nick sylvester = maker upper

Prove it.

In one of the first "concept" reviews at Pitchfork, and one of my first for the site in general, I review Hello Nasty. I make some stupid Tibet joke, give it an 8.5...

It is not mentally possibly for me to switch on apathy towards the group-- and immediately hate this record because the Beastie Boys associate themselves with pricks like Steve Martin and his sycophantic fleet of product pushers who fail to see the benefit of funny, creative magazine pieces.

don't ask me, ask vice president mccain.

So you've been to SEA?

1. journalists
2. harvard graduates
3. people who know you're not supposed to lie in articles

Here the offense kind of stems from private "You should be giving ME a break!!!" thoughts.

course if he'd not used Lookner's name the transgression might have slipped under the radar.

[intertitle]
Village Voice Offices
New York City
March 1, 2006

[fade in with v.o.]
Doug Simmons: It's a tough time for everybody right now. We're just going to take this one step at a time.
Chuck Eddy: Bob and I understand the position he's put us in.
Robert Christgau: It's really unfortunate. The boy showed such promise. So humorous.
Eddy: Smart as a whip.
Simmons: Adorable, too. Okay, let me go call back those Gawker assholes. They just won't quit.
[exit Simmons]
Eddy: Well, you must be pleased, Bob.
Christgau: Chuck, Doug's gone now.
Eddy: Oh, sorry... Dean Christgau.
Christgau: That's better. Now let's get down to fucking business. First thing, any new threats on the radar?
Eddy: Nothing, Dean Christgau.
Christgau: What about this Seward character?
Eddy: Scott's a good guy. He's a big Aerosmith fan.
Christgau: Right. Doesn't sound like anything that's going to excite these New Times fags. Fucking Cohen. Fucking... rat... bastard....
[Christgau gets a faraway look in his eyes]
Christgau: That is a step on which I must fall down, or else o'erleap, for in my way it lies... Stars, hide your fires... let not light see my black and deep desires...
Eddy: Dean Christgau?
Christgau: My apologies! Thinking out loud again. What's going on with Pitchfork?
Eddy: Schreiber's in. He wanted to be a hardass at first, but once he saw the pictures we had of him with the dog, he folded like a little girl. Sylvester's out.
Christgau: Excellent. When we're fucking done with him, Sylvester won't be able to write graffiti. That reminds me, hold on.
[Christgau turns to computer, logs onto ILM, types message]

Hey assholes, looks like your little buddy's career is going down the tubes! Amirite?

-- Dom Passantino ([email protected]), March 1st, 2006.

Eddy: I still don't understand why you do that.
Christgau: Psyops. I'm trying to send Clover around the bend. Alright, let's check in with the secret weapon, shall we?
[Christgau hits the speakerphone and dials number; phone rings, then -- ]
Tom Smith: What's up, bitch?
Christgau: Hello, Tom. It's Bob and Chuck. You're on speakerphone.
Smith: Oh, hey Dino, hey Chuck.
Christgau: Just following up on a job well done. Chuck read me your posting - it was an impressive takedown. Bravo! Breathtaking! A million thanks.
Smith: No worries, man. Nothing hurts like leaked e-mail.
Christgau: I'm pleased to report things are continuing to develop in a promising direction here.
Smith: Hey, I don't need a degree in Ethics to know he's fucked.
[all laugh]
Christgau: Great, great. How's the album coming?
Smith: Awesome. Last night we took all the grounds off the equipment and recorded our own electrocutions. It was fucking sweet.
Christgau: Well, we appreciate what you've done for us. I think you're going to have a good semester, Tom. I predict an A+ for Editors.
Smith: Uh, don't you mean "from the editors?"
Christgau: No, no, for Editors. Your band, Editors.
Smith: This is Tom Smith. From To Live And Shave In LA? You know, crazy noise dude? Motherfuck a zeitgeist!
[Christgau mutes phone]
Christgau: What the fuck is going on here?
[Eddy shrugs. Christgau unmutes.]
Christgau: Sorry, Tom. You'll have to allow an old man his lapses... just get your CD to Chuck and he'll take care of everything.
Smith: OWWW! FUCK!
Christgau: Hello?
Smith: FUCK! FUCKING CRACK WHORE! SHIT!
Christgau: Are you alright Tom?
Smith: I... I gotta situation here, Dino. I'm gonna have to... FUCK!
[click]
Christgau: He's an odd duck. What's the latest off the wire?
Eddy: The story's selling like hotcakes. Drudge, The Times, Boston Globe, NPR. We're still talking to CNN. The bloggers are going nuts.
[Christgau bangs desk with a fist]
Christgau: Hot damn! Wait until we unload the video of Nick lip-synching to Skrewdriver.
Eddy: Just, uh, one small problem.
Christgau: Well?
Eddy: ILMers are comparing him to Swift and Twain. We could have some kind of grassroots revolution on our hands here. He's like the Che Guevara of satire.
[Christgau rises out of his chair]
Christgau: What did you just say to me? Fuck ILM! Fuck them right in the bloghole! Sylvester's a fucking bug! A cockroach! I'm going to scrape him off my shoe! He cried, Chuck, we made him cry. I've never heard a more... pleasurable sound.
[Christgau removes his glasses and leans forward intently]
Christgau: Look, I've been doing this a long, long time. In some industries, men have to fucking claw and scratch their way to the top of the pile. In this business, I AM the fucking pile. Do you understand? And I'm not about to let a little ass-kissing Harvard entitlement pissant like Sylvester get in the way. I haven't decried the hegemony of white privilege in music for 30 years so he can waltz in here and treat rappers like dancing monkeys for the pleasure of those New Times whores of Babylon! I see the writing on the wall! This is war. "Men rise from one ambition to another; first, they seek to secure themselves against attack, then they attack others." Do you know who said that, Chuck?
Eddy: Umm... Slayer! No, wait… Varg Vikernes?
Christgau: Ah, Chuck. How you amuse me.
Eddy: Is all this really necessary, Dean Christgau? I mean, Nick's just a kid... an adorable kid.
Christgau: Oh, shut up, Chuck.
Eddy: I just think -
Christgau: Shut up, Chuck.
Eddy: - what we're -
Christgau: Shut up, Chuck.
Eddy: - it's -
Christgau: Shut up, Chuck.
Eddy: Okay.
Christgau: Just leave the thinking to me, and everything will be alright.
[long pause]
Christgau: Lunch?
Eddy: Sbarro?
Christgau: Let's do it.
[fade out]