Greetings, comrades on the left coast,

I hope your homes have not caught on fire and that your governor is not an asshat. Will I settle for one out of two? Yes indeed!

Have the journalists developed a catchy word for gimmick-rock yet? Do you even know what I mean when I say "gimmick-rock"? It's like the proverbial good art, you know it when you see it, and the gimmickry of the gimmick is noteworthy enough to surpass the music itself in most discussions. I don't just mean "pre-fab" or "premeditated," as in media-ready boybands. Examples:

Gimmick: Hot Russian lesbians (T.A.T.U.)
Gimmick: Hot Japanese cartoons (Puffy AmiYumi)
Gimmick: Nakedness, cowboy hat (the Naked Cowboy)

Y'know, it's their gimmick, it's their thing, their schtick. Now, I am totally opposed to this gimmick-rock. Totally opposed. It's gone way too far. But I'll make an exception for Bling Kong, whom I was reminded of the other night when I ran into Cocksucker at the deli on 7th Ave. (I am not a journalist. I did not notice what he was buying.)

Bling Kong began, as these things so often do, as a joke ("I know, let's have a band with, like, twelve people... cheerleaders... Cocksucker... heh hehh... let's write songs about, like, how awesome we are and then... yeah. Cheerleaders"). Gimmickry? Sure. They know it, you know it, I know it, CMJ knew it well enough to invite them to present a panel about the "art of the schtick." However, you should also know that their songs are damn catchy, infectious even, and a feistier, sexier, funnier group of people you will not find on a stage in New York. Their full-length drops like a bushel of bananas on October 18th.

Three hours later, over and out and I'll be back.