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Liars: The Sound & The Fury

Two states of creative consciousness exist: one is a land free from the anxious oppression of doubt and fear; the other is a realm plagued by the cloudy, lingering ghosts of self doubt and uncertainty, and the crippling sensation of hesitation. When both realms collide, it creates a sonic din akin to eight million hearts pulsing, lightning repeatedly crashing into a storming ocean, and the friction of pulsating percussion. That sound is Liars.

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Judith Juilerat: Sinister Lullabies

The harshly beautiful music of Judith Juillerat speaks pointedly of rain-damp alleyways in Berlin or Cologne, so it's a shock to find out that she operates light years away from Germany's techno epicenters. Juillerat hails from Besançon, a sleepy French town with no music community to speak of–it's home to nothing much, actually, besides some nice foliage and the aged walls of the town citadel. And as a 36-year-old, full-time mother–entering the studio only after her two kids are asleep–Juillerat is both a latecomer and an anomaly in the electronic music game.

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Magic Pony's Favorite Things

In 2002, Kristin Weckworth and Steve Cober started their own fantasyland called Magic Pony. The storefront/art gallery–located on Queen Street in Toronto, Canada–stocks the cutest things on the planet, from Yoshitomo Nara sticker sets to Pete Fowler's Monsterism rings to Marcel Dzama's Sad Ghost salt 'n' pepper shakers. Magic Pony also hosts monthly shows, introducing the newest work from the likes of Kozyndan, Nathan Jurevicius, and Dalek. Read more » 

Touré Guide: A Different Hip-Hop

Touré, the single-named author of Never Drank the Kool-Aid (Picador; softcover, $15), doesn't have a problem getting close to his interview subjects; he gathers tales over games of hoops with Prince and Wynton Marsalis and proves that proximity is everything when it comes to getting to the core of stars' psyches. Read more » 

E-40: Tell Me When to Blow

When I finally catch up with E-40 after two weeks of phone tag, rescheduled appointments, and missed connections, the first thing he does is apologize. "I ain't had time to crack a sunflower seed," he offers. It's a memorable turn of phrase that makes me laugh out loud (and remind myself to use it early and often). His timing is dead-on; the delivery is perfect, effortless. But that's just the way Earl Stevens talks.

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