 11.

This entry was posted on Friday, January 4th, 2008 at 2:13 am and is filed under end of year.