Inhalt: The life of a hipster is arduous and complex, teeming with expensive haircuts, the obligation to buy the CDs the webzines have arbitrarily deemed cool, and those frilled skirts that you have to keep tugging at in the frigid lines to get into Chelsea's Bungalow 8. I mean, goddamn, it's like thirty degrees out there. The Hipster Handbook helped a little, but not enough. The questions linger. Is it cooler to be metrosexual, or to pretend to be metrosexual while actually being homosexual? Is it cooler to be an actual hipster, an ironic hipster, or the oft-imitated "fool on the hill" hipster? For those answers, only deep meditation can help; on the musical side of things, Quentin Tarantino has graciously solved many of our problems. The ramifications of this album on the young proto-hipster set will be incalculable. Simply for comparison, think about how you'd soundtrack Kill Bill. The best I can come up with is putting Genesis' "I Know What I Like (In Your Wardrobe)" over the climactic sword fight. Thank god, then, that the album, like the movie, was compiled by people who obviously have encyclopedic minds able to forge visual/musical puns and scorching contrasts between maddeningly obscure pop treasures. This is like a guidebook to the different genres needed to be cool. To quickly categorize: Perverse torch songs, menacing revved-up rockabilly, ancient slasher scores, Wu-Tang allegiances, blaxploitation funk, swing, 70s disco, Japanese punk-pop, spy anthems. They even put on a quick excerpt of Neu! And all the rest consists of the best spaghetti western rip-offs of all time. At my screening, people were passing out in the aisles during the opening credits alone, clutching each other, finding the speed of sound insufficient, and hence feebly grasping at the sound emanating from the speakers, slamming their empty hands into their ears, trying to get even more music into their heads. If the Pulp Fiction soundtrack birthed a million surf-rock fanatics, this album is going to reinvigorate every genre simultaneo