​This week the late-night yuk/yakfest The Colbert Report has had all musically inclined guests, with performances by Bon Iver, Florence + The Machine, and Talib Kweli; last night the host took his turn when he handled vocal duties on "Charlene II: I'm Over You," a collaboration with the Jack White-shepherded goth-garage quartet The Black Belles. In a slick bit of tv/retail/Summer Friday synergy, Colbert and White will sell the single (on tri-colored vinyl!) when Third Man Records' record store on wheels parks itself at The Lot at The High Line, located at W. 30th St. and 10th Ave., later this morning. "The Rolling Record Store opens at 11 and the jams get kicked out soon after," according to Third Man, so get cracking. (Those of you who can't get to the west side in time can also buy the single online.) Clip of "Charlene II" after the jump.

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​A quick note that Tom Scharpling's next musical-comedy magnum opus, in the person of a New Pornographers video, is shooting today, and apparently at this late hour you can still stand somewhere in the deep background and marvel at the preternatural redness of A.C. Newman's hair. The god Stelios Phlli snuck into the last Scharpling shoot, for Ted Leo's "Bottled in Cork," and seemed to profoundly enjoy himself, and this is what resulted:

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When an Internet meme attacks a reality TV star in unscripted real life, YouTube goes wild, blogs pigpile for third-degree traffic, idle hands remix the live footage, eyewitnesses testify on the radio. And if the incident really has longtail potential and/or the reality star endures this topless, some goofball programmer builds a game around the whole ordeal.

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The last time we saw Spencer Elden, the chubby swimming baby on Nirvana's unforgettable Nevermind cover, he was the 14-year-old side-hatted skater boy above talking about his unwitting role in musical history. Now he's all grown up and living in Los Angeles, where he is working for OBEY. This is not a figure of speech: Shepard Fairey is the Nirvana Baby's boss. Now we're first in line to drum up the backlash to the Fairey backlash: not only is hating on the nation's First Artist so 2002, but dude is, by all accounts, a really good human who helped bridged the gap from REVS to Twist. That said, the fact that the baby chasing the dollar bill on the iconic symbol of '90s "alternative" culture now works for Shepard Fairey, who embodies the 21st-century commodification of underground culture, is, well, rich.

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Meet your undertaker: Fabolous.

​Following up on the genius conceit of Fabolous and DJ Drama's There Is No Competition 2: The Funeral Service, which is basically that Fab kills rappers, and Drama is his undertaker--"Fab got the morgue, and I got the mortuary!" (?!)--comes the video for the mixtape's de facto single, "Body Ya." The concept? Fab has a serious case bodyya (it sounds realer if you say it in thick Indian accent, as his doctor does in the video), and anyone who comes into contact with him will drop dead. So what does Loso do? Take a long walk, of course. In the spirit of April Fools, we played a prank on ourselves and our valuable time and chronicled every body in the resulting death spree. Care to wager on the total?

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Leslie "The Opportunity" Feist

This isn't the dumbest way we've ever spent an hour in the workplace, but it's certainly up there. The most idiotically laughable meme of the past few days goes to Jerzify Yourself, the inevitable Jersey Shore personal-transformation site in the glute vein of such popular avatar reconfiguration hubs as Simpsonize Me and MadMen Yourself. The gist is Snooki-grade simple: upload a medium-sized jpg, scale the image to fit, choose your spraytan shade, pick your pose--and holy Freckles McGee, you're magically recast as a human meatball. Michael Cera already did this for real, so with the help of the Jersey Shore Nickname Generator, it seemed like a natural progression to run your favorite indie luminaries through the G.T.L. ringer. Certainly you can conceive better ones, and please do send them our way, but first, a few words of caution: beards look funny, as does Thurston Moore, and thin-faced folks don't adapt well to this interface, so Bradford "DJ Douchebag" Cox and Stephen "S-Tan" Malkmus were sent to the great Apple trashcan in the sky. So without further adieu . .

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​Musician-in-hiatus Ryan Adams debuted a whole host of work at the Bowery's Morrison Hotel--that old CBGB-gallery-turned-confusingly-low-ambition-purveyor-of-"fine art music photography"--last night, in a balloon-drenched bacchanal of paintings of arcade games and self-portraiture. Today, the gallery's display stares accusingly outward:

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