Snobbin: Beautiful Trash in the Pop Culture Gutter

Jets to Brazil always makes me think of fall, changing seasons, and remembrance. I started listening to them at a pivotal moment when I was figuring out my identity and becoming an adult. I had long been a fan of Jawbreaker, and when Black Schwarzenbach started JTB, I went to one of their first national tours in 1998 for Orange Rhyming Dictionary in Milwaukee. They played with Fugazi, Compound Red, and the band I saw play most Milwaukee shows at that time, Promise Ring. It was an amazing show for the most part, and I met Blake before the show. For many Jawbreaker fans, Jets to Brazil took some getting used to, mainly because they toned down the former band's punk tendencies for more indie rock and pop influences. While 1995's  Dear You , Jawbreaker's final record, was moving in this direction, JTB added keyboards and sometimes resembled 1980s bands like The Psychedelic Furs or 1990s indie bands like Wilco more than the punk stylings of many of the Jawbreaker releases, Howev...

When I was in high school, my friends and I used to play pool in my basement. We listened to music and imagined ourselves out of that tiny town, although I do not think any of us had the audacity to picture ourselves as pool sharks, hustling townies for their paychecks. More or less, we imagined ourselves fully grown and living a life that did not include lockers and gym class. The Stray Cats' Built For Speed was one of my favorite albums at the time. I played it countless times during our pool sessions. I vividly remember Brian Setzer's cool vocals rising above the sound of breaks, miscues, and arguments over the kitchen and the granny stick. When I hear the hits, "Rock This Town" and "Stray Cat Strut" on classic rock radio, I always picture that damp basement and group of guys; most of us still hang out from time to time, but I think I'm the only one that regularly spins the Stray Cats. However, my favorite tracks from that album, which were on...

One of the most obnoxious things I have ever done was on Halloween, perhaps in 1995 or 1996. I was sixteen or seventeen years old. Dressed in cheap store-bought monster masks, wearing old jeans and sneakers, my friend Bill and I prowled the streets of my hometown. We terrorized churches, children, and old ladies. We were equal opportunity in those days, relying on our innate sense of indecency. We creepy-crawled that town. Like that scene in Pink Flamingos , when the furniture ejects people because of the sheer badness of  Divine and her twisted family, we meant to be as evil as possible. We ignored the comments that we were too old to be trick or treating. It did not matter that both of us were over six feet tall and Bill weighed over two hundred pounds. We just wanted more candy. We weren't going to take no lip. Forget about the razor blades in the candy, bub. I don't want any more sweet tarts. The mission was fraught with peril. Weirdness abounded at every corner. We gri...