New New (read this magazine with me)

New York Magazine, of which I've been a pretty big fan since 1995 when I was stuck in a walk in closet of some glass-walled condo in Florida because of a big hurricane and read an issue with JFK, Jr. on the cover, has published some sort of "newness" portfolio this week. This, at once, makes sense to me and irritates me (but I'm a hoary 23-year-old curmudgeon). There is a great little article about our friend Antony Hegarty, who is not "new" himself, but has a "new" record. I sang a couple of these songs with him and found them so sweet and resonant and plaintive and Irish. The author does a marvelous job of illustrating his high-pitched, smart smart politesse. (Miranda July aside) I am also inclined to like Tao Lin, a profiled young writer, who comes off as charmingly anti-social. And, of course, I'm a big fan of Jason Furman's (pudgy-hot preppy de jour). Also, a fellow named Bradford Plumer writes an exciting set of solutions (imagine that) to universal problems. A lot of the other folks featured are kind of dull, and the magazine, in turn, clueless about my generation (quell suprise). Only two pieces made me eat my bonnet: an interview with a band called "Vivian Girls" and a few paragraphs about Santos' Party House. The trio of instrument-playing floozies spews hate-speech about synthesizers, and Santos has been worrying me because it feels so shrill and twee and EXHAUSTING and FAR too young (and I think nightlife should always involve a little aloofness).

The thing is . . . A&P likes (mostly) old stuff.