Marnie Stern's t-shirts make fun of Wavves not Wu-Tang
» We'll take 30% of the proceeds
The Hatfields vs. the McCoys. Coke vs. Pepsi. Vampires vs. Lycans. Ancient feuds burn hot in the bellies of those who wage them, but few can pinpoint their exact genesis. Marnie Stern vs. Bethany Cosentino? Yeah, that was us. Two months ago.
But before we explain why Marnie Stern's t-shirts feature Dirt McGirt's moniker under her photo, let us peel back the layers of what will surely turn out to be the biggest thing to rock the indie scene since Taco Bell's Chicken Flatbread $5 Buck Box.
Back in September, we published a comprehensive and illuminating interview of Stern by our own Georgia Kral. Conversation veered toward the current state of rock 'n' roll and in reference to Best Coast, Stern noted "Of course I heard a song and was like 'Are you joking me?'" And other stuff. It was the shot heard round' the world, and definitively proved that many music blogs had been aching to use phrases like "Cat Fight" and "Indie Rock Chick Feud" for a long time.
Bethany Cosentino, being a "chick," could not stand for this affront against her songs, and in reference to Stern's comments, told an audience in Philadelphia that "Haters can suck my dick."
So New York Magazine stops watching their live CCTV feed of Katie Perry for 15 minutes and conducts an interview with Marnie Stern in which she states that her "quote was kind of taken out of context," and that one should "Like what you like. Period."
Which brings us to Nathan Williams of Wavves (who as her boyfriend, is presumably the subject of at least a few of Ms. Cosentino's songs about "boys") exercising what can only be called a deeply eloquent exercise of chivalric code by calling Marnie Stern an "old, desperate, bitch." She of the face melting hammer-ons responded in kind by making these t-shirts that embrace the nickname. It works.
There are many lessons to be gleaned from all this (Mountain Dew tastes great with no-fi?) but perhaps the most prescient is that Impose is your one-stop-shop for lucrative feudin'. Sales lagging? Venues empty? Air your beef in our magazine. We promise to catapult you off the air mattress and onto Page Six. Blowing shit out of proportion has never tasted so sweet…