The text at the beginning of Drake's video for "HYFR"—"On October 24th 2011 Aubrey 'Drake' Graham chose to get re-bar mitzvah'd as a re-commitment to the Jewish religion … the following is a clip displaying the event that took place"—can be taken as seriously or sardonically as you want. Drake's much-anticipated "bar mitzvah" video, released on the first night of Passover, was originally hyped on the web as a "re-creation" of his original childhood ceremony. We get actual footage from baby Drake’s celebration at the intro, but beyond that, this is a music video staged at a bar mitzvah. If we hadn’t been told in advance that it means something to the artist, “HYFR” could pass for a "Saturday Night Live" short. Well, that and the painstaking shots of Drake up on the bimah. We can’t tell what he’s chanting; his mouth isn’t moving, the friends and family are nodding their heads to the track, and the scene cuts back and forth to Drake rapping in front of the synagogue and in an empty sanctuary. READ MORE

"Sounds so soulful, don't you agree?"

That's Jay-Z, breaking in to admire the long, pitched-down passage from "Try A Little Tenderness" that opens "Otis," the second official leak from Jay and Yeezy's Watch The Throne. The track on "Otis" alternates between interpolation and staccato bursts, as if torn between literalism (reverence?) and avoiding a lawsuit (its own kind of nostalgia). Since it's 2011, and Otis Redding's estate is well advised of its rights and powers, Redding is credited as a featured artist on the track, a featured role that almost makes it seem like "Otis" is the King of Soul's posthumous tribute to himself, "Unforgettable" minus the filial right, or attachment, to the seance. Except "Otis" isn't about Otis Redding at all, and the use of "Try A Little Tenderness"—a song that hardly begins and ends with Redding's 1966 studio recording—has come to represent "soul" in a way that nearly contradicts the spirit of Hov's ad-lib.

I can’t tell if the Internet is a never-ending job, an inescapable workplace, or both. I suppose my job is “writing” (I try to stay a notch above “warrior of content”) but it still feels weird to introduce myself as “a writer." In my ears this always sounds like I've been revising a historical novel about my great-uncle's flight from a Cossack bandit gang in the latter part of the Crimean war, complete with an appendix explaining several varieties of cannon. READ MORE

The twelfth highest-grossing film in America this past week was Country Strong. In it, Goop plays Kelly Canter, a boozed-out, decrepit country star just looking for another chance. Tim McGraw tackles the role of James Canter, the long-suffering cardigan that also happens to be her husband, manager and occasional tormentor. Leighton Meester is Chiles Stanton, a sweet young thing making the leap from pageants to the music biz. Garrett Hedlund is Beau Hutton, a dreamy rehab janitor who lives to play the honky-tonks. It's the second film from Shana Feste—not a stage name—and Tobey Maguire snagged a production credit. READ MORE

I have never understood how critics, outside of the few tenured at operations with their heads above water, manage to make a living. I say this as someone who, for several years, more or less got by writing about music. The primary audience for criticism seems to be other critics, or at least consumers with, for lack of a better word, "critical" sensibilities. But maybe I'm denying the awesome, fundamental power of the written word. Criticism—and in this, I would include any form of review or preview—passes judgment so that others might be free, or at least spared any inconvenience. READ MORE

As a child I realized I would die, and thought about it often. My parents, now divorced, both like to recount the time I made this sad, if fairly inevitable, discovery. We were driving by a cemetery; I asked if all animals died, then if people were animals, and when I got my answers, was quiet for a long time. In second grade, I realized that looking forward to summer vacation was the same as eating away at the balance of my time on Earth. It was hard to enjoy the tire swing after that. Two years later, it was even worse. My family went to Montreal (again, the summer) and to this day, I associate the Expos with my own flesh gone cold and rotting. READ MORE

Captain Beefheart died with the mark of the weirdo on him. If the twelve-tone Howlin' Wolf acolyte who dabbled in Surrealism and late Coltrane hadn't once been mistaken for a rock musician, his passing wouldn't be national news. But he was, and thus became the kind of eccentric who can't simply be ignored. Beefheart had to be confronted. READ MORE

For as long as I can remember, I've gone out of my way to enjoy eves, precipices and the part of a roller coaster right before that first drop. Even though I hate everything that comes next—and in the case of holidays and other special occasions, I bore easily. I just love the anticipation. Still, the night before my second book came out, all I could think about was my fucking record shelf. READ MORE