For months, it's felt like we've been anticipating the birth of a monster, or at the very least, a mildly nuanced, literate version of a Muppet Baby. Whether the arrival of Nothing Was The Same was being accompanied by thinkpieces about postpartum depression or set up for us in GIFs or worse yet, expressed through a pre-anticipatory trend-watch over at The Grey Lady, no matter if we liked it or not, Drake's third album delivered what it promised—a change that wasn't just driven by moon cycles and tectonic shifts. I've heard it said that the one constant in life is change, and Drake has attempted to shake up a lot in his third outing, which is a strange accomplishment to undergo as our government shuts down and the Impose fantasy league takes off. Needless to say, whether you are changed forever, or changed not at all, September was a helluva month—and it's beginning to make us think that really nothing can ever be the same. (Or can it? Because history repeats itself and is by and large a social construct? And life is more or less meaningless when it comes down to the true brass tacks? No? Okay.)
Grand Theft Blotto Cinqo
This was the month of the arrival of Grand Theft Auto V, and as if to meet on some level of zeitgeist beyond even our wildest teenage dreams, many an adult male spent the release tuning into the new Drake record while jettisoning off highways in stolen—yet animated—vehicles. A fever pitch of football season beginning, Drake showing up to make us miss our ex-girlfriends, and the ability to take a selfie in the fifth edition of the wildly popular racing video game, September met at a miraculous head this month to make us continously have to look to see which orafice fluids were leaking out of this time.
The Arcade Fire demand we reflect on a time when arcades were at risk of being set on fire
I don't spend a lot of time trying to understand Satanists or Canadians, but I'm pretty certain the message The Arcade Fire were trying to deliver in their promotional stunt for their latest record, Reflektor, was that they are both. Included in their lengthy campaign months in advance of the record's release were twisted versions of cryptograms, as well as Twitter messages (commonly understood as the primary social media tool of Beezlebub) to strangers, that all cumulated in an appearance on SNL. The only thing that was proven here is that Canadians are too soft for Satanism—if we had some Americans on this shit, there would at least be some blood on the walls.
Zachary Cole Smith too broke to buy Kurt Cobain's house
Kurt Cobain's childhood home (complete with Holly Hobbie dolls and soft flannel linens) was put on the market this month and the saddest part of all wasn't that there is nothing sacred and no level of sentimentality too deep-reaching to become untouchable, but that Zachary Cole Smith, frontman of Nirvana cover band DIIV, didn't have enough money to buy it. We'd have to assume that bailing himself out of jail for a few brushups with the law recently might have had something to do with that, but just a hunch.
Steve Albini won't be paid for publishing his Nirvana In Utero agreement
While the industry sorts out the paperwork and technology for a Kurt Cobain hologram at Coachella 2014, there's no finer interim nostalgia capitol than to unearth suspiciously fresh pages of paper detailing the agreement between Nirvana and producer Steve Albini to record In Utero. Yes, it was that early Nineties year when Steve Albini was the exact same person he is today (probably writing the same damn letters) but this one happened to be mailed to a band celebrating its 20th Anniversary of its final album with a Super Deluxe 70-track vinyl reissue. If these photos of the agreement weren't taken at the Rock N Roll Hall Of Fame, somebody's fucking up. Oi!
Kanye West knows his memes
Forget Good Guy Greg. Put Sudden Clarity Clarence out to pasture. Hell, even if you're feeling particularly jaunty, you could forgo ever touching Strutting Leo to express how little fucks you give ever, ever again. Why? Because Kanye West, in one fell swoop to retaliate against now sworn enemy Jimmy Kimmel, delivered the be-all-end-all of memes in a Twitter spew lashing out against the comedian, as a response to a skit Kimmel had done to spoof West. If the Yeezy Meme-Gate has brought us anything, it is a reaffirmed joy in the shallowness of life. If Kanye knows what a meme is, then maybe we all aren't alone after all. And Kimmel is a soft snore anyway. We only wish meme-ifying someone made them disappear instead.
The Weeknd's missing "e" found in a red light district whorehouse and at the end of the word "contraceptive"
We've been wondering for years where the third and most important vowel in The Weeknd's moniker has been hiding, and in a big reveal to accompany the release of his forthcoming record, Smooch Town, it was announced that you'll find it doused in lube. Always an advocate of anonymous sex, but never before a grandstander for the safe variety, The Weeknd's Abel Tesfaye is giving attendees of his upcoming tour branded condoms with his album's artwork on it. The free condom delivery only makes us wonder, though—why not name the record Sex Land instead?
M.I.A. vs. The NFL
The NFL has more money than our government, yet it wants MIA to pay it 1.5 Million for "damages" after she gave the middle finger to the camera in her limited role in Madonna's half-time performance in 2012. Here's a list of damages an NFL player can inflict that incur fines (all figures minimum):
Physical contact with an official: $26, 250
Striking/Kneeing an opponent: $7,875
Horse Collar: $15, 750
Spearing Defenseless Player: $21,000
Excessive Profanity: $10,500