Mark LeVine, a musicologist at the University of California, has written a book called Heavy Metal Islam, which marks the proliferation of head-bangers throughout the Middle East. Most are young, digitally adept (they get their music from the Internet because it's usually haram in their countries), and happy to channel the frustration of living in a closed society through Metallica and Ozzy Osbourne, or rather their own domestic versions of them. Iran's O-Hum uses Western guitar riffs alongside Persian melodies and the poetry of the 14th-century Sufi poet Hafez. In Lebanon The Kordz have more or less provided the soundtrack for the Cedar Revolution. Reza Aslan at Slate reviews LeVine's book, but both writers make a major prescriptive blunder in stating what they'd like to see happen as a political consequence of Mideast metal:

When you're a big time Miami crime rapper who took your name from a legendary cocaine dealer, and somebody "accuses" you of once being a prison guard, why not just admit it? Then you could have a nice laugh about how far you've come. Instead, Rick Ross denied it, and got The Smoking Gun on his case, which just keeps on releasing more evidence of his C.O. career, and now people like us are providing links to his Certificate of Appreciation "in recognition of your service as a Perfect Attendance Employee assisting the Department of Corrections." Hustlin' baby. After the jump, the now-famous photo of the big coke don at his graduation ceremony as a corrections officer, which he tried to attribute to "online hackers" or something:

Deep down in our hearts, where we keep our darkest fears hidden, we knew this day would come: the day when you find out after the fact that a hit song is actually an advertisement. Let the tears of rage flow. Chris Brown is not the vessel of true love that you thought! When the R&B star sang "We can go anywhere, go anywhere/ But first, it's your chance, take my hand, come with me," he wasn't talking to you, girl; he was talking to your Wrigley's Doublemint gum. But the company is only revealing its sponsorship after Brown's song, "Forever," had become a top-10 hit. We don't want to appear as if we invest the music of Chris Brown with any meaning whatsoever; but now would be an appropriate time to begin boycotting Wrigley, if you would like to have the option of listening to songs that aren't sponsored by mega-corporations in the coming decade.

As any of my close friends will attest, I don't know a damned thing about music. But I do know when I like it, and I especially like it when it's used to wonderful effect in cinema or television. So what's your favorite example(s) of such use? As usual, the rules are loose and fast. It can be a bone fide musical number, or a scene that simply uses music especially well (Is that a "score"? I have no idea about this stuff.) Anyway, here's my first entry. Add yours!

"Prepare to be destroyed this summer," promises the website for the Hard Fest, which isn't exactly a heartwarming PLUR-like welcome. This promise (or is it a threat?) becomes even more baffling when you consider that DJ MomJeans, aka celebrity scientologist cum DJ Danny Masterson, is one of the people who makes up this bill. Currently placing somewhere outside of the Top Ten celebrity DJs — the Ronson siblings seem to have the lockdown on the top two spots — Masterson's acting career has been somewhat frigid since That '70s Show went off the air. We remember seeing Masterson in an extended cameo in the Anna Faris stoner comedy Smiley Face, and his IMDB profile shows that he's got a few projects in the pipeline, but we're glad to hear that the DJ circuit is lucrative enough for him to continue filling the coffers at the Celebrity Centre. (Those OT-VII ratings don't buy themselves, you know). Still, if you're on the hunt for a rave disguised as a sausage fest with 17 year-olds, the HARD Festival just might be the place for you this weekend. The rest of the line-up is run down after the jump.

Who knew that robbing the Backstreet Boys could have so many financial rewards, on top of the emotional satisfaction? Lou Pearlman, the sleazebag boy band promoter who managed Backstreet and N'Sync, among others, has been ordered to repay $300 million to hundreds of people that he swindled in a Ponzi scheme that played out for decades. But uh, according to our forensic accounting, he might have a little trouble making full restitution:

If you were a totally unknown rapper who suddenly appeared in a documentary rhyming alongside the late Biggie Smalls, one of the greatest and fattest men to ever pick up a microphone, wouldn't you be happy for the publicity? (Yes, if you were smart). Not if your name was Supreme, a Brooklyn rapper who is suing some documentary makers for $20 million (good luck) for using footage of the Notorious B.I.G. battling Supreme in 1994. It caused him "mental distress," the poor lil guy! The Post says the suit "neglects to say who won the war of words between Supreme and Biggie," but we're gonna go with "Biggie by a mile," based on classic clips like this one:

Grunge-breaking, Nirvana-discovering Sub Pop Records turned 20 this week! Awww! To celebrate, they mounted an attack on the Seattle Space Needle, and proudly flew their freak flag. And it was actually sunny for the event. Happy birthday guys! Video of the siege after the jump.

The hip hop magazine XXL has a serious problem: It was founded back in the days when hip hop people actually wore XXL clothes. Now, everybody wears tight pants, and young'uns don't even understand what "XXL" means. So Byron "Bol" Crawford, a blogger for the magazine's website-whom I secretly love (NO HOMO, Bol) because he is perhaps the most offensive asshole on earth-is trying to revive the relevance of XXL's name by encouraging hip hop to "reclaim its manliness." By, uh, smashing all "teh gheyness."

At one time-1994, specifically-Nas was the king of New York, and the greatest rapper alive. Over successive albums he got somewhat less great. But he did a good job of scoring free publicity for his new album by naming it "Nigger," then, predictably, being forced to change it. You have to like him though-he's the kind of guy who tells the WSJ that he envisions the hip hop nation growing old and "going to Snoop Dogg concerts in the meadow." And he has this sweet Fox News dis track out too. You all (meaning "Briganti & Co.") should have memorized it by now:

Hillary Clinton aide Howard Wolfson is now a regular contributor to Fox News, but in his heart of hearts, he'd like to be a contributing editor at Spin. As we've mentioned, he regularly sends out indie-heavy playlists of what he's listening to to friends, fellow flacks, and journalists. And we finally found his 2004 end-of-year list! Complete with blurbs! Wolfson's top ten, and other assored bits of music criticism from the be-sweatered communications consultant, after the jump.

A couple months ago we heard that Atlanta rap mogul and midget Jermaine Dupri was starting a record label financed by Procter & Gamble and the sickly TAG body spray as a way to more effectively spread TAG body spray to the urban masses. For a moment it looked like right wing racism might have the unexpected benefit of scuttling the project, but alas. Now it's even worse: Every brand wants to make their own records. But hey, they just want the artist dudes to "have fun, as though they were doing any song" (about Converse, the shoe of grave-robbing image pimps):

Acoustic versions of highly produced pop songs are the new easiest irony, as evinced by yesterday's most watched Youtube video, an acoustic version of Four Minutes to Save the World. This is just-add-water cultural criticism that bespeaks no thought or compelling effort, but which is publicly lauded for adhering to the structure of an actual parody. Ironic T-shirts, I'm talking to you. The acoustic cover amusements began with Alanis Morisette's version of My Humps. That actually was funny, My Humps has stupid lyrics, and underscoring them with legitimate sentiment was something like a commentary. Then there were the thousands of Umbrella covers. At the beginning of hers, Mandy Moore talks about how she doesn't like pop music. This is precisely what's wrong with this trend: Mandy Moore is not allowed to condescend to pop music, she is pop music. After the jump, the Four Minutes video.

"Putting on a headphone and listening to an MP3 is like hell," 62-year-old rock eccentric Neil Young has said, while praising the sonic qualities of old vinyl records. Now, taking a clue from the fix-it-yourself Web 2.0 kids, Young told the Financial Times that he's working on an alternative digital distribution platform that won't drive his ears nuts:

Stephen Bower, the A&R and marketing director of Vanguard Records, writes in regarding our earlier post on Vanguard artist Greg Laswell, the "indie" (according to the WSJ) musician who has a slew of corporate promotional deals. "As for Greg's indie cred, I've never been entirely sure what that means exactly, but for what its worth he made the entire new record in a garage, in 3 weeks, on a shoestring budget, and with a collection of pawnshop guitars, banjos, and noisemakers that would probably set you back $500 combined," says Bower. Noted! His full rumination on Laswell, indie-ness, and how all your favorite bands are forced to do corporate shit these days, after the jump.

Dude, it is so refreshing to listen to "indie" musicians because "indie" musicians are "independent" from corporate control. Ha. We should pretty much eradicate the word "indie," which has become a total, depressing farce. In order to sell a single freaking song in today's environment, musicians must rush around bootlicking every monster corporation of any type willing to give away some airplay and free promotion. It's only a matter of time before Lockheed Martin is making bombs that play Pearl Jam songs on the way down. Witness what one single up-and-coming "indie" singer named Greg Laswell subjected himself to in the quest for publicity:

Craig Seymour is a college professor who was living a boring little life in Washington, DC when he said, quote, "Fuck it" and became a gay stripper. And now he wrote a book about the whole thing, as strippers who are also writers are wont to do. And you'll never guess who Seymour's good "cool ass white boy" pal was back in the day. That's right, internet politigossipmonger Matt Drudge! Who loves nothing better than soap operas and Chaka Khan remixes:

God I love these perverse little lists: A web site that tracks what its users listen to on iTunes has compiled a list of the songs its users most often delete from their records, presumably tracks that people listened to but don't want anyone to see. So what are the most popular guilty pleasures?

RealNetworks freeing its Rhapsody music store offerings from copy-protection chains is about "going after a larger audience and making a better customer service experience available to people," according to Real VP Neil Smith. It may be too little, too late — I doubt my mom will be shopping at Rhapsody again any time soon, and good luck convincing anyone younger than me to pay for MP3s. [Wired]

Today just got a whole lot more awesome as the coolest man alive, David Bowie, writes in the Mail on Sunday that he's putting together a CD compilation of his own favorite songs. Unlike the many "ChangesBowie" best-of CDs, this one is not full of his hits. Instead, he writes, "For this CD compilation I've selected 12 of my songs that I don't seem to tire of. Few of them are well known, but many of them are still sung at my concerts. Usually by me." He goes on to list them, and explains the process behind the creation of each one, after the jump.