photo by Nate "Igor" Smith

Didn't even have to resort to Google Image Search for this.

Fresh off their miraculous return to New York City, Insane Clown Posse are already gearing up for this summer's 12th annual Gathering of the Juggalos. "We're gonna outdo last year," threatened Violent J when we spoke with him recently. "We're gonna do it bigger and better."

How do the two rapping-clowns-cum-movie-critics plan to make four days of testicle-stapling, bonfire-building, green-crack-selling, Tila-Tequila-stoning, Tom-Green-dancing, Method-Man-attacking, butt-nut-slut-joking, Vanilla-Icing, Ferris-Wheel-spinning, helicopter-riding, Ron-Jeremy-haunting better? Good question. So we asked.

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Rap fans are now (perhaps overly) familiar with the plastic nature of reality as it appears to Miami rapper Rick Ross. So while Ross spent yesterday afternoon and evening gleefully proclaiming he had his fourth #1 record, it didn't necessarily mean anything but that he wanted it to be his fourth #1 record, a la the rapper claiming to be MC Hammer, or Big Meech, or Larry Hoover, when he is clearly and objectively none of these people. In this case, it was Eminem's spot he was gunning for, or had already assumed, when the actual numbers came in. Rick Ross's Teflon Don? 176,000 copies sold! Eminem's Recovery? Well, that one sold 187,000, and thus stayed atop the Billboard charts for the 5th week straight. Ross, meanwhile, has moved on "lambo weather" and made absolutely no acknowledgment of his #2 bow. Just another day in a rich man's rich fantasy life. [Billboard]

Over the weekend, the rapper Sean Price took to Twitter to propose a collaboration album between his own Brooklyn-based Boot Camp Clik hip-hop crew and Staten Island's mighty Wu-Tang Clan. The idea has been received rapturously. But then again, theoretical hip-hop supergroups usually are. Rap's history is littered with fanciful unions, most of which rarely get beyond the brain-storming stage: pesky little glitches like scheduling conflicts, waning enthusiasm from higher profile members, and mortality, among other things, tend to keep most supergroups from ever becoming reality. But that doesn't mean playing rap fantasy football isn't fun. Here's a rundown of ten of the most desired hip-hop supergroups from the genre's real life annals, along with the reason they never quite happened:

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Musician/actor/talker/personality Henry Rollins has been in touch Iann Robinson for years, long before Robinson's days as the MTV VJ Horatio Sanz once spoofed on Saturday Night Live. Since Henry Rollins headlines Irving Plaza tonight and tomorrow, we asked Robinson to get his old acquaintance on the phone. This is what happened.

"When I see these bands reunite and play that same set every night for the 30th year--I guess it's a paid check. I'd rather starve, personally."

My first encounter with Henry Rollins came via a letter. I have always been a Black Flag fan--their logo is permanently inked into my skin in two separate places--but it was Rollins's voice on Damaged that hooked me. One day I decided to write the man, figuring I'd never hear back. Instead Rollins wrote back not just a letter, but a fairly lengthy one.

During my MTV years as a VJ, I got to speak to Rollins on two separate occasions. One of my only fond memories from that era was when Henry called me to ask if I could do a quick blurb about his benefit record for the West Memphis Three--instead I got him an MTV web site feature and a full interview. After my career as music whore ended, only a handful of my celebrity "friends" remained in touch, but Rollins was one of them. He's offered me advice, read my comic books, and given me some solid writing pointers.

Don't get me wrong, we're not best buddies. But Rollins has always been very cool and very appreciative of my small attempts to help out. Not everybody likes Rollins, which is fine because not everybody likes me. Regardless, he is always outspoken, funny, and, most importantly, he looks ahead instead of wallowing in his past. Once again, I had the good fortune to interview the man. And once again, I learned some things.

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These Are Powers play in the basement. Maybe. Who knows, really. Photo by Rebecca Smeyne.

​Truth is an ever-shifting creature in the confines of Damon Dash's infamous 172 Duane Street Tribeca loft. The venue began as Under 100, before we got the place (allegedly) shut down; shortly after that, it reared its majestic head once more in an article in the Observer, this time going by the name DD172, and marketing itself as a Warhol-esque hipster factory hosting everything from art collectives to hot blondes. Then it turned out Under 100 was actually alive and well as a venue--until it wasn't, anyway, and so the cycle of confusion continued. Now, no less a persona than Mos Def has chimed in, calling the Observer out for lying about his role in the place.

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In the Holland Tunnel no less. Sometimes life is just so great and awesome that you have to step back and appreciate that we live in a magical world in which wonderful things happen all the time. Also, Robin Thicke stays getting this song stolen from him, but that's another conversation entirely. For now, let's just leave the last word to Dawson: "I love New York City!" [h/t Split Infinitives]

Ignore the oft-nonexistent video here entirely and bask in a pretty decent recording of Bette Midler (!) singing "Yes, I'm Your Angel" at last night's bonkers Yoko Ono fete at BAM, also featuring Eric Clapton, Paul Simon, the Scissor Sisters, Kim & Thurston (a notably less sonorous taste of that here), and so forth. Way more on this later, but for now know that no one attempted a Yoko impression, thank god, and nobody tra-la-la-la-la's with more gusto than Bette.

​So first the Providence proto-folk band picked up the unlikely endorsement of Brian Williams, kicking off the newsman's "BriTunes" program in a kind of deadpan surrealist interview. Then a cross-dressed John McCauley was a surprise guest on a St. Louis stage, randomly filling in for King Khan & BBQ Show after the duo's arrest in the wilds of Tennessee on vague drug charges. And now, apparently, McCauley's band's Born on Flag Day has joined the lustrous company of David Guetta, Pearl Jam, the Black Eyed Peas, and Alicia Keys as one of the tabloid entertainment-news program Access Hollywood's top ten records of the year. Which is uh, really something. A year for the scrapbooks, guys. The only way they'll'll top this in 2010 is a Big Brother-style reality TV show in which Deer Tick and Das Racist move in together in the wilds of Minnesota and have to collaboratively raise wild yaks. [Access Hollywood]

Dewey eats Truman! SOTC is happy to announce that starting Monday, November 30, we'll be running the remaining 30 entries in F2K: The 50 Worst Songs of the '00s, a profoundly hostile symposium/firing squad presented by former Idolator overlord Maura Johnston and noted chicken-wing enthusiast Christopher R. Weingarten. (Follow Chris on Twitter at @1000timesyes, now in the homestretch of his 1,000 Records Reviewed in 2009 fugue.) Begun last month but rudely interrupted 20 terrible tunes in by Idolator's rather unfortunate regime change, F2K rides again: If only to insure that Say Anything is not further impugned, we have commissioned Chris' and Maura's services. They will commence counting down (up?) from #30 to #1 starting Monday, one post a day, with, like, "Bonus Fridays" and whatnot to wrap this sucker up before Christmas.

Though nu-Idolator (bwahhahaha) was kind enough to scrap F2K's original splash page, here's a recap of the first 20 entries, #50 to #31. See you Monday. Looking forward to it.

all photos by Rebecca Smeyne

David Yow, Halloween saviour

Jesus Lizard
Bad Brains
Empty warehouse, North 10th Street
Saturday, October 31

So you go to the much-ballyhooed Vice Halloween Party, the 15th anniversary bash in Williamsburg that the lifestyle brand reportedly dropped $250,000 to throw. You dress up, by the press release's official request, as a cultural cliche from 1994 (the year the magazine began, hence the anniversary, duh), and stand in a frustratingly long line that you would in no other circumstance bother with, because if you wanted to pretend you needed toilet paper in Communist Russia, you'd go to Disneyland, for fuck's sake, this is bullshit.

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