Philadelphia Weekly

"Hipster: twenty-something stroketard whose style of clothing conflicts with their demeanor, thus resulting in a spicy pseudointellectual with more flavor-of-the-month conversations than a Long Island prostitute."

God bless the crazy, malnourished, bespectacled, follically challenged, hipper-than-thou little fucks.

Seriously. All the Pitchfork-addicted, soy-latte-drinking, Vice-reading, "Oh my God, my haircut's so intense and I wish I were in Williamsburg instead of NoLibs ... shit! The New York Times thinks we're the sixth borough-ew! That's, like, so mainstream, I'm outta here"-thinking, Converse-wearing, Silk City-loving, kitsch-obsessed, anally retentive muppets.

If it weren't for these rodent-faced, asexual, John Deere-cap-sporting fashion victims, I wouldn't have a life. Really. In the two long years I've been living in this gorgeous city (and yes, I mean that-you'll find nary a hint of irony in this rant ... or will you?), I've come to realize the hipster kids are my collective nemesis (along with jam-band fans, folky singer/songwriters, Young Republicans and public transport employees). They're the multitudinous Moriarty to my Sherlock Holmes.

It's getting so I can't kick back with a nice warm PBR and a shot at Bob and Barbara's or rifle through the used vinyl section at AKA Music (damn that elusive white-label Liquid Liquid 12-inch-will it ever be mine?) without some weasely wank whining that, like, Franz Ferdinand are so last year, and sneering at my choice of footwear. (For your information, Mr. Fashion Nazi-Dr. Martens are a timeless British fashion classic.)

The withering condescension is bad enough, and God knows I'm guilty of it myself, but what really gets on my tits is the overriding musical and cultural fascism, and the belief that populism is somehow inherently evil.

Don't get me wrong-99.9 percent of mainstream music is vapid, unlistenable dross, but duh! Tell me something I don't know. And yes, the general public are, by and large, subhuman pond scum with no taste, and populism for populism's sake is obviously not a good thing.

But please. Just because a band is on an ultra-obscure indie label doesn't give it instant credibility and/or superior talent. There's a simple reason why a huge number of supposed indie acts (most of whom would secretly suck Satan's festering cock for a major-label deal) remain obscure: because they're mind-numbingly tedious and deadly, deadly dull.

Jeff Fusco

And besides, you're Americans. It doesn't suit you.

Personally, I love all of ABBA's greatest hits (including "Voulez Vouz"), but it's a genuine love, born of an affection for huge, irrepressible, shiny, life-affirming pop, with the kind of hooks that dullards such as Deerhoof/Black Dice/Kimya Dawson (tick as applicable) can only dream of.

Personally, I blame it all on the likes of Kerouac, Ginsberg and bad old Bill Burroughs, an unholy cabal who back in the '50s not only wrote some of the most overrated, indulgent crap ever laid down on a page, but worse, as self-appointed avatars of cool, helped spoiled white middle-class brats discover the dubious joys (albeit in an incredibly patronizing, borderline racist way) of bebop and, God forbid, free jazz.

Granted, Miles Davis knocked out a few good riffs in his time, and John Coltrane was pretty handy with a sax, but free jazz? Christ on a bike, what were they thinking? The more I think about this, the more I start to realize that, historically, hipsters have been responsible for some of the most heinous crimes against music known to man, including, in no particular order or chronological timeline, the following:

Jeff Fusco

>> No wave.

>> New romanticism.

>> The entire "twee" movement.