The decision to make a Brian Eno album is in many ways the musical equivalent of a midlife crisis. Besides being a hipster band’s wet dream for hire, Eno is also a kind of Dr. Phil with a mixing console and actual worth.

How enthralling is Global News's recent ongoing Newshour series, "B.C. Premiers - Where Are They Now?" Given the shameful parade of near criminal crackpots we've had over the decades, who thought we wanted to know? And why give them a neat little platform to plug their latest pocket-liners? There have to be more interesting people somewhere in this province who've actually contributed something to society besides scandal and incompetence.

Does anybody remember the Paul Boyd police shooting? I do. I happened to know the guy. Seven months have passed since his supposed rampage on Granville and subsequent fatal gun-down and I still don’t know what happened that night in August 2007. And worse, I know I never will, but can’t the Vancouver Police Department at least stack its deck in a timely fashion?

It has come to this. In the new issue of Empire Magazine, Louis Leterrier, the director of the forthcoming “Incredible Hulk” movie, “ actually walks us through the freshly minted “Incredible Hulk” teaser trailer.

Flipping through the idiot-box wasteland one fine evening, I came across one of those frightening, out-of-control, mega-glitzy showbiz production numbers, the kind that seem to scream like a vein-popping drill sergeant, “We are now entertaining the living hell out of you!” I think it was the Grammys. Worse yet, it was a duet, confirming something I’ve long suspected: duets kind of blow.

You invite Heather Mills and Paul McCartney to the music section’s dinner party, and we reward you with a Payback Time T-shirt, two CDs off the Straight ’s Top 50, and two tickets to a Live Nation club show taking place in Vancouver within the next four weeks. Here’s this week’s winning whine.

Are you ready to rock? If the answer is no, chances are it’s not your fault. Look around. Somewhere along the way, we have lost the rock song about rockin’. While we were distracted by our day-to-day crap and going about the business of life, the rock song about rockin’ simply vanished into the fog-machine mists of time. It’s a tragedy. Without it, how is anyone supposed to rock and roll all nite, let alone party every day?

There's really nothing these vapid piles of laundry, rocking baby's first beard or an inscrutable squeak, haven't wrecked