For whatever reason, I have this weekly ritual where the first thing I do after I get off the bus on Thursday mornings is seek out a copy of "The Stranger." It's been this weird thing I've done since 2000, probably because I'm no doubt a creature of habit. Yet week after week, I find myself reading "The Stranger" less and less. It still takes up space on my desk, but for the most part, I'll glance over upcoming shows and DVD reviews. The only columns I go out of my way to read are Dan Savage's "Savage Love" and Steven Humphrey's "I Heart TV." The rest of the paper is just bunch of jumbled crap with interesting pieces buried within.
I think the final straw was trying to read about the progress about the new Vera Project, which seemed more like an ad for a venue I didn't really care for to begin with. Also trying to read Eric Grandy's (aka DJ Fucking in the Streets -- his name, not mine for him) eponymous column is a chore. It actually reminds me of these writer "exercises" that my friend Patrick and I used to do in which we'd randomly select an artist or band and try to make them sound like they were changing popular music with some vague adjectives.
For example:
Patrick: Dose One
Ryan: Dose One takes the esoteric nature of college rap and pairs it with a street savvy hint of intellect.
See, it's dumb. It's the kind of crap you'd read in Pitchfork, but for whatever reason, Grandy's writing style, albeit a little less hyperbolic, is like that.
Additionally, I feel like I've been reading about the same bands over and over again. You know, I do like Kane Hodder, but it seems that whenever they have a show, they have to be covered. Seriously, we know the band is good, but they don't need to be in every damn issue.
I think I've felt this way about "The Stranger" for a long time, but the reality is that it really is the lesser of evils as far as local publications are concerned. I suppose I could read the "Seattle Weekly," but I'm not an affluent DMB jockey with money to burn. I could read "Exotic Underground," but I have too much self-respect. So there it is, "The Stranger," the paper that I'll think of as "never being as good as 'The Rocket,'" yet I'll carry on my weekly rituals because I just don't know any better.
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