I could erroneously throw Franz Ferdinand in with the recent dance-punk, freak-shit, whatever 'scene.' But I'm calling a spade a spade. If that sounds too hopelessly recent and uncool for the hipsters, I could go obtuse and say Franz Ferdinand revive the sounds of the John Cale-era Squeeze or the New York never-weres The Necessaries. Each song on their self-titled debut catwalk swaggered with sucked-in cheeks like Alex James' effortless bounce on Blur's 'Girls & Boys'. In their silk button-downs and slickly combed hair, the band mimicked the gauche decadence of Suede to such a point that it appeared they were wearing Anderson and Butler's hand-me-down menswear. The parallels were fluorescent: Franz and I were both stubbornly nostalgic for the decade-gone heights of Britpop. I've been looking for a way to work schnauzers and Magyar into a review. No, no, Franz Ferdinand was the perfect vehicle for a comeback. I looked up the aisle of the bus and spotted Ott hunched over a laptop, biting his tongue and copying studiously from a Thesaurus.

Besides, you promised me the Franz Ferdinand review months ago.'

'I'm seeing the interpretive dancer Santa Schultz, the Revolutionary War soldier Ham Grass, advice columnist Professor Rok, Diapers the glam-loving lab monkey, Justin Davies the bass player of The Hold My Coat, The Bummelgörk, Kelly the Masseuse, Volodrag the Yugoslavian sycophant, Paul Bunyan, Wolfie. I'm seeing a comeback for one of your zany characters,' Ryan said, making stupid TV-producer gestures with his hands. I've even done the I'm-not-going-to-do-a-concept-review-anymore concept review,' I said. People love them and hate them,' he said. I really want you to do one of your trademark concept reviews. 'Ah, Jesus, man, I knew there was a catch,' I sighed. Besides, I wanted to ask you to write a new review,' he said. I just don't see why six years is an anniversary to celebrate,' I said. Inside the box sat a green lapel pin shaped like the number six laid over Poseidon's trident. 'I was going to wait to give this to you,' he said. He pulled a maroon jewelry box from his Member's Only. As the fresh writers swapped customized iPod skins and debated the cultural impact of Xiu Moo, I counted passing silos while listening to worn Britpop mix cassettes and neurotically rubbing the growing bald spot on my scalp. Due to seniority, Ryan gave me the back bench on the bus. Having just completed principle photography on a documentary biopic detailing my creative life, I decided to tag along despite no longer feeling part of the team.

With the cash from the Thesaurus Musicarum sales snowing in, Editor-in-Chief Ryan Schreiber decided to treat the entire staff of Pitchfork to a weekend retreat at Steamers, a Finnish bath/scat fetish 'bunny ranch' in Baraboo, Wisconsin.

Franz ferdinand band website