California surf-rockers Waaves' fourth album Afraid of Heights Came Out, and the critical consensus has solified around two key points: 1) It's pretty freaking good, and 2) It sounds a lot like Nirvana. Does Wavves frontman Nathan Williams have aspirations of being the new Next Kurt Cobain? That's a crown that's been placed on many heads in the past 20 years, and it comes with its own set of rules. You should be a rock star, or at the very least not a pop star. You should be "real," which in this case means grungy, and kind of a rebel. You should be able to look comfortable and also slightly uncomfortable with the prospect of blogs and magazines calling you the voice of your generation. (It goes without saying that you also should probably be a white dude.)
As Wavves' Williams prepares to assume this throne, let's see what the crown has meant to the former Next Kurt Cobains of years past.
Why They Were the Next Nirvana: In the wake of Cobain's death, Gavin Rossdale and Bush weren't shy about making a grab for the same level of commercial dominance that Nirvana enjoyed—which, since this was the '90s, earned them the derisive label "bubble-grunge." Despite the critics, Bush achieved its goals, earning a no. 1 album and a handful of Top 40 singles.
What Happened Next: Bush enjoyed the same slow slide out of relevance as the acts they were emulating, but the band's commercial success ensured its legacy. The permanently nostalgic children of the '90s were too young for the authenticity debates; to them, there's no conflict in putting "Glycerine" between "Lithium" and "Jeremy" on a "Remember the '90s?" playlist.
Puddle of Mudd
Why They Were the Next Nirvana: As grunge turned into nu-metal, radio DJs began looking for a standard-bearer who could represent the genre in the same way Cobain had done for grunge. With his blonde locks and dour persona, Puddle of Mudd's Wes Scantlin seemed perfect.
What Happened Next: Puddle Of Mudd's record sales were (and continue to be) impressive for the 21st century musical landscape, but the band never approached the level of cultural import to justify the Next Nirvana tag.
Why They Were the Next Nirvana: In the wave of retro bands that were going to save rock and roll in 2002, every one needed a historical analogue. The Strokes were the new Velvet Underground, the Hives the next Rolling Stones. That left Australia's Vines as the new Nirvana, thanks to frontman Craig Nicholls' raw vocals and reputation for being "difficult." (Again, the fact that Nicholls kind of looked like Kurt Cobain didn't hurt either.)
What Happened Next: The band changed their sound, the wave of "The" bands petered out, and soon no one was calling the Vines the next anything.
Why He Was the Next Nirvana: Jay's rollicking live shows, intense fanbase and outsider charm caught the eye of record labels, who promised the pop-punker they would make him "the next Kurt Cobain." He turned them down, which only made the title even more fitting.
What Happened Next: Reatard died in his sleep in 2010, only a few months shy of his 30th birthday. That's the downside of being the next Kurt Cobain; if the prediction comes true, you're not going to have a happy ending.
Why He Was the Next Nirvana: In the words of a probably fake image meme, because "people just don't understand me."
What Happened Next: Justin went on to break the record for the most followers in Twitter history, something Kurt Cobain never accomplished.
The rocker celebrates his 45th birthday today
Jack White almost became a priest.
But then again, did he? The iconic rocker has regularly beguiled the press. "I'd got accepted to a seminary in Wisconsin," he told 60 Minutes Mike Wallace back in 2005 in what seemed like a moment of genuine candor. "At the last second, I thought, 'I'll just go to public school."
Whether you believe that story or not, the blues-rock polymath, who turns 45 today, has led an undeniably punk life and crafted some of the most sacred rock music in history. Two decades after The White Stripes' self-titled debut, Jack White has remained purposefully slippery with the public. He told publications that he and Meg White, his then-wife and White Stripes-cohort, were the youngest of ten siblings and claimed that his label, Third Man Records, used to be a candy company, among other outlandish claims.
Dodge & Burn by The Dead Weather<span style="display:block;position:relative;padding-top:56.25%;" class="rm-shortcode" data-rm-shortcode-id="59052057d58747fe96735fc4bb4c2b46"><iframe lazy-loadable="true" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/98oMvKF-78Y?rel=0" width="100%" height="auto" frameborder="0" scrolling="no" style="position:absolute;top:0;left:0;width:100%;height:100%;"></iframe></span><p>Cocked and loaded, The Dead Weather's 2015 effort, <em>Dodge and Burn,</em> finds the band at their most calamitous. "I got a bloodhound tooth hanging like a dagger," Kills vocalist Alison Mosshart cackles on "Let Me Through" with distorted hisses. With White on drums, The Dead Weather is White at his most implacable. </p><p>When he announced no touring would be done in support of <em>Dodge & Burn</em>, the implication was that TDW was formed as a sort of catharsis for White, somewhere to put all the rock-and-roll tar that he's built up over the years. The Captain Beefhart inspired super-group all but detonated on <em>Dodge & Burn</em>, with their slinky grunge guitars and feral growls all sounding extra crunchy.</p><p>The band reflects on the inevitable apocalypse with a bombastic snap that gladly welcomes violence and destruction ("Open Up") and rolls their eyes at anyone who threatens to ruin their demolition, even if its Jesus himself ("Buzzkill(er)." <em>Dodge & Burn</em> is reserved exclusively for those who need to let off a little steam...or start a bar fight.<br></p>
Consolers of the Lonely by The Raconteurs<span style="display:block;position:relative;padding-top:56.25%;" class="rm-shortcode" data-rm-shortcode-id="a8ba051ea61ebd21775ad6dc743cd0b3"><iframe lazy-loadable="true" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/7lL1CW140FQ?rel=0" width="100%" height="auto" frameborder="0" scrolling="no" style="position:absolute;top:0;left:0;width:100%;height:100%;"></iframe></span><p>Before Beyonce's surprise album redefined the marketing of new releases, The Raconteurs rushed the arrival of 2008's <em>Consolers of the Lonely</em>, all but upending press coverage and flipping mass media the bird in the process. Announced and released within a week, <em>Consoler's</em> remains one of The Raconteur's grittiest records. </p><p><em>Broken Boy Soldier's</em> light-hearted buoyancy was nowhere to be seen. "Haven't seen the sun in a week, my skin is getting pale," calls out Brendan Banson before cackling guitars snap the necks of anyone who has a problem with it on Consoler's intro. </p><p>Jack White is dripping in manic swagger as The Raconteur's co-frontman. He makes the big hooks sound comfortable and casual as if he's jamming with some friends in his garage. He morphs the country twang of "Top Yourself" into a crude, braggadocious declaration of anti-love, ("How you gonna get that deep, when your daddy ain't around here to do it to you?") and uses bright, uplifting horns on "Many Shades of Black" to affirm to the same lover that their tumultuous relationship was destined to end, so it's okay. </p><p>It's all so petty and punk, with White at times bordering on deranged, but it's what adds to The Racounter's unsettling charm. They refuse to be your favorite rock band.</p>
Get Behind Me Satan by The White Stripes<span style="display:block;position:relative;padding-top:56.25%;" class="rm-shortcode" data-rm-shortcode-id="42a95cacb5b448443b5dcfaee6f342ff"><iframe lazy-loadable="true" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Hrcum8DHDpo?rel=0" width="100%" height="auto" frameborder="0" scrolling="no" style="position:absolute;top:0;left:0;width:100%;height:100%;"></iframe></span><p>While highly contested, <em>Get Behind Me Satan</em> is The White Stripes boldest album, taking the blues-rock sounds of <em>Elephant </em>and <em>De Stijl </em>that brought them national fame and throwing it to the wolves in favor of oddball piano arrangements, acoustic guitars, and many marimbas. It finds White spiraling into despair, with quirky tracks like "White Moon" and "Little Ghost" sounding like a real-time emotional breakdown, the latter's narrator performing obscure tasks like "dancing" with "the wall" as he falls in love with a ghost only he can see.</p><p>While the record left critics confused, it's jarring sound redefined The White Stripes' identity. Known for their hard-hitting arena rock, <em>Get Behind Me Satan</em> blew open the door for what came after. They were no longer confined to anything and were free to create whatever they pleased. It was inherently a move that was super rock and roll.<br></p>
Lazaretto by Jack White<span style="display:block;position:relative;padding-top:56.25%;" class="rm-shortcode" data-rm-shortcode-id="8c43c41a2df22aba84ac16ddf5c1d9b5"><iframe lazy-loadable="true" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/qI-95cTMeLM?rel=0" width="100%" height="auto" frameborder="0" scrolling="no" style="position:absolute;top:0;left:0;width:100%;height:100%;"></iframe></span><p><em>Lazaretto</em> is Jack White as his most relentless. Each song on his magnetic sophomore work is a show of force. While Meg White's absence is notable and at times the album borders on Jack White just flexing his guitar chops, each song is full of intricacies that tumble into each other, redefining what's possible under the "blues-rock" moniker. It's inherently busy, with tracks like "High Ball Stepper" descending into chaos with its screams, crisp guitars, organs, and banjo slowly closing in on you–but <em>Lazaretto </em>found White pushing himself endlessly. What was he truly capable of when alone in a room with other bold musicians? The answer was: a lot. </p><p>The cover-art finds White sitting elegantly on a stone throne decorated by angels, a casual flex by White, who believed himself to be a tour-de-force, otherworldly musician, unconfined to the creative restrictions of the mortal world. It was a bold claim that only Jack White could make.</p>
Animation is lame and live-action is awesome.
Everybody loves Disney live-action remakes.
In a world plagued by racism, disease, and a seemingly endless bounty of spiraling misfortune, at least we can all agree that Disney knocks it out of the park every time they dredge up an old, animated movie for a live-action makeover because cartoons are for babies.
Sure, some of us thought the original Beauty and the Beast was fine, but could lame, 2D Belle ever hold a candle to 3D Emma Watson? And yeah, the original Lion King was okay, I guess, but there's nobody in the world who preferred cartoon Scar's rendition of "Be Prepared" to the incredible feat of getting a real lion to sing it in the live-action remake.
Being a Disney fan can be hard sometimes, as you have fond memories of beloved childhood movies but also don't want people to make fun of you for liking cartoons. That's why, out of all the corporations in the world, Disney is undoubtedly the most selfless, willing to spend hundreds of billions of dollars to bring their old, outdated movies into the modern age—all for the fans.