Clock - 100 A.D.
The first one, like the computer, was six stories tall. It weighed over 500 tons, and had to be wound by a team of horses. Forty men were killed during its invention. Don’t ask about the first watch.

Umbrella - 50 B.C.
Before they could invent the leather jacket, makeup, and dress slacks, the Chinese had to invent the umbrella. Once it was accomplished, the Golden Age of Fashion (50 B.C. - 400 A.D.) flourished.

Zero - 670 B.C.
Mathematicians were tired of expressing nothing as an elaborate interpretive dance, which took over 2 days to perform. Eventually, they just drew a circle to represent the lack of amount.

Comet - 2300 B.C.
Not satisfied with the static appearance of stars, Chinese scientists managed to propel one across the sky, but could not control it. We used to have two moons, but one was destroyed by an errant comet prototype.

Unicorn - 1470 B.C.
This horned equine was invented by a king for his young daughter’s 4th birthday. After rejecting hundreds of ponies (which were slaughtered), the girl suggested a horn, and as all bratty girls do, she got her wish.

I had a feeling from the start, that this album being called Classics would bite itself in the ass. Yeah, it’s got that “classic” Ratatat sound, but there’s no expansion upon it - it feels like they learned nothing in the last couple of years. That sweeping synth sound and pseudo-hop beats are back, with the same ol’ rollercoaster arpeggiated progression.

“Lex” quickly rehashes their bouncesynth specialty - but with harpsichord(!) support . “Wildcat” actually features a wildcat growling, which is cool, but that’s about as innovative as it gets. “Loud Pipes” is a slow, clappy stomp only teasing your ethereal side with sonar drops. “Nostrand” creeps along decently, but blasts back into the same ol’ synth wails. DJs with guitars have gone too far.

This album made me decide to avoid their upcoming show, for boredom’s sake. I envision thrusting hips and cemented feet. It’s not a dance album, it’s not a chill album, it’s not that exciting. It’s that not-so-fresh feeling.

My only previous experience here was guzzling Bloody Marys during the first U.S. World Cup match a last month. The TVs were kinda crappy, but at least the bar staff was decent and the drinks did the job.

This time around, dinner was in order. When we got there, the meathead bouncer trained his underling on how to check our licenses, which took way too long. Pop videos were on every TV, and the audio from them was blasting nonstop. Instead of a smokehouse/bar atmosphere, it evoked images of a 16-year-old girl’s birthday party. I guess they sell more meat that way.

We hit up the potato skins, which were the blandest I’ve ever had. We poured on half a bottle of pepper to give them life. At least the gin & tonic was big.

I decided to rock the pulled pork sandwich, which came with lettuce and slaw on it. Again, kinda bland. It made me reminisce about the great Sloppy Joes and shredded-meat sandwiches I’ve had in my day. This was not one.

Between the shamelessly slutty waitress wandering around, the mook bouncer, and the uninspiring waiter, the staff would be Whiskey’s biggest problem. The food is decent, but not legit BBQ. If you’re on Boylston looking for dinner, I suggest to keep walking.