Marc Bianchi knows a thing or two about heartbreak - he once released a record called Home Is Where You Hang Yourself, for chrissakes. His new The Young Machines turns down the symphonic leanings of last year's Manic Expressive and turns up the signature clicky-beat weirdness of his new label Mush, but retains all that endearingly sappy miserablism. It's for your own good:

My girlfriend is a fucking asshole. She was not, however, a fucking asshole when we moved in together eight months ago. Is there a pill or potion, perhaps even a tea or self-help class that might cure her fucking assholeness? Because to be quite honest, this apartment is sweet and the rent is ideal.

-Jarrod, San Francisco, California

Man, I feel your pain. I've been in this same situation: You meet, fall in love, start spending every night together. One morning, you roll over, stroke her cheek and say, "This is nice, poodle. I wish I could wake up to your beautiful face every morning." And then slowly but surely, things start falling apart. Now she constantly bitches and moans about how messy you are. What's a little piss on the bathroom floor? It will dry. And so will her tears. I mean she should feel honored that she can work all day and come home to you passed out on the couch with your hands in your pants and a pile of dishes in the sink. The good news is, there is in fact a cure for her dickishness, and that is you moving out. The change her new boyfriend will experience will be remarkable. I think you meant to start your letter with "my girlfriend is fucking an asshole." Good luck and keep us posted.

Last night, I was at this party, and Steve from Blue's Clues was there. Thing is he's kinda hot when he doesn't have on that stripped shirt and isn't talking to a cartoon dog. I was making eyes at him and stuff but I felt uncomfortable striking up a conversation since I was drunk and I knew I'd say something like, "Hey, so can we do it on your thinking chair?" Maybe I should email him. What do you think?

-Tracy, Bronx, N.Y.

You are a sick girl. I think you need to sit back and look at your motivation. Is it Steve that you're really turned on by, or is it by the show itself? I myself have also been swept up in the presence of megastars before. It's really intoxicating thinking about what could be, you know? One minute you're living a normal life, and the next you're sitting around the table at some fancy restaurant sipping juice boxes with Babar and the original cast of the Great Space Coaster. And the sex! Think of laying there in a king-size racecar bed, with only the dim warmth of a clown nightlight illuminating the room while the sweet sounds of Raffi's new album pumps out of his "my first boom box" radio. It's enough to make you bite your lip in two. But none of that is real, these icons of the media are just people like you and I. Sad, lonely, suicidal people. Look past the power and the fame and settle down with the boy next door. It's your best bet.

Love, Marc

Mush Records