Friday, Mar 31, 2006

Lots going on over here in camp We Are Scientists, none of it any of your goddamn business! But we're confessional by nature, us three, and besides that we love to talk about ourselves, and besides that we're bored of this News page looking the same. Like a guy wanted by the FBI for serial murder, this News page badly needs to change its face.

Recently? Well, we played Conan O'Brien's late night talk show a couple of weeks ago. Telling character detail about Conan O'Brien:

Dave Letterman to us privately after we played our song on his show and the sound had cut out: "Thanks for coming on the show! Great job." Carson Daly: "Hey, good job. That was great." Conan O'Brien: "Wow, interesting time signature on that! ... I played a thunderbird once, actually -- they're really weirdly weighted ... So this is a '52 reissue, right? Not an original."

Then a couple days after Conan was South by Southwest. We spent a lot of time watching our friends entrance and destroy audiences all over town: Mystery Jets, Editors, The Chalets, Foreign Born, Oxford Collapse, Arctic Monkeys. We've linked to the websites of these bands in case any of them have escaped your attention -- that's why the names of them are glowing all green and blue and have lasers and lightning rocketing out of them, to indicate that they're links.

And now we're on tour with Foreign Born and The Grates. We've talked your ear off about the Foreign Born, but we've been eerily quiet on the issue of The Grates. That's because until two weeks ago we didn't know who the hell they were. Now we can think of little else. Our 70+ cumulative years of cumulative knowledge have been incinerated like tinder by The Grates' hot flame. These fucking kids, these Australian kids, have us in their grip the way a deadly spider will sometimes enwrap a Cocoa Puff in its awful hug. And thence feast rapacious.

We also, in the last two weeks, have recorded not one, not three, but TWO b-sides for the forthcoming re-release of Nobody Move. Fucking get psyched. Smash your promise ring with a hammer -- you're ours now. Not to give away too much, but each b-side will incise you from a different angle; together they will result in your guts and brains being spilled out all over your bedroom carpet. Much to the delight -- sorry to say this, but it's a fact -- of your omnivorous dog. It is a FACT.

What's really going to be a hotbed of activity in the next few weeks is our Shows page. Everybody, there's so much exciting fuzz about to go down there, it makes us quiver just to write this paragraph -- quiver in rhapsody, not, for just this once, fear or the DTs or fear of intimate contact! Like a proud, loyal cat, we will fish from the forest and leave headless on your stoop dates for shows in: Japan, Australia, Canada, every goddamn spot imaginable in the US, and a cumbersome percentage of Europe's (UK included's) festivals.

Who is the greater master: