Dear Readers,

How's it going? I'm a little stressed out. Maybe you hadn't heard: THE WORLD IS GOING TO END. Don't believe those scientists or your own rational thought. The Mayans ended their calendar on this date because they knew the truth. We all know ancient civilizations have never been wrong. In light of all this impending doom, I'd like to take a moment to dump some apocalypse concerns on you.

First off, everyone needs to pick out what songs they will listen to while the world burns around them. Some will choose occasion-appropriate stuff, like Britney Spears' "Till The World Ends" or R.E.M.'s "It's the End of the World as We Know It." Others will indulge guilty pleasures, and do so proudly. Now is the time for "Thnks Fr Th Mmrs," "Hey, Soul Sister" and every song from "Rent." Now, more than ever, we should not be sorry for party rocking.

I don't even know where to begin with my Last Day On Earth playlist. A good chunk of my time will probably be allotted to my first musical love, The Beatles. For that matter, there are a lot of legends I need to hear one last time -- Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Aretha Franklin, The Rolling Stones, Fleetwood Mac, Chuck Berry, The Clash.

In our lifetime alone, there is just too much to get through. We need to take some last moments to feel angsty with The Strokes and Pavement, to get rambunctious with the Beastie Boys, to rap along with Jay-Z or play air guitar along with The White Stripes.


Think of this tragically shortened year in music, one that delivered fantastic artists and records we haven't had enough time with. Azealia Banks is just getting her tongue sharpened. Grizzly Bear's Shields and Frank Ocean's Channel Orange deserve hundreds of more listens. I've yet to get hammered at a Japandroids show and I still haven't figured what Phoenix is singing about in "Lisztomania." Have you? We need more time, damnit.

So why do we carry on with this farce of putting out a newspaper on the day of the apocalypse? It's inhuman, really. I'm going to go attempt to fulfill my dreams of getting tattooed with Bethany Cosentino and digging through record store crates with ?uestlove and James Murphy. I urge you to consider your own musical end-of-the-world bucket list, even if it's just to have a whole lotta sex to "Whole Lotta Love."

Yours until the end,


P.S. If this all goes down rapture-style and we're left behind, let's agree to start a new civilization in which we pretend Milli Vanilli never happened.