Gargoyle Issue 12 April 2

CarlaVahagn

Nathan

Andrew

Alyssa

Iris

Gavin

Janette

| April 5, 2011 | Volume fifty-six, issue 12 |

Masthead2010-2011 / 2011-2012

content editor-in-chiefandrew campana / angjelin hila

managing editor-in-chiefjanette speare / carla mesa guzzo

production managerskyle turner & nathan cockram /

jasmine chorley foster & alyssa kuhnert

copy editorsangjelin hila / fan wu

politicsnathan cockram / jasmine chorley foster

opiniongavin nowlan / maya bernal kotlier

sciencevahagn karapetyan & kyle turner

centrefoldangjelin hila

arts & cultureemily sommers / alyssa kuhnert & jon wu

avant-gargsila özkara / iris liu

comicsileea larente

staffcat penny

anamarija koroljaschille clarke-mendes

john cherkasillya mykytyn

maxwell benwell

About usThe Gargoyle is University College’s finest (sexiest) student newspaper and is a bi-weekly publication. We strive to produce an open forum for discussion on any topic. We have no political agenda except the free-doms of speech, press and expression. We hold in contempt ignorance, censorship and bad writing. Join us, for the greatest truths are dressed in the gaudiest of lies whereas our pages are all tastefully designed.

office hours: mon-fri 12pm to 5pmThe Gargoyle dungeon/office is located in F6,

accessed by the F door in the UC quad.

416.946.0941www.ucgargoyle.ca

[email protected]

front & back coversgargoyle editorial collective 2010-2011/

2011-2012

centrefoldiris liu

contributorsmr. w. w. baldwin

laura b.alex tepperman

benjamin mcgirrconnie lo

erik j. braccciodietaamanda stock

justin dayred mcsnappersimon melocheevelyn awesometea. k. hadziristic

Table of contents

garguation... 3

politics... 4- political primer

- the international community upholds the R2P doctrine

opinion... 6

arts & culture... 9- class (no, not in the Marxist sense...)

- an editor’s parting words- warpaint at wrongbar

- beyond Margaret Atwood’s frightening persona- lcd soundsytem please don’t go

centrefold... 12

mandrew manpana... 14

science... 15- kyle is sad

- kyle finds out- an unholy marriage- a disappearing icon

- janette’s medicine cabinet- got a gucci bag? get a gucci baby

- something fishy

avant-garg... 18

comics... 22

- one red room- empress

- carpool lane- untitled

- the eternal ahh

- tender lush- bloody moon blues

- 5 a.m. aubade- finally

- something about wizards

- illustrated rap songs

- carla watches friday- space fillers

- last week’s winner

- on the Salterrae- dispatch from the inter-

net- howzat cricket!

- pdas: portrayals of dis-gusting affection

- conversation conrner

As I sit here in the cold but somehow still uncomfortably humid Garg office, surrounded by my own cast-off coffee cups and filth, finished for the last time with an eight-hour InDesign bender interspersed with yelling at lazy editors and pulling out my hair, I sit down to write a heartfelt editorial and find that I am instead filled with RAGE!!!!!!! FUCK THIS NEWSPAPERRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!

But I’m trying to calm down. The hate that I feel is not really for this paper that has been with me for the entirety of my undergraduate career, and I want us to part on good terms. After all, we’ve shared so much of our lives together, and much as Gargy has been a time drain for me, it has also been a therapeutic alternative to the dreariness of academics, and I hope it has been both of those things for you, lovely reader, as well.

Seriously, being the editor-in-chief of such a fine UC publication (I hesitate to say newspaper—I think we’re technically a pamphlet) has been a fantastic time and I love and cherish everyone who was involved this year, especially the staffs, who kept coming out to help even though we are all really weird; and especially the editorial collective, who I know at this point much, much too well; and especially next year’s editors-to-be, who are amazing enough to fill in for the 9000 of us who are leaving; and especially my co-editor-in-chiefdom Andrew, for whom I will be bearing a child seven months from now. A HAIR CHILD

Anyway, let’s talk about this issue. It’s unusually big, for one thing. 24 pages! Check out the famous last words of all eight graduating editors, probably as pretty as they’ll ever look. Get primed on the coming election in Politics, and talk about the internets in Opinions. Check out the Science and Arts & Culture editors’ swan song admonishments to get involved and maybe write for the Gargoyle. And let me throw my voice in there, just quickly: If you’re reading this, write us back some-thing! Reader mail has gotten scarcer in the five years I’ve been involved with the Garg and it’s almost extinct. Don’t you ever get offended? If you don’t tell us what you think, in a couple years this paper will just run dick photos on every page, every week. And it’ll be your fault!

What else do I want to say? Eat at Diabolos’, they need your business terribly. Find an office on campus to call your home, because having somewhere to nap peace-fully between classes is the bomb. UC can usually be accessed on weekends if you are sneaky. Always check the Art Centre for free wine and food. Ramsay Wright has crocodiles in the basement. Never go to Convocation Hall on acid. Eh...that’s about all I’ve learned here. Now go forth and teach the next generation.

Garg out,

Janette SpeareManaging Editor-in-ChiefThe Gargoyle 2006-2011

garguation 32011 Gargoyle grads

Emily Sommers

Subject Posts: Adobe Creative Suite, Libraryology

Years active: 2006-2011

Fav UC Lit prez: what’s a u-clit?

5 years from now:I will be livin’ it up at the Library of Congress. WOOT!

Memorable moments: Hangin’ out with all my Garg peeps every Thursday night. WHATUP!

Parting words:“Anything for my princess!”

“I don’t want to move to a city where the only cultural advantage is being able to make a right turn on a red light.”

Andrew Campana Nathan Cockram

Vahagn Karapetyan Gavin Nowlan

Sıla Özkara

Janette Speare Kyle Turner

Subject Posts: 3am Perfectionism, Poetry


Fav UC Lit prez: n/a

5 years from now: A Wittgenstein scholar, surrounded by self-made books of sorts, drinking excessive amounts of tea

Memorable moments:Thursday evenings with the Garg, walks to and from Robarts, snow, campus ghost tours

Parting words:These words in writing are already apart (for all you fans of différance). We are always already a-part.

Subject Posts: MAJ Pill popper, MIN Show stopper


Fav UC Lit prez: Jaime Auron! Yeah you da man!

5 years from now: The woman who looks for beer cans in your garbage

Memorable moments:I’ll never forget the time Nathan ate a beer can.

Parting words:If you’re not sure what it is, just eat it!

Subject Posts: MAJ Ant Counting, MIN Sarcasm, MIN Fatigue


Fav UC Lit prez: Gavin Nowlan, 2011-2012

5 years from now: Still in graduate school (counting ants)

Memorable moments: One time the sun was low and bright over the ice on front campus and it was very moving.

Parting words: Science rulez

Subject Posts: MAJ History, MIN Sexual Diversity Studies, MIN Explaining my minor


Fav UC Lit prez: Arman...wait, was he the prez? Is he still here?

5 years from now: Watching my kid Graduate from UC. I love you princess!

Memorable moments: Having to learn what the Raelians are, for all the wrong reasons.

Parting words: Loyal I began, and loyal I will remain.

Subject Posts: MIN Pinky, MAJ Brain


Fav UC Lit prez: I’m a Victorian and I am impartial…

5 years from now: Still in school

Memorable moments: Ordering Popeyes and watching Housu, a good mixture of junk from the West and the East

Parting words: Quit prostituting your mind and think for once!

Subject Posts: Philosophy Specialist


Fav UC Lit prez: Umm David Naylor?

5 years from now: Two tours of duty in Afganistan with the Para Regiment.

Memorable moments:Blasting my favoirite band, the Fall, at production nights, much to the ire of cer-tain staff members.

Parting words:“Hold on to your brains!”

Subject Posts: SPE East Asian Studies, MAJ East Asian Studies Studies, MIN Studies Studies


Fav UC Lit prez: William Henry Harrison

5 years from now: Waiting 24 hours in line to be the first to theorize the Playstation 4.

Memorable moments: When my issues with hair became the Hair Issue.

Parting words: Shanté, you stay. Now: sashay away.

R PW N

politics 5

opinions 7

8 opinions

Class: No, not in the Marxist sense...Dear members of the female sex,

I write you this letter mired in thoughts of both the late Elizabeth Taylor and my grandmother, Bess (she’s also late, I guess, but she’s long been interred). I write you with the passing of a legend on my mind – did you see Ms. Taylor in Zeffirelli’s 1967 version of Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew? I ask you: could anyone recline on a heap of hay the same way she did? And I write you with memories of my grandmother ever-present in my head – chances are you never met her; but if you did, wasn’t she something?

I write you this letter because I want to tell you about what makes a classy lady. Class, classiness: these are bizarre, practically antiquated ideals. And yet, these two women existed in – granted, the primer ages of their lives – a post-feminist, presumably post-sexist/pro-egalitarian world, but still retained that elegance and supposedly mock sincerity that we now associate with a culture predisposed to male superiority. Only Lizzie and Bessie, as I lovingly refer to them, seemed to be outside of such concern – not above it all, not somehow superior, just outside of it. This is not to say they, especially my grandmother, felt it was a woman’s place to be subservient to a man, cooking his meals and fetching his slippers; I can’t speak for Ms. Taylor, but there was a particular timelessness about her marriage to Richard Burton which epitomizes this point: for all their eccentricities and for all their appeal as the couple, the fact that she was Liz Taylor and he was Richard Burton not only elevates them in retrospect (oh, were they glamorous) but places them in the pantheon of couples we all might aspire to emulate. (Might.)

No, I think the important thing to take from their place in and over time was not how they managed to slip beneath the expectations – out of stardom or, in my grandparents’ case, out of local eminence – but how they rose to them and politely nodded, as if to say, “Well yes, Mrs. So-and-so, I’m glad you feel that your place is at home. Excuse me, do you mind if I light a cigarette?” (There’s this picture of my grandmother “sneaking” one in the kitchen with a girlfriend, caught in the photograph with the most beautiful expression on her face. Pair that image with the anecdote I heard at her funeral: Bess would sneak a ciggie, I was told, but she’d never come back and mention the faint smell of smoke or the dots of ash on her blouse. There’s also an article that was published in one of the local newspapers which features a photograph of my father’s family, his brother and twin sister in the foreground looking gleeful and deliciously period, while my grandmother, in frock and pearls, the ever astounding beauty just behind them was marveling, we would believe, at the effects of heating and how difficult washing the walls was because the heat worked just so that she would lose her spot, for the wetness disappeared by evaporation! The supreme novelty!)

Pearls, girls, are oyster’s spit: they retain all the charm after recognizing some bivalve was swirling that around its fleshy bits for years that they can. Liz had pearls (did she ever – there was a very nice compendium published a few years ago of Ms. Taylor’s jewelry) and so did Bess, but more often then not, I saw both of them wearing simpler pieces, as though they knew that a well-cut dress and a nicely chosen necklace would suffice. Even when her hands were spotty with age, Bess wore a simple watch and the occasional bracelet brought back from one of her travels. The most I ever saw her adorn her neck with was a thin gold chain, and I can’t recall if a crucifix dangled. Still, what I’m trying to say as I get lost in my memories of that woman: there’s a particular refinement about well-chosen jewelry, and an enhancing and enchanting allure accessed through nicely made clothes – which needn’t be expensive, mind you. Bess had her furs, and she had her designer clothes; still, she seemed just as stylish in a cheap t-shirt and an old pair of slacks.

Scent, too, is important: while Ms. Taylor made a small fortune off her own collections, Bess wore Elizabeth Arden’s 5th Avenue. No one has worn it quite like her. Perhaps that’s pheromones, perhaps it was her own smell coming through the sweeter musk; but like some women and their Chanel, the perfume was a part of her persona.

Bess lost her hair because she was diabetic, and her choice of replacement was one and the same for years: always simple, never obvious, always in place – who could guess she was wearing a wig? Allegedly, Ms. Taylor had her share of hair-dos hidden away, but she too looked wonderful. Even in the stark and stolen moment of tabloid cover stories, Ms. Taylor looked stunning. But again, what I mean to say is this: despite the addendum to their bodies – decorative, concealing, whatever – both women were stunning. Bess was notorious for her pale pink nails and lipstick, her one-liners absolutely hilarious and her passions many; I hesitate to attach such a description to Liz, but I think it goes without saying that the parallels between the two of them were numerous.

Ladies-to-be, I respect you. I’m not suggesting you throw away all forms of your individuality in favour of some version of my grandmother. That is entirely too pseudo-Freudian and entirely not the point. The essence of a classy woman is her individual self, a charming and charmingly effervescent combination of scruples and well-chosen embellishments and resilience. My grandparents never went to bed angry with each other, and now that they’re both gone it goes not unsaid that they were timeless – not because they were some romantic stock parading about the locale, but because individually they were genuinely decent and beautiful people.

What I might suggest is not to aspire to classiness. Just be, and be so that who you are comes out regardless of what you’re wearing or what you’re surrounded by.

For Bess, for Liz, for you. To them, and to you.

Love always,Benjamin

This show was fucking sublime.

The venue choice was a wise one. Have you ever been to Wrongbar? It was not as gritty as I expected; it was clean in more ways than one. There was plenty of space and I even ended up getting a decent spot to sit! Fuck standing!

PVT and Family Band opened but I’m not sure which one I actually ended up arriving on-time to hear. They played 20 minutes of ear-splitting and quite traumatizing electronic mish-mash. Polite applause followed their exit and the crowd seemed unimpressed.

Warpaint made their entrance quietly shuffling on-stage without much bravado, but it seemed to suit the calm nature of the band. The unique feature of this band is that it consists of 3 vocalists: Jenny Lee Lindberg (bass), Emily Kokal (guitar) and Theresa Wayman (guitar), all backed by Stella Mozgawa (drums). This gives the band a lot of flexibility with their songs and their voices meld extremely well together when overlapped.

And what a setlist! All the songs flowed into each other and the transitions were seamless, as I barely noticed that they had actually finished a song

at times. Their impromptu solos and on-stage jams were also refreshing to hear; it’s always nice when a band changes things up a bit. Their hits ‘Stars’ and ‘Undertow’ were well received as the crowd broke out into applause and cheers as soon as the first few guitar riffs were played.

“And here’s our death metal tune,” announced Emily as they began the intro to ‘Billie Holiday’, a calm, hypnotic tune that is quite characteristic of the band’s psychedelic, shoegaze-esque sound. Don’t be fooled by my mention of ‘shoegaze’, though. The band members do everything but stand still during their performance. They play with energy and are never in the same spot from one moment to the next.

They ended with an encore of two songs (as if I expected anything less!) and finished with great flourish, as Stella banged out a badass drum solo to finalize their exit and the inevitable end of the show. Notable mention goes to Emily who tried her hand at free-styling with Stella providing the beats; it was amusing to say the least. You know you’ve been to a good show when it felt a bit short!

Catch them next time they’re in town, but it may cost more than the $15 they charged this time around.

Concert review: Warpaint at Wrongbar, 26.3.2011connie lo

10 arts & culture

An editor’s parting wordsemily sommers

Dear loyal Garg readers, I write to you today to bid you farewell, and to offer some sage advice as I finish off my tenure here at the Gargoyle after 5 long years. (also, there was a big blank hole in my section that needed to be filled...). Over my 5 years here, the Garg has seen its ups and downs, finally caught up with the times digitally (up to a certain extent!), while trying to stay loyal to its roots and the collaborative nature of the production process.

What I’ve always loved about the Garg is the abil-ity of a wide-variety of students to come together, be-come friends (or not) and stimulate each other intel-lectually, all while having fun and working towards the production of a newspaper. The Garg has exposed me to so many new people and things, of which I am infinitely grateful for. It has enriched my time at U of T and I can’t imagine what life would have been like had I not decided to participate. Extra-curriculars en-rich the student experience and make U of T much more bearable.

The arts & culture section has flourished since first being introduced in 08-09. We’ve strived to

find a balance between local cultural events, pop culture, and even recipes, trying to have something for everyone. The section is what each contributor and editor makes of it and is always open to new and interesting ideas. By curating this section and reading over all the contributions, and with a little help from my friends (pun intended), I have been exposed to all sorts of new genres of music, film and art.

My love for hip-hop has flourished over the last few years as I became introduced to such great acts like The Roots, A Tribe Called Quest, and Black Star, in addition to becoming reacquainted with such mainstream classics like Jay-Z and the Notorious B.I.G. They are all mainstays on my iPod, which I love to listen to when I’m walking around in the city on a nice sunny day. The rhythms and beats go so well with walking. Not to mention that the song verses are like poetry in my ear and I can’t help but be amazed at the skills of these artists. I listened to my fair share of Top-40 hip-hop in middle school (anyone remember Nelly? Afroman? Sisquó? Ice-Cube?) but I stopped listening to this type of music as I entered high school, became angsty and discovered

rock bands such as Weezer, Radiohead, and Nirvana (gah, such teenager stereotypes!). Those were the days before high-speed internet, where one received their musical education by watching countless hours of MuchMusic, listening to the radio, and going to the mall on a weekly basis to see what new CD’s came out. How things have changed!

I’ve also become exposed to a lot of 1980s New Wave such as The Smiths, New Order, Depeche Mode, and Duran Duran. Growing up in a household with a Dad from Cape Breton who only listened to the Rankin Family and Rita McNeil and a Mom who listened to Chris de Burgh, Simon & Garfunkel, and Top 40 radio (Majic100 FTW!), I was never exposed to such 1980s classics until I was much older and a certain Gargoyle editor began playing them a lot in the office. Each Garg editor has a particular taste in music and ends up exposing it to the rest of the editorial collective through our rotating iPods over the course of production night. On any given night we’ve listened to Robert Charlebois, Joanna Newsom, The Shirelles, The Talking Heads, Wilco, Mos Def, and Patsy Cline.

One thing that has constantly come up over my time here is the initial enthusiasm of people to write for the publication, but upon further pressure, their ability to flake out and never actually submit anything. There’s this strange belief that people have that you have to be an amazing writer to write for us. In reality, it’s only with practice that you can really achieve this and so if you don’t start writing, how will you improve? The Garg is a house of love and is a vehicle for the student body at UC and U of T to express themselves in an open forum which prides itself on being good-humored broad in scope.

The Gargoyle has been a part of my life for 5 years and will always have a special place in my heart. My university experience has been undeniably shaped by my work here and the people I’ve met, some who I know will be life-long friends. Farewell, dear student rag, may you survive to live for many more years to come.

p. s. For those of you sticking around next year, help out my successors, Alyssa & Jon, and WRITE!

This is a collage I made of my favourite things to be my laptop’s wallpaper in Aug. ’06 , a month before I started U of T.

arts & culture 11

On March 23rd I made my way through the snow, wind, and cold to the Isabel Bader Theatre. My friend and I had been eagerly awaiting the “Evening with Margaret Atwood” at Victoria College, an event held by the college to celebrate their 175th year . Neither of us are Vic students, but discovering it was open to everyone we had pounced upon the opportunity to hear our favourite author speak, and nerdishly hoped she would also sign our books.

The theatre was nearly full, and many a bald

head reflected the gleam from the overhead lights. Returning after fifty years from her graduation at Vic, the college’s principal noted that during Atwood’s undergraduate years, what is now Bader Theatre would have been a tennis court. The interviewer was Carol Off, a well-known personality from the CBC, who also frequents Canadian politics.

I was expecting Margaret Atwood to be cold and unfriendly. The stories about fans meeting a crabby Margaret Atwood were endless.Thus, when an old classmate of Atwood’s said their small group of Vic students studying English language and literature had seen themselves as the “literati” of the school, I was unsurprised. Without having met her, I assumed that Atwood must be a least a little bit snobbish. However when she was finally introduced and the interview began, I found that the author was modest, friendly enough, and posessed a stinging yet playful sense of humour.

On a PowerPoint slide a series of photos ran on a loop, all of Margaret Atwood in her university days. As they went through the photos Carol Off commented that her photo for grad school was quite frightening, eliciting much laughter. Atwood responded, amused, that it was most intentionally so. When Off noted at the splendidly size of large collar of one shirt Atwood wore, Atwood explained “it was the 50s, Carol”. She had a quip for every comment thrown at her. Atwood spoke of her days as a student in Toronto. She mentioned the Bohemian Embassy, where she would hear poets including Sylvia Tyson recite their works. The poems of the day were usually about “girls being murdered” she dryly noted. The author also spoke briefly about working and acting at a school theatre, proclaiming that Vic had taught her how to do a proper curtsy in a full hoop skirt.

Asking Atwood if she had ever imagined how commercially successful she would become, the author explained to Off the dreams of Canadian writers at the time. We imagined “early romantic fates” Atwood

informed her, “such as starving in a garret.” There were not many commercially successful Canadian writers at the time, and such a path was seen as rather vulgar. She mentioned that a little later in life after having written The Circle Game, she thought it was insane to hear serious consideration of printing 2500 copies. It was seen as a high amount of copies for a Canadian work, though it did become a large success elsewhere. Carol Off said that she had read The Circle Game in university, and asked if Atwood was aware at the time of the “profound effect on many young women” her writing had achieved. Atwood simply responded, “No. Sorry, but I didn’t [know].”

Broaching the topic of the differences between Canadians and Americans she spoke of the short story Young Goodman Brown as the epitome of American psyche. In the story a man living in a seemingly perfect puritan community one day discovers a satanic ritual, which his neighbours and his wife are participating in. In the States, Atwood believes, the question seems to be whether your neighbours are communists, terrorists, or members of a satanic cult. “We don’t have that” she says. “Ours is, are your neighbours annoying?”

When Carol Off tries to give Atwood credit for the different activist work she has taken up over the years, Atwood flatly turns it down. “I’m not a real activist” she says. “I’m a person without a regular job and that’s why I’m asked to do these things...a sane person would say no...please don’t give me the Red Badge of Courage because I don’t deserve it.” She points out another U of T alumni, Naomi Klein, as being a true activist. Nevertheless Carol Off insists on crediting Atwood for her activist efforts, particularly for her indignant response to Harper’s remark about artists a few years back. The audience breaks out in applause to this reference and Atwood politely accepts it. But she also explains that she did not have much of a choice, with Harper insulting all Canadian artists. As the discussion broaches the coming election, Atwood sighs. She says she is trying to avoid getting in trouble this time, but Off persists, asking whether she can say something that will get her into trouble tonight. She denies the persuasive offer.

Following the interview, most of the audience makes their way to Old Vic, where we are promised refreshments and book signings. Before signing our books Atwood recites my name aloud, uttering “For Maya. Mayyyaaaa.” in a lowered voice. My friend and I cannot help but laugh. She adds a “best wishes” to the signature, and as she passes back my copy of Cats Eye I cannot help but gush a “thank you”. It’s a mixture of thanking her for writing the novels I love and can relate with, for signing the copy, and for turning out to be a genuinely decent literary celebrity. I’ve realized that in a world of Mel Gibsons, Charlie Sheens, and John Gallianos, I cynically felt I could not expect many wealthy famous people to also have a character I could truly admire. Atwood looks at me with a hint of a smile and we leave. As I brace for the cold weather outside, I can’t help but pause to open my book and look at the signature again.

Beyond Margaret Atwood’s frightening personamaya bernal kotlier

painting by Charlie Johnston

By the time you’re reading this, beloved dance rockers, LCD Soundsystem, will have rocked off thousands of people’s faces in New York City’s Madison Square Garden in their self-proclaimed “last show ever.” In the band’s own words: “We are retiring from the game. gettin’ out. movin’ on.” Considering James Murphy and Co.’s consistent rise in fandom and critical acclaim with each record and tour (Sound of Silver is my favorite, personally), the band’s decision to step away from the limelight seems unprecedented. Indeed, with the continued presence of bands who refuse to go away such as U2, Guns n’ Roses, and The Rolling Stones (how is Keith Richards still alive?), it seems that the right thing to do these days is to stick around as long as possible and milk the dying music industry dry.

Though this article could easily head into a discourse about the artistic integrity of musicians who stick around despite the decline in their output and social relevance (ahem, Axel Rose), I am in no cognitive mood/state the engage in such a discussion. Instead, all I want to do in the next hundred words or so is to express some thought about James Murphy’s

retreat from the stage, so please, indulge me. (Notice: I hold no more authority than the next Joe in musical speak, this is merely a fan spilling his guts out before you).

Understandably, the end of LCD Soundsystem brings me, and most likely many others, great sadness. Personally, Murphy’s rants about his insecurities of being uncool and misconstrued played over the freshest grooves has always been a source of comfort for me. It’s inexplicably consoling to hear a middle aged man be transparent about his anxieties—I guess it makes my own unease seem reasonable. As a result, I really hope Murphy and the gang pull a Brett Favre (a fitting sports reference as the two men looking eerily alike—google image that shit!)—with that retiring and coming back business, excluding the sexting part. Really, I don’t mind if you play with my heart, just come back!

A late bloomer in the music world like Jim Morris, the professional baseball pitcher who entered the MLB at the age of 35 (these two men look less alike), it seems only fair that Murphy should stick

it out and create some more albums to make up for the lost time. Why not just say the band is taking an extended hiatus and let the fans anticipate for the band’s “return”?—we don’t need to know nothing will happen, at least we’ll have something to look forward to, even if it’s not real.

Ultimately, it just seems unreal that someone would willingly walk away from the stage and all the stereotypical money and fame associated with it. Murphy’s willingness to do so, just makes me respect him that much more. But here’s the conflict: I really, I mean really, want LCD Soundsystem to not truly retire, but their return now, if they don’t put out the greatest album ever, would ruin my regard for Murphy’s integrity (I guess this did end up being somewhat about artistic integrity). However, it appears I won’t have much to worry about considering Murphy’s resolve to pack it in as LCD Soundsystem: “I’m 41, and at a certain point I think it gets embarrassing.” So, R.I.P. LCD Soundsystem, your musical presence will be missed.

LCD Soundsystem, Please Don’t Go jon wu

14 mandrew manpana

16 science

science 17

comics 23

Fan Wu

Jon Wu

Jasmine

Emily

Maya

Gargy

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Gargoyle Issue 12 April 2