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Recent Articles By Michael D. Ayers

National Features

  • Village Voice
    A Long Way Wrong?

    Another celebrated memoir threatens to blow into a million little pieces.

    By Graham Rayman
  • LA Weekly
    Hoop Dawg

    Billionaire Donald T. Sterling owns the L.A. Clippers and loves the ladies. And those are just two of his problems.

    By Patrick Range McDonald
  • The Pitch
    Children of the Porn

    Elvin Boone's sex-shop empire crumbles as his offspring feud.

    By Justin Kendall
  • Westword
    The Good Soldier

    When the Army tried to take down Andrew Pogany, they messed with the wrong coward.

    By Joel Warner

Imagine a really awful soundtrack to an equally horrible fashion show, and you've got a pretty good idea what the debut album by the Paris-based Teenagers sounds like. The trio mines a bunch of late-'80s/early-'90s Britpop on Reality Check, but it all ends up sounding like leftovers from one of New Order's blah '00 comebacks. The band claims it started off as a joke, but more than anything, it comes off like a deliberate attempt at jacking some cash from blog-hopping hipsters. Most of the time, lyrics are spoken rather than sung, offering bland and cliché-stuffed observations about chic youth culture: Paris is "crazy" in the electroclashy "Streets of Paris," and "French Kiss" chronicles a late-night party that results in a, yep, French kiss. Even the band's ode to buxomly actress Scarlett Johansson (not-so-cleverly called "Starlett Johansson") is painful — although it is one of the few songs that includes a chord change. Here's hoping that these Teenagers grow up real soon.

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