Holy hell, this is harrowing. This past weekend, Delorean, an electronic-pop act from Barcelona, performed at the Mexican installment of the Mutek Festival and on Monday morning, they were still at their Mexico City hotel when an emergency call came in, urging them to vacate the premises due to a shootout. They complied—and were taken hostage.

Writer-turned-not-lawyer-turned-lawyer-turned-writer Elizabeth Wurtzel has been on something of a musical jag lately. Last month, she wrote in the Daily Beast about her fraught relationship with Paul Westerberg, and how he wrote a song about her. Today in Thought Catalog (which is just really, really odd placement), she writes about how she fucked a pseudonymous married musician, who likewise wrote a song about her. Next up: Dave Pirner in the BuzzFeed Community Forums!

Barely competent pop star and less competent human being Chris Brown is the subject of a doozy of a Guardian profile (it's the one in which he brags about having lost his virginity at age 8). God, this guy is such a fucking asshole.

Whatever Justin Timberlake had, musically, he's lost—at least for now, if his excruciating The 20/20 Experience – 2 of 2 is an indication. Some critics who stretched to defend the uninspired first half of this unpleasant "experience" earlier this year can't even muster a pro argument for this collection of outtakes of an album that already sounded like outtakes in the first place (2 of 2 is to 1 of 2 as 1 of 2 is to FutureSex/LoveSounds). The guy has nothing to say, and so he structures the majority of the overlong songs here around thematic metaphors, like R. Kelly without the humor, smarts, panache, individuality, and soul. His trusty producer, responsible for the bulk of 2 of 2's beats similarly has nothing new to say. Who's hungry for twice-reheated '00s revivalism?

"You could watch that performance from the VMAs and think that it's a hot mess, but it's a strategic hot mess," said Miley Cyrus on last night's MTV special Miley: The Movement. Well, it's about time someone said it.

Rihanna's "Pour It Up" is the video that dares to ask the question: What's the difference between a pop star and a stripper? And then it dares to answer the question: NOTHING.

Lil Wayne was once at the top of his field—so much so that when he declared himself
"Best Rapper Alive," people took him seriously. Now he is slumming it in a guest verse on Paris Hilton's bid at a comeback single, "Good Time." (Spoiler alert: She's lying. It's a bad time.)

Once upon a time not so long ago, there was an idea: that some things in this world should be able to exist free from the influence of money—that these things should be done because of their own intrinsic value. You would be forgiven for scoffing at the notion that this idea was ever taken seriously at all.

Why would you want to look at Morrissey's mopey face when you could have your Smiths play over the most beautiful and cosmically appropriate infomercial footage? [via Josh Fruhlinger]

We've got someone exciting dropping by today: Wayne Coyne, the frontman and songwriter for indie-rock legends the Flaming Lips, will be joining us at 3 p.m. to answer your questions. Just ask in the comments using your Kinja account, or create a burner account to ask questions anonymously (instructions here).

If you're one of the very few people in the world with both an irrational Nirvana obsession and lots of money to throw around—most rich people only listen to classical music or Jay-Z—then, boy, do we have the house for you.

E.D.M. will be the death of our culture, if molly doesn't kill us all first. That is what I gathered from "Night Club Royale," the New Yorker's semi-profile of Paris Hilton's ex, producer/DJ Afrojack, who amused me so when I saw him at the Electric Daisy Carnival in 2012, and through whom writer Josh Eells gives us a good look at the entire Vegas nightclub casino scene. (Between this and the Rolling Stone Miley Cyrus profile, Eells having the best culture-writing week ever.)

Last night, Canadian music collective Godspeed You! Black Emperor was awarded the 2013 Polaris Music Prize—given each year to an album by a Canadian artist. A statement from the band follows.

Hello, I have just been listening to Black Midi for the past 10 minutes so you will have to excuse me if my writing is INCOMPREHENSIBLY DENSE AND GLORIOUSLY CRACKED LIKE A GOLDEN TORTOISE'S SHELL THAT HS BEEN DROPPED FROM THE TOP OF A CRAY XC30-AC SUPERCOMPUTER.

Every town has its weird history, and even the newest housing tract of wet stucco and green 2x4s has some kind of buried backstory. The island city where I live today is loaded with Gold Rush tales and Victorian mansions, but the fact that Jim Morrison spent his formative years around the block is not something you can learn about at the local historical society.

Why spend almost $70 on this Marc Jacobs t-shirt when you can get a Skrewdriver shirt on CafePress for only a little more than it costs to go to a movie?

Earlier today, Lady Gaga graced the stage of Good Morning America to perform a Wizard of Oz-styled spin on "Applause," complete with several costume changes. (This era, she's really intent on wowing us with how many times she can change her costumes in one song, and I will admit that it is a nice distraction from the actual song.) During some down time, she supposedly talked to her attending "Little Monsters" about part-time rapper, full-time Twitter troll Azealia Banks. Banks was once rumored to appear on Gaga's upcoming ARTPOP album. Banks also recently attacked Gaga on Twitter for adopting and advocating a mermaid-inspired style, as Banks has also done. "Hey! No fair! You stole my mermaid style!" is an argument an actual 22-year-old woman made to another grown woman.

Alarming news for music lovers: the New York City Opera, which has performed in the city for generations, will have to cancel the rest of its season and all of next year's season if it doesn't raise $20 million soon. A tragedy, for the arts. Still, no one should give the opera $20 million.

If this week’s deluge of new R&B releases were dining experiences, John Legend’s fourth album, Love in the Future, would be a sort of traditional Italian, white-table-cloth, ancient-waiter affair. Tamar Braxton’s Love and War, meanwhile, would be more like a visit to Olive Garden – its charm is in its tacky populism. Jaheim’s sixth album, Appreciation Day, falls somewhere in between – he uses his Vandross-like pipes to sing things that Luther never would (the title track’s unabridged name is actually “Pussy Appreciation Day”). Continuing the culinary theme, Janelle Monáe’s sophomore album The Electric Lady (out next week) is like an eclectic tasting menu where all the dishes are arranged around soul. The Weeknd’s Kiss Land (also out next week) is Doggy Chow. My favorite R&B album of the year, AlunaGeorge’s Body Music, is like molecular gastronomy.

Sure, summer is almost over. And we've already had plenty of worthy pretenders to the "Song of the Summer" throne. But that just makes this unknown duo's accomplishment that much more impressive.