Someone robbed Bagel Place. And ripped down the much-despised timecard machine, so it must be an inside job.

Body Language, At a Glance/Timed Pleasure. What’s with remixes that make songs LESS danceable? Or with bands called Body Language that sound lethargic and inexpressive?

My sister used to live in Ann Arbor, and on a trip to visit her in the late 1980s I remember paying homage to the Borders bookstore there. This was not the original Borders, a small used book shop which had opened in the early 1970s, but the rebuilt flagship of what was quickly becoming the second largest bookstore chain in the country, after Barnes & Noble.
I could have sneered. I was the owner of a hip little bookshop in New Haven at the time, one which was having trouble staying solvent thanks in part to the discount-happy Waldenbooks outlet in the Chapel Square mall. Big bookstore chains, we were told, would bring hasten the death of the independent bookseller.
Yet Borders was undeniably impressive. It wasn’t just touting volume (the stores were massive) but authoritative knowledge. There were specialists for each section of the store. They ordered and stocked titles which redrew the boundaries of what chain bookstores usually carried. Small publishers and obscure but vital publications were well represented.
Meanwhile, at the time, Ann Arbor had a host of other independent bookstores.
I thought Borders was a good thing, and I held that opinion at least into the mid-‘90s, by which time the chain had finally come to Connecticut bigtime and had also experienced the first of several wobbly moments in its corporate health. When it started to lose its luster, the chain diversified. But for a time it did so with the same specialists’ zeal with which it had originally distinguished itself. CD racks appeared, but offering a number of exclusive recordings by the sort of articulate singer-songwriters who might especially appeal to those who browsed at Borders.

A host of articles in the Detroit Free Press and elsewhere suggest that the ultimate demise of Borders, which shifted its corporate strategy from bankruptcy protection to outright liquidation this week, was due to diversifying too much. A lot has been written about Borders turning a dark corner when it started pushing stationery and hand lotion. Some might defend those products as in keeping with certain rarefied needs of obsessive book-readers. But much of the analysis concludes that where Borders really blew it was in devaluing the need for experts to manage its book sales. Without an informed, invigorated, enthusiastic staff to tout titles which customers would otherwise not have known about, Borders became indistinguishable from other gigantic places that sell books cheap.

I’ll save the corollaries to other struggling industries (newspapers) for another time. I don’t believe that the major brick-and-mortar book chains didn’t see the rise of internet book sales and e-book readers coming from years away—back in the ‘80s, when I first visited a Borders, there were already frequent articles in mainstream media about e-books and new electronic distribution systems. Where they lapsed was in good old-fashioned qualities like knowing one’s stock and being able to recommend it. Many of the small, independent bookseller who (unlike Borders) understand that are still around.

Extinct’s first single, “Art Smart” (formerly just “Smart”) has been released to radio. You can buy an actual vinyl copy at the band’s next gig, Nov. 16 at the Bullfinch. That’s right—from unknown Wednesday “new sounds” opening act to headlining “national recording artist” in three short months. … The Blits, by the way, appear to have broken up. (Nobody tells me anything.) So have The Blats. Sonny Blitt has a solo acoustic show during the Hamilton’s Happy Hour Thursday. We are of many minds about this abrupt development, since we had only recently begun to take the band seriously. …

Bagel place has new timecard box, on-site management and no fraternization allowed among employees.

Parenthetical Girls. All about the aesthetics. “Careful who you dance with; somebody’s liable to get their head kicked in.” Gorgeous art-rock videos unencumbered by the dreamy slowed-down pop plaints of Zac Pennington, who operates (rightfully) under the dual billing of “vocalist/creative director.” Style is paramount for this slender, nude, well-coiffed tranquilized party-boy band.

A utopian speculation by Francis Bacon. Antedeluvian bible-thumping mythology by Minnesota congressman Ignatius Donnelly. Donovan chant, with guitar solo by Jeff Beck. Dirk Pitt adventure by Titanic-saver Clive Cussler. John Ashley soggy romance suspense flick from 1973. Acting class July 28 & 29 for thespian tots aged 6 and 7 at the Long Wharf Theatre. (A press release exhorts “Go exploring with us as we dive deep into the mystical world of Myth, Magic and Monsters as we spend the class in the lost city of Atlantis. Using their imaginations, students will enter a world of magic & intrigue.”)

The space shuttle we’ve all been following this week. Now why, with that name and in its final journey, was it not allowed to land in the water?

Most of Brand O’s songs may be strictly Brand X, but the band has made a major breakthrough on the sartorial side of the scene: different sized stencils for different sized shirts!
How many times have you passed up the XL shirt because the band logo looked so small in the middle of it? You buy the M, which seems a perfect balance of fabric and icon. But you never wear it because the only thing more ubiquitous in the scene than T-shirts is beer, and the shirt just doesn’t fall correctly around your bulging belly?
Tog Tropix, Brand O’s drummer (as if you didn’t know—isn’t a band’s drummer always its logo designer?)—says she “just felt funny” about a small image swimming in such a large swath of cloth. “I mean, I felt physically ill. That’s my aesthetic. I’m a drummer, but mostly I’m a designer.”

Smalltooth, Slender Snipe and Tropical Gar experimfolkindie meltdown at the Bullfinch. Happy hour drink specials, though there’s nothing happy about the music… All tribute acts at Hamilton’s, albeit the kind where it’s not really a full tribute because the feted band didn’t have enough popular songs to warrant a full set. Also, you can’t tell from the band titles who the tributes are for, unless you’re so into these bands that any tribute done by others would likely sicken you. In any case, Bulbous Deepsea Angler and Unicorn Crest, your stage is set… Crisscross Prickleback and Alligator Pipe at D’ollaire’s will definitely sell more beer than anyone else playing this night…

Bagel place is under new management. Mar and I asked to share a shift.

The Summer Set, Everything Fine.” Skinny, squeaky clean faux-indie act which, based on the descriptions I read—Alternative Press likes ‘em, John Fields produced ‘em—would be appropriate summer listening for this hot and sultry week. I was misinformed. This is a year-round by-the-numbers Disney Channel-style pop, with unnecessary harmonies and twangs and other fillips. Overdone like heatstroke.