The Features

CWG's Top 10 Albums of the Decade

2009-12-10T20:39:00.000-08:00

Written By: CWG Staff

CWG Albums of the decade as voted on by CWG staff. It's the end of the decade, and we've done a lot of thinking, not just about booze and whores, but about our favorite things from the past 10 years. Here, we present it to you. If you agree, don't agree, or have a top list of your own, by all means, please fill out the poll below the article.

10. Green Day- American Idiot - American Idiot is the seventh studio album by the American punk rock band Green Day. It was co-produced with longterm collaborator Rob Cavallo and released on September 21, 2004 through Reprise Records.

In mid-2003, the band began recording songs for an album titled Cigarettes and Valentines. However, the master tracks were lost and the band decided to start over rather than re-record Cigarettes and Valentines. They decided to produce a rock opera, inspired by the work of The Who and numerous musicals. It follows the life of "Jesus of Suburbia", a sort of anti-hero created by Billie Joe Armstrong. Following early recording at Oakland, California's Studio 880, the band finished the album in Los Angeles.

The album achieved popularity worldwide, charting in 26 countries and reaching number one in nineteen of them, including the United States and the United Kingdom. Since its release, American Idiot has sold over 14 million copies worldwide, including 267,000 in its opening week. The album won numerous awards including a Grammy for Best Rock Album, and received acclaim by critics.

9. The White Stripes- Elephant - Elephant is the fourth album by the American alternative rock band The White Stripes. Released on April 1, 2003 on V2 Records, the album marks the band's major label debut. Despite this change, Heather Phares of Allmusic believed the album "sounds even more pissed-off, paranoid, and stunning than its predecessor…Darker and more difficult than White Blood Cells."

The record garnered much critical acclaim upon its release, and went on to win a Grammy for Best Alternative Music Album in 2004.

The White Stripes were gaining momentum with their previous three albums and were generally lauded in critical circles. Upon its release, critical response to this album was overwhelmingly positive, and many critics hailed it as the one of the defining events of the 2000s garage rock revival. Uncut magazine remarked that "Elephant is where the tabloid phenomenon of summer 2001 prove they are no flash in the pan by making a truly phenomenal record." David Fricke (with Rolling Stone) called it "a work of pulverizing perfection," adding, "It will be one of the best things you hear all year." and Allmusic said the album "overflows with quality."

Critics also commented on the development of the band. NME noted that "The eloquence, barbarism, tenderness and sweat-drenched vitality of Elephant make it the most fully-realised White Stripes album yet." PopMatters said the album cemented "their evolution from Blind Willie McTell cover band with a pop sensibility to full-fledged, honest-to-goodness rock 'n' roll gods." The album enjoys a metacritic rating of 92. Negative critique, though rare, was centered around the "gimmicks" that surround the music, most notably, the White Stripes' insistence on being called siblings. "So maybe it's time to drop the enigmatic charade," Lorraine Ali (with Newsweek) pleaded, although she concluded, "Elephant still sounds great."

The album debuted at number one in the United Kingdom and reached number six on the Billboard 200 in the US. The album won Grammys for Best Alternative Album and Best Rock Song ("Seven Nation Army"). In 2003, the album was ranked number 390 on Rolling Stone magazine's list of the 500 greatest albums of all time. It was also placed thirty-ninth in Channel 4's list of the 100 Greatest Albums of all time. In December 2003, NME made it their Album of the Year.

8. Arcade Fire- Funeral - Funeral is the debut full-length album by Canadian indie rock band Arcade Fire, released on September 14, 2004 in North America by Merge Records and on February 28, 2005 in Europe by Rough Trade Records. It was given its title because several band members had recently lost members of their families: Régine Chassagne's grandmother died in June 2003, Win and William Butler's grandfather (swing musician Alvino Rey) in March 2004, and Richard Reed Parry's aunt in April 2004.

Preliminary recordings for Funeral were made during the course of a week in August 2003 at the Hotel2Tango in Montreal, Quebec, and the recording was completed later that year.

The album produced 5 singles. The most successful, "Rebellion (Lies)", peaked at #19 on the UK Singles Chart. The album received wide critical acclaim and was nominated for a Grammy Award in 2005 for Best Alternative Music Album. It was ranked eighth in Bob Mersereau's 2007 book The Top 100 Canadian Albums, and #2 on Pitchfork's 200 Top Albums of the 2000s.

7. Deftones- White Pony - White Pony is the third album by Deftones, released in 2000. It is the follow up to Around the Fur, which was released in 1997, and marks a significant growth in the band's sound; incorporating New Wave and shoegaze influences with the alternative metal edge the group had honed and become known for. To this end, it is generally regarded by fans and critics alike as their most mature outing.

The song "Passenger" features the guest vocals of Tool and A Perfect Circle vocalist Maynard James Keenan. The band won a Grammy Award for Best Metal Performance for the song "Elite" in 2001. A total of four different versions of the album exist. On its release date, limited edition copies were released with solid red and black jewel cases. The two different colored cases also featured different insert booklets. Both limited edition versions included the added track "The Boy's Republic", but did not include "Back to School (Mini Maggit)".

The first edition with a grey cover was supposed to be released as the non-limited version of the album. In addition, this version did not feature the track "Back to School". This is the proper version of the album, and "Back to School" was only added as a marketing strategy; Chino Moreno has stated that he wasn't happy about it.

6. Common- Finding Forever - Finding Forever is the Grammy Award winning seventh album by Common, released on July 31, 2007 on G.O.O.D. Music/Geffen Records. Like Common's previous album, Be (2005), Finding Forever is primarily produced by Kanye West.

The album debuted at the number one on the Billboard 200, selling 155,000 units in the first week, becoming Common's first chart-topper. Selling over 500,000 units in the US, it has been certified Gold.

Common explains that "Finding Forever really means to find a place in music where you can exist forever. Music can be forever if you make it from the heart, if you make it from the soul and it’s good. And I look at music like Bob Marley's or Marvin Gaye's or Stevie Wonder's or A Tribe Called Quest's, that's forever music. And I’m continuing on the quest to make forever music."

Common also says: "And now with the death of J Dilla and other things, you start thinking about forever lasting for real through music [...] Jay Dee will last forever through his music and hopefully generations down the line will know about Common through his music. And it's also saying: I been doing this for a nice period of time, so I'm trying to find the place where I can keep existing in the game and make music I love."

5. The White Stripes- White Blood Cells - Considered the band's commercial breakthrough, White Blood Cells peaked at number 61 on the Billboard 200, going Gold and selling over 500,000 units. The album also reached number 55 in the United Kingdom, being bolstered in both territories by the "Fell in Love with a Girl" single and its Lego-animation music video. Stylus magazine rated it the fifteenth greatest album of 2000-2005 while Pitchfork Media ranked it ninth on their list of the top 100 albums from 2000-2004, and twelfth on their top 200 of the 00s. Uncut Magazine placed it first in their list of the greatest 150 albums of the 00s. The album was dedicated to Loretta Lynn, creating a friendship between Lynn and both Jack and Meg White. In 2004, Jack White would produce Lynn's comeback hit album Van Lear Rose.

Redd Kross bassist Steven Shane McDonald created an online-only art project, titled Redd Blood Cells, in which he added a bass track to the otherwise bass-less album. The White Stripes arranged with Steven to take the files down after more than 60,000 downloads. The song "The Union Forever" featured on this album is a tribute to Orson Welles' film classic Citizen Kane. Nearly every line of the song lyrics correspond to dialog or songs from the movie.

4. Jay- Z- The Black Album - The Black Album is the eighth studio album by American rapper Jay-Z, released November 14, 2003 on Roc-A-Fella Records. It was promoted as his final studio album, which serves as a recurring theme, although Jay-Z returned to solo recording with Kingdom Come in 2006.

The album debuted at number 1 on the Billboard 200 chart, selling nearly 463,000 copies in its first week. It received widespread acclaim from most music critics. According to The Rolling Stone Album Guide (2004), The Black Album is "old-school and utterly modern", as it showed Jay-Z "at the top of his game, able to reinvent himself as a rap classicist at the right time, as if to cement his place in hip-hop's legacy for generations to come". Pitchfork Media ranked The Black Album at number 90 on its list of the top 200 albums of the 2000s.

3. Amy Winehouse- Back to Black - Back to Black is the second studio album by English R&B/soul singer and songwriter Amy Winehouse, released in October 2006 on Island Records. The album has spawned a number of singles such as "Rehab", "You Know I'm No Good", "Back to Black", "Tears Dry on Their Own", and "Love Is a Losing Game". Back to Black has received universal critical acclaim, and has been praised for its classic jazz/soul vibe, "vintage production style", accomplished songwriting, and Winehouse's mature and emotive singing style. It has appeared on numerous year-end Top Ten Lists produced by The Austin Chronicle (number four), Billboard Magazine (number three), Blender Magazine (number eight), Slant Magazine (number four), Entertainment Weekly (number two), The New York Times (number three) and Time Magazine (number one).

At the 50th Annual Grammy Awards ceremony, Back to Black won five awards, tying the record (with Lauryn Hill, Alicia Keys, Norah Jones, Beyoncé, and Alison Krauss) for the most awards won by a female artist in a single ceremony. The album won Best Pop Vocal Album, while "Rehab" won Best Female Pop Vocal Performance, Song of the Year and Record of the Year; Winehouse also won Best New Artist. So far, the album has sold over 12 million copies worldwide. With 5.5 million copies sold in 2007 it was the biggest selling album of the year, and stayed on the top 10 best selling albums in the world list in 2008 at number seven.

2. Gnarls Barkley- St. Elsewhere - St. Elsewhere is the debut album by Gnarls Barkley, a collaboration between Danger Mouse and Cee-Lo Green. The album was originally titled Who Cares? in reference to the low sales Gnarls Barkley prematurely predicted their album would experience. It was released on April 24, 2006 in the United Kingdom, where it debuted at number one on the UK Album Chart, and on May 9, 2006 in the United States, although it was available for purchase one week earlier as a digital download in the U.S. iTunes Music Store. It debuted at number twenty on the U.S. Billboard 200, and as of the Billboard 200 issue date of August 5, 2006, it peaked at #4 on this chart.

The album's first single, "Crazy", was the first song to become a UK number-one single based solely on downloads. As of August 22, 2006, the album has been shipped to stores in excess of 1,000,000 units, receiving a platinum certification from the RIAA. By Nielsen SoundScan sales are now at 1,260,535 copies, as of March 15, 2007.

A limited edition deluxe package of St. Elsewhere was released on November 7. The CD+DVD package includes a 92 page booklet, four music videos and bonus songs from live performances. It was also released on vinyl. The album has sold over 5.8 million copies worldwide to date.

1. Radiohead- Kid A - Kid A is the fourth album by the English alternative rock band Radiohead, released in October 2000. A commercial success worldwide, Kid A went platinum in its first week of release in the UK. Despite the lack of an official single or music video as publicity, Kid A became the first Radiohead release to debut at number one in the US. This success was credited variously to a unique marketing campaign, the early Internet leak of the album, or anticipation after the band's 1997 album, OK Computer.

Kid A was recorded in Paris, Copenhagen, Gloucestershire and Oxford with producer Nigel Godrich. The album's songwriting and recording were experimental for Radiohead, as the band replaced their earlier "anthemic" rock style with a more electronic sound. Influenced by Krautrock, jazz, and 20th century classical music, Radiohead abandoned their three-guitar lineup for a wider range of instruments on Kid A, using keyboards, the Ondes martenot, and, on certain compositions, strings and brass. Kid A also contains more minimal and abstract lyrics than the band's previous work. Singer Thom Yorke has said the album was not intended as "art", but reflects the music they listened to at the time. Original artwork by Stanley Donwood and Yorke, and a series of short animated films called "blips", accompanied the album.

Kid A has been considered one of the more challenging pop records to have commercial success, and it polarised opinion among both fans and critics. The album won a Grammy for Best Alternative Album and was nominated for Album of the Year. It also received praise for introducing listeners to diverse forms of underground music. It was named the best album of the Decade (2000-2009) by Rolling Stone magazine.

Bands under The Radar - Part 2

2009-12-10T15:56:00.000-08:00

Written By: Trisha Hanudel

4 Guns again (this is a seriously good website!!)

If you haven’t heard about Bands Under the Radar by now, get going! It’s a great concept that delivers 100 songs for just $10 right to your email, in 20-song chunks. Check out the review of Playlist #37. Now we’re going for the next 20-song chunk, Playlist #38, streaming now on the Bands Under the Radar.com.

Playlist #38 starts with a powerful bang from Hawksley Workman’s “When You Gonna Flower.” I don’t know what the title means, but it’s the perfect song to dance around to with a hairbrush for a microphone – it’s that kind of song. Halfway through Workman’s lesser song, “Goodbye to Radio”, something cool happened in the player that I didn’t catch before –it starts rolling through the cover art and pictures of each artist on the playlist. In this post-mortem time of the radio star, that kind of visual information really helps you feel like you know these artists you’ve never heard of.

The next couple songs were low-key. The Daylights’ “Ahh” was a particularly interesting sound, opening up with a reverb-heavy vocal chorus reminiscent of the headiest head trip of the psychedelic ‘60s, and leading into a chunky, fuzzy wall of guitars heard in bands like Muse. Because this is a playlist, not an album, the transitions can be a bit odd, so while I appreciate the effort of the Delta Generators, they really just served to distract me with thoughts of the Allman Brothers.

But Jen Gloeckner brought it back. If you swoon over Stevie Nicks, crush over the Sneaker Pimps’ Kelly Ali, and melt to the vibe of Portishead, Jen Gloeckner is your new leading lady. Rarely do I get chills from a first-time listen, but Gloeckner’s smooth, plain-spoken and honest voice and Nick Cave-ish lyrics pulled me in and my world just stopped. Understatedly intense is the only way to describe it – Jen Gloeckner is the must-listen of this playlist. (Her album is “Mouth of Mars” – go find it now!)

Gloeckner led into a run of fairly forgettable songs that gave way to the driving powerhouse of The Duke Spirit, with “Lassoo”, and next up is….my old college roommate Dawn Landes?!?!? Playing poppier, happier tunes than I remember, she’s the voice for fans of Cat Power and Suzanne Vega, and she still toys with melodies from classic American folk standards. Playlist #38 is like #37, chock full of great new music – some great hits and a few misses – but Bands Under the Radar proves to be the source for some of the best undiscovered artists.

Read Part 1 here.

Adam Lambert Sparks America's Homophobia

2009-12-08T22:06:00.000-08:00

Written By: Hallie Madenski

Did you ever think people were starting to become less homophobic? Did the appearance of more gay characters on television give you that idea? Or maybe the few celebrities who have admitted proudly that they are gay, maybe that gave you that idea? Ellen Degeneres and Wanda Sykes, actual lesbians with their own talk shows! Wow what progress. Well I can't deny that homophobia is less tolerated then it once was, it is nowhere close to being done with. As is true with the "choice" to become a Republican, being homophobic is something that is often passed down by parents. Like a learning disorder or a predisposition to cancer. It is only magnified by comments made by, guess who, Republicans. Older people set in their ways, rappers, sports figures and the general population of any rural area can also be held accountable for remarks that put strange ideas in impressionable children and young adult minds.

The word "faggot" has become a commonplace insult for young people to use even when not referring to anyone's sexuality. The more kids who learn and say this word pass it on to other kids like the plague until just about every kid learns the word. Also, the idea that the word "gay" simply means "bad" or "stupid" just goes to show how homophobic a country we really are. Though my outrage at the treatment of the gay community has always been strong, I was recently very disturbed by certain reactions to gay pop star Adam Lambert.

Lambert performed for the first time on TV at the American Music Awards on November 22nd. I'm not going to say his routine wasn't controversial or raunchy but Lambert has received what I believe to be camouflaged homophobic concerns. He's been criticized for setting a bad example for his young fans. He pointed out that it was nearly 11 at night and that it is up to the parents to make sure their kids aren't watching. He went on to mention that nobody cared when Lady Gaga smashed whiskey bottles and lit her piano on fire. Nobody cared when Eminem sang about having several "rapes" under his belt. And nobody complained when Janet Jackson grabbed her dancer's crotch.

ABC has received thousands of letters no doubt from horrified stay at home moms. I can only picture them sitting down to watch the American Music Awards with their child. A freshly baked pie just out of the oven, their balding sweater vest wearing husband adjacent. A bowl of popcorn on the pristine table by their knees. And I can only savor the image of them quickly jumping in front of the TV as Adam Lambert came out. Sweat oozing from their pores at the very thought that their own poor defenseless child might see that filth and blasphemy. As Lambert began to simulate oral sex and fisting on male and females alike. Oh the horror! Much worse than Justin Timberlake and Janet Jackson's mishap at the superbowl. I mean, at least that was heterosexual.

The performance was obviously meant to shock people I mean, he kissed another guy on regular TV. It's not unexpected, just disappointing that this would be the reaction. And of course it gets a bit worse. Lambert was scheduled to perform on Good Morning America the next day but was deemed too controversial of a guest. Chris Brown, infamous woman-beater, was booked to be on the show long before Adam Lambert's shocking performance. Having Chris Brown on any show to promote his horrible album is promoting not only his career but his behavior towards Rihanna. Behavior which, on Larry King, he actually claimed to not remember parts of. Is being gay a question of character or values? Not to me it isn't. While I may believe hitting your significant other is a character flaw, Good Morning America has its own flawed idea of what is right and wrong.

In an interview on The Early Show Lambert apologized only for his singing performance. It reminded me of Lady Gaga's response to being asked what the worse rumor is about her, replying "That I'm from Yonkers." Nicely played, nicely played. I do feel that the uproar over Lambert's performance have almost as much to do with the fact that he's gay as the fact that he's male. I've seen Britney Spears and Madonna doing equally provocative and tasteless things. Speaking of Madonna and Britney, it's come to my attention that on that same Early Show appearance CBS decided to blur the image of Lambert's man on man kiss. Interesting since CBS never blurred out the woman to woman kiss shared by Britney and Madonna. Again, it's not surprising, since many man consider gay men to be disgusting but are turned on by lesbianism due to some strange delusion that all lesbians desire their inclusion in some sort of threesome. An act that would fully disbar them from actually being referred to as lesbians. I don't really believe in these labels. But they mean something to America as a whole.

America is all about labels and hypocrisy.. We are a sex crazed country who averts their eyes every time anything mildly obscene actually happens. What a tease of a country. The most supposedly straight-laced republican politicians are the people with the dirtiest sex secrets. We pride ourselves on our little Disney starlets who rarely keep up their image past the age of 17 due to the polarized sexualization of America. It's probably only okay for Lindsay Lohan to be a lesbian because she is no longer looked up to. So you saw a classless performance from a mediocre gay singer. It was entertaining, if anything. And there's no need to pretend to be worried about your children. Do people think once there's a gay man shaking his ass on TV their own kids will instantly become gay? As if Lambert is some kind of pied piper, galloping around using his gay tricks to lure kids onto his team. As if he were some wolf, ruining the good clean image of the American Music Awards. It's not a goddamn Disney on Ice show! People expect entertainment, then when they get it it's too much.

Even Obama doesn't support gay marriage. I'm sick of actual gay celebrities making excuses for him because he has so many other responsibilities. I really don't think legalizing gay marriage would take all that long. If gay marriage is the least of Obama's concerns shouldn't he just get it out of the way? Like when you're in a line at the grocery store and you let the person with less items go in front of you. Well the real reason is that Obama doesn't believe at all in gay marriage, he said that before you elected him, dummies. Of course that's good for America because America is ridiculously homophobic for such a "free" nation. Well we may be free but we aren't without ridiculous double standards and judgmental extremist assclowns who think being gay is a horrible affliction that needs to be cured. Anything we don't understand doesn't deserve to be on TV does it? Pop music needs people like Adam Lambert. Whether you like his music or not, he's going to continue to ruffle some feathers, so get used to it.

Diary of a Fading Rockstar - Episode VIII

2009-12-01T21:36:00.000-08:00

Written By: Erik Rader

Fin de Siecle Musings on Rock Scene Incestuousness, or The Geek Who Knew Too Much

This one’s not over yet, but if past decades are any indication, we are in for a suffocating avalanche of retrospectives, best-of lists, top 10’s, 20’s, 100’s, etc. Everybody’s going to be making lists - I don’t know why people do this, and in fact I’m far from innocent in this regard, but it appears to be a common psychological response to the awareness of one’s own mortality. If we’re all going to die, it’s no surprise if a lot of us want to gather up our chips and stack them by color before we cash out.

Taking stock of one’s personal aesthetic inventory begins for many of us in elementary school when we start writing down lists of “BFF’s”, collecting trading cards, or memorizing sports stats; until finally we take interest in owning our own musical recordings, and songs become the collectibles, and album credits (songwriter/lyricist, producer, engineer, guest musicians, etc.) become the stats. Some freaks take it to the bridge with data such as chart placement, units moved, even collecting reviews. (Recently, this has evolved to include the creation of fan web sites, but I’ll leave that for a younger person to write about.)

I do know that when my brother and I were budding rock and roll fanatics, we were the only kids we knew who actually followed the connections from the first couple of albums we bought down a many-tributaried stream of names hidden in the fine print on the back of the album covers. One of our greatest inspirations was the classic and indispensable textbook of ultimate rock geekdom, the hale and hoary Pete Frame’s Complete Rock Family Trees (Omnibus Press). Through its auspices, we could take a record we knew and loved when we were little kids and had to depend on our much older brother to hip us to - say for instance, “Close To The Edge” by Yes - and discover that percussionist Bill Bruford also played for a band called King Crimson, which also featured bassist/vocalist Greg Lake of Emerson, Lake, and Palmer (whose music we were less impressed by) and bassist/vocalist John Wetton who had also been in Roxy Music; and that KC guitarist Robert Fripp not only appeared on albums by David Bowie, Brian Eno and Talking Heads, but produced and even provided an entire album concept for Peter Gabriel, who by the way used to be in this band called Genesis, and so on and so forth ad nauseam. In this manner one could get from one side of the ocean of rock history to the other, jump from genre to genre, and discover a world of underrated bands and artists that had brushed up against fame but had not stuck.

This curiosity about the backstory behind the incestuous world of rock and roll interestingly enough dovetailed with our own firsthand experience of it later on. Berkeley during our time growing up there, and even perhaps to this day, was lousy with professional musicians with absurdly deep connections in the business and to each other. Our milieu (or melee) of acquaintances ended up threading through, over a couple of decades, the Camper van Beethoven/Monks of Doom/Cracker/Counting Crows mafia, the 90’s San Francisco Jazz-Hop scene, the ridiculously connected Sam Coomes/Janet Weiss matrix, former members of the Grateful Dead and the English Beat, the Operation Ivy/Rancid continuum, Fishbone, the gigantic sponge-like mass surrounding Wes Claypool and Primus, as well as numberless similar conglomerations of musicians and bands with more or less name recognition than those listed above, but all deeply important to us.

For example, not many readers of this fine magazine will recognize the names Eskimo or Blue Movie, but the audiences of Sam Coomes’ early band Donner Party (which you should know about if you are a card-carrying indie rock geek, and your membership is hereby revoked if you don’t) were packed with fans of these two other bands. Similarly, you may not be familiar with Sleepytime Gorilla Theater or Charming Hostess, but if you’re a Bay Area musician, you’d have to have been living in a cave not to have. And while the name Leslie Medford probably won’t ring any bells with you, mere mention of him can strike entire rooms full of musicians dumb in an awed silence. Does it piss you off that Black Pole didn’t become hugely famous? It does me. Whenever I talk to indy-rock geeks who haven’t heard of the Sneetches, a stern lecture is likely to ensue.

Furthermore, none of these various rock dynasties existed in a vacuum, but cross-pollinated, interbred, merged and mutated together. The Donner Party crowd had direct ties to the Counting Crows scene, which had its own ties to the aforementioned Leslie Medford, Black Pole and the Sneetches; and almost every one of these band groupings somehow or other crossed paths (either by sharing members, rehearsal spaces, or gigs) with my band, as did Sordid Humor, Engine 88, Smoking Section, Papa’s Culture, the Freaky Executives, Sweet Baby Jesus, Unskilled Labor, Deadly Reign, etc. etc. None of which might ring any bells to, say, someone from Detroit, Chicago or New York, but might click a lightbulb on over the head of any Bay Area rock musician over the age of 30. Because of this, parties thrown by musicians in the Bay Area are a sometimes mind-numbing social vortex of ex-girlfriends, boyfriends, band-mates and business associates. At one of these functions you are 100% guaranteed to run into at least three people you’ve been hiding from for months, not to mention the ones that are hiding from you. On the other hand, if you’ve got your game face on and are in the zone, you could recruit a band that could rule the world.

Of course we all know almost too much about the music scenes in our own towns. Somebody from outside the Minneapolis-St. Paul area who happens to dig Husker Du and the Replacements won’t necessarily be hip to Trip Shakespeare; and believe it or not, I have actually met R.E.M. and B-52’s fans who have no opinion about Pylon, Flat Duo Jets or Love Tractor. Heck, just because you like Throwing Muses or Mission of Burma doesn’t guarantee you’ve ever heard the Bags, much less the Oysters. There’s also the generational thing you have to allow for - somebody who likes Spoon might not have heard “Marquee Moon”. Although if you don’t at least have an opinion about the seminal Television album, you probably should find something else to be a geek about, like sports or model trains.

Obsessive chartings of music scene inter-band incestuousness (I'm always reminded of the character of Alice from Showtime's "The 'L' Word", with her massive "Who slept with who" map, which looks like nothing so much as a ball of thread that's been played with by a cat for a few days) might not be everyone's cup of tea. Alternatively, there's the "fantasy dream team" game, where you make up imaginary supergroups out of all your favorite musicians -- "Dude, how about Keith Moon on drums, George Harrison and Roger McGuinn on guitar, Slim Harpo on Harmonica, Kim Deal on bass and Bon Scott on vocals? That would KILL!"

If I were to imagine a musical dream team (which I have to admit I've done a thousand times) with the caveat that it must be composed of musicians from my home town, I might not do much better than the actual real-life lineup of my most recent attempt at a band -- my brother on guitar, the rhythm section from his previous band, one or two local ringers on second guitar, and myself on vocals. When I think about it, I actually prefer the dream team/supergroup approach -- I mean, why not recruit the best musicians you know, in a combination you feel would gel supremely?

The problem is, at least in a ridiculously creativity-rich (not to mention pro gig-rich) field of players like the one I came from, the competition is all but insurmountable. Two musicians I know, with whom I have worked at one time or another, and who would be sweet additions to my supergroup, are pulling down the multi-platinum bucks. (Why won't that stuff rub off on me?) Not much incentive to throw the valuable minutes of their lives at a speculative venture like mine. Another two I imagine corralling for the dream team each have the same situation I do -- "Can't rehearse, have to go pick up the kid at daycare." If I had a pillow case full of cash to throw around I might be able to make the attempt -- most musicians are bigger whores than actual whores are -- but without those resources I'm just the casual friend they might run into at one of those parties, who they'd slap on the bicep and maybe even talk to for five minutes before going to refill their drink and forget the conversation. This may sound maudlin, paranoid and self-pitying -- and I'd be the first to admit it probably is -- but I have no solid data to the contrary.

It may be for this reason that I find myself compelled to make another list: My top five "We're getting the band back together" movies of all time.

1. "Still Crazy" stars Bill Nighy ("Love, Actually", "Underworld") as Ray, an aging, tweaked-out, shine-on-you-crazy-diamond former lead singer who lives in a castle with his Swedish wife. When members of his old band contact him with an idea of taking their old show on the road once more, he responds like an ancient desiccated vampire having blood drizzled on his lips.

2. "Rocker" features Rainn Wilson ("The Office") as Robert "Fish" Fishman, a drummer who gets kicked out of an 80's hair band on their way to the top, and who is forced to live in his sister's attic. When his nephew asks him to act as a last-minute replacement for his band's AWOL drummer so they can make their debut gig at the senior prom, Fish's over-the-top enthusiasm ruins everything.

3. "The Blues Brothers", John Landis' career-making masterpiece, as described in Wikipedia:

The story is a tale of redemption for paroled convict Jake (Belushi) and his brother Elwood (Aykroyd), who take on "a mission from God" to save from foreclosure the Catholic orphanage in which they grew up. To do so they must re-form their rhythm and blues band, The Blues Brothers, and organize a performance to earn $5,000 to pay the tax assessor. Along the way they are targeted by a destructive "mystery woman", Neo-Nazis, and a country and western band—all while being relentlessly pursued by the police.

4. "New York Doll" -- as Metallica would say, "Sad, but true."

5. "Hard Core Logo" -- In contrast to the previously mentioned real documentary, a fake documentary about a fictional punk band on a last-ditch reunion tour…..and any of you who have been in hardcore bands, been into hardcore bands, or at least know what a hardcore band is, can see it all now…..middle-aged punks, driving around the countryside trying desperately to bring back the magic…..good times, good times.

"Getting the band back together" is quite literally, no kidding, a recurring nightmare of mine, and none of these bad dreams has had anything remotely like a happy ending. That's why, when the band actually did decide to get back together, I most respectfully declined. There may be a lot of ingredients in the soup, but for me the simplest reason is this: I enjoy many, if not most, of my memories of what it was before I decided I was done. I can see no good reason to "fuck with the past", as Patti Smith so glibly put it. I am sure that those involved are getting something perfectly valid and enjoyable resurrecting or recreating a version of that past relationship, context, or whatever you want to call it; it just doesn't work that way for me. It's like these people meeting up with old high school lovers via Facebook and breaking up their marriages for a night or two of "What if…?" One of the things that I love about the past is that I can't change it. Maybe I can change how I feel about it, or change what I think it means, but the facts are indelible.

For better or worse, an acute knowledge of the past is crucial to rock and roll. It’s a foil for young musicians to reject, revile, revolt and rebel against; it’s a mine from which they can loot many a forgotten gem; it’s a place where the myriad layers of popular culture become ingrained in the collective memory. On a surface level, the majority of people listening to music today are barely conscious of anything before this week. For the people who are dedicated to digging a little bit deeper below the surface - who hear the voices of “Dead Souls” calling them - there is no better archaeological site to dig in than one’s own back yard. In my next few articles, I'd like to talk a little bit about the present, and maybe even the future. Until then, hand me that shovel, will you?

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7

Bands Under the Radar Changes The Game

2009-11-28T13:53:00.000-08:00

Written By: Trisha Hanudel

100 Songs for $10 @ Bands Under The Radar

There’s a great new website, Bands Under the Radar.com, who has created an innovative way to get the best in the hottest music coming out today. Only $10 gets you 100 songs, emailed to you over the course of a few weeks in 20-song chunks until you’ve amassed 100 songs. Want more instantly? Throw down another $10. Want to give your new songs some time to sink into your head? You can buy 100 more songs whenever you feel like it. Never want another song emailed again? After you get your 100 songs, you’re free! There’s no commitment here.

If you’re feeling a little gun-shy, you’re welcome to listen to the entire playlist on the website before you buy it. (see below) It’s really as if you had your own commercial-free radio playing all the music you never knew you liked, and it’s a wonderful alternative if you’ve had it Indie 103.1’s streaming radio – this music is much, much cooler.

Featured currently on playlist and podcast #38 is the ubiquitous indie darlings Band of Skulls, The Fray and Jack Johnson’s love child, Jack Savoretti, and my new favorites, Elle Macho. Elle Macho is a trio based out of Nashville, and is a powerful blend of agro-sexiness. They take Concrete Blond’s sound and twist it into a minor, angsty key, overlaid by a powerhouse female vocal that evokes mullet-era Joan Jett without all that unnecessary rasp and bravado.

Other favorites were Lord T and Eloise’s Black Limousine. This independent hip hop act is a refreshing newcomer to the scene – they put the emphasis back on the show, so if you ever get a chance to see them in concert, go! Amazing Baby is also featured, with their sparkling sonic void filled with reverb and wailing guitars. Jesse Woods’ It Girl is a song reminiscent of a live Jeff Buckley, and is the reason Bands Under the Radar exists – I would have never known about Jesse Woods had I not checked out the playlist.

All told, this first installment of playlist #38 is a great mix – as if your coolest friend made you a mix tape. Bands Under the Radar is a great way to scan for new music without having to search for it yourself. Each artist is listed with the names of their songs and links to their website, Myspace, Facebook, and Twitter pages so you can become their instant biggest fan after just one listen – and you’ll become the new biggest fan of handful of bands featured. I might even start the new Elle Macho fanclub, after just one listen!

La Roux Is Bulletproof

2009-11-28T13:16:00.000-08:00

Written By: Hallie Madenski

Following the legacies of androgynous icons such as Annie Lennox and David Bowie, La Roux's new CD invokes the good part of the 80's. It also invokes the good part of dance music that sometimes seems forgotten. Less pathetic and beat reliant yet more invigorating. Like Lady Gaga, La Roux's videos are not necessary to the music but are key in the message, visionary yet simple. Singer Elly Jackson's face is unmistakable and so is her voice. Meaningful with a power that never wanes, one similar to that of New Zealand native Ladyhawke or electro pop sensation Little Boots. A sometimes monotonous yet beautiful high-pitched glory that I am completely smitten with.

Singer Eleanor Jackson and her song writing partner and co-producer Ben Langmaid make up the band. Influenced by 80's bands like Yazoo and Heaven 17, they are vintage electronic candy to my happily melting ears. Jackson and Langmaid first encountered one and another several years back, in 2006. Their first single as La Roux, "Quicksand," came out in late 2007. "In For The Kill," their second single, has done quite well on the UK charts. As is expected, England is quite a few steps ahead of us when it comes to music. La Roux only just started catching on in a major way recently with the appearance of their video for "Bulletproof" on MTV.

La Roux, meaning "red-haired one" in French, are signed to Polydor Records, the same label as Klaxons and Kate Nash. Polydor also acts as the UK label for distribution of music by a wide variety of bands such as Weezer, Lady Gaga, Yeah Yeah Yeahs and even the Jonas Brothers. Before they released their debut on Polydor, the duo called themselves "Automan," writing mostly acoustic tunes. From reading interviews I can do more than speculate that Elly Jackson is not a follower and has strong opinions. And I don't mean she's a bitch. Just not the shy nervous wallflower you might imagine from looking at her. She seems critical of herself and as a result, of others as well.

Angular and pasty with fiery red Tilda Swinton hair, Elly Jackson is not only musically talented but has all the attributes of a potential icon. She is strange and fashionable and boyish. The band's songs are lyrically simplistic but also rather ingenious in that "I wish I'd though of that" type of way. I can't really respect anyone who doesn't take great care in all aspects of their craft. This is a band who takes great care, and it shines though invigoratingly through each song.

Almost every song from their self-titled debut CD is worthy of your Itunes music collection. But then again this music isn't for everyone. Their sound is very reliant on beats and could only be described as electronic pop music. Don't sour your face at the word "pop" though, that word may have some negative history but you have to remember the spirit. Their song "Tigerlily" starts with a booming Jackson spouting angrily and then calming her voice gently on the chorus. Something she does amazingly well, I might add. An expected formula with some unknown tweak of brilliance.

Jackson Croons "I don't like the taste of your morality," mid song. Well, I don't like the morality of bands like La Roux not getting more recognition. Put your crappy Adam Lambert CD down and pick up this gem. With an even selection of thought provoking ballads like "Colourless Colour" and "I'm Not Your Toy" and loud brain drilling hits like the previously mentioned "Tigerlily" and "In For The Kill." La Roux's synth-happy CD will have you humming their tunes by the end of the day. The best two-piece band to enter your ear canal since you first heard The Kills, La Roux will rattle your listening device right off it's platform or tightly gripped hand.

The XX

2009-11-19T05:21:00.000-08:00

Written By: Steve Sawyer

Listening to The XX's debut, eponymous, album should be considered substance abuse. And not for any negative consequence that listening to the album may bring, but rather because the music leaves the listener in such a state of euphoria that it's absolutely drug-like. The music has induced such a deep state of unshakable catatonia upon myself that I find I'm unable to escape the rhythmic bass lines, or the haunting echoes of the intricate, and absolutely chilling vocal work. It's so perfect, that it kind of bothers me.

Take for example the opening of the album itself. The drone of sound that hits you is tonal hypnotherapy pure and simple, and it could be said that within the first minute, if you aren't hooked you may be one of the few immune to the drug. But for me, and for what I suspect will be the rest of the population, there was an immediate addiction formed. It's funny how I didn't even notice the song "VCR" creep up on me after the intro, it's delicate chiming, and soft snare almost lullabied me away. And when Romy's voice hits, it's absolutely out of this world, it hasn't been since I first heard Maynard James Keenan's voice on a Tool album that I've been so simultaneously creeped out, and breathtaken. "Crystalised" is as close to a perfect rock song you could get. It's minimalistic brooding approach, and it's refusal to do anything but get under your skin as quickly as possible is captivating in a very terrifying way. By the time the album gets to "Shelter" I'm just absolutely awash in the ocean of sound.

The album is a truly inspired collection of songs that encapsulate the experience of living in the modern age. It's strange, but I feel like the music is the perfect soundtrack to the almost cynical society we've created for ourselves. The lyrics are self-deprecating enough to make the music not only relatable, but downright essential. But at no point do they ever loom ideas over your head, or make you stretch for meaning intended or implied. And that radically stripped down approach has made for the single best release of 2009. More prominent bands that keep adding more gloss, sound, and production magic to their equation should take note of the work that's on display on the album. I have a feeling that even older groups that have the advantage of years over the relatively new The XX will learn quite a few things about songwriting after submitting themselves to repeat listens.

And it's all made that much more perplexing by the fact that they're all only nineteen years old. Not only that, but this is the band's debut. No albums precede this one, and yet they display a level of maturity, and depth that most bands strive to achieve in an entire career. It's so startling to see such young talent being able to accomplish so much with just one release, but they've managed to do it. But what happens when a band is this good this immediately? Have they set the bar impossibly high for themselves, or will they simply make it look easy, when it's time for the next go around? I'm certainly rooting for them, and hoping that they can pull it off, because if this album is any indicator of their future career, the world is going to be their oyster.

It's odd, I typically wax verbally, and semi-philosophically when it comes to talking about music that I love, and for the first time in a very long time, I'm almost completely at a loss for words. I feel like I've said everything that's needed to say about The XX in order for someone to just dive in and enjoy them, but at the same time simply because I'm used to being so wordy, and full of praise for those that I admire, I'm hesitant to draw this to a close. But I'm going to take my own advice, and learn from the example set by The XX. Sometimes simplicity is better. Go buy their album.

Two Nights of The Used

2009-11-18T14:29:00.000-08:00

Written By: Jim Markunas (Editor-In-Chief) and
Jason Coldiron (Rock/Metal Editor)

Photos By: Brett Gulbrandson

View all of Brett's photos of The Used here.

Jim: First off... Opening bands... I'm a huge fan of Drive A; they're punk, catchy and a great choice for an opening act. (check out our review of their debut) The Almost... Yeah, their music was really good, but did their pants have to be so fucking tight? Seriously? I haven't seen that much blatant cock in my face since the last time my friend Paul took me to West Hollywood. I would have given The Almost an A-, but their horrid sense of fashion knocked them down to a C- or D+.

The Used were hella cool. They had what I can only describe as the cleanest and most well-organized stage set up in Rock 'n' Roll history. The drums were on a wide square riser that lit up, the amps were the embodiment of perfect symmetrical aesthetic, and the stage was left pretty much bare except for a few half-stacks piled on either side of the drums. The band ended up looking tiny compared to the massive/well-organized stage, but it allowed them a lot of room to move around, which Burt McKracken did with the greatest of ease. Before The Used even walked on stage, a piano intro was played through the house PA and a quick movie was projected across an arena-sized backdrop. This set the stage for one of the greatest rock shows of this month (and I've been to a lot of shows this month). As the band casually strolled on stage, the backdrop changed from a movie to a giant syringe with "The Used" over it. Skipping ahead a little bit, the best thing about the backdrop was that it changed graphics digitally throughout their set. Very cool!

Jason: The following night, the Used moved up the coast to play the Warfield in San Francisco. Chicks with Guns was there as well.

Getting a late start, Drive A took the stage. They were very young, but very mature and poised for their age(s). They seemed to understand their role in this show perfectly. They were there to get the crowd woken up and moving a bit, light a fire and set the stage for The Almost and The Used. The lead singer was great in interacting with the crowd. The band got things going in the right direction. Their punk sound was a perfect lead in to the rest of the sounds of the night.

The Almost was next to hit the stage. My female friend loved them. Their music didn't really fit their look at all. They rocked though. Their set was great until the end, at which point the lead singer killed the momentum and ended it on a poor note. The last song they played was their big ballad. The song wasn't bad at all, but it should have been played earlier in the set. The singer followed this ballad up by preaching to the audience about God and how He loves us all.

Jim: I HATE shit like that!!!!! Flyleaf can get away with this kind of thing because their singer is pretty and talented. I’m not sure I’d want to hear football player-wannabe’s with guitars wax poetically on that type of thing at all. God and politics belong at home; shows are meant for rocking… Also, Jason, were their pants any less tight when you saw them. Once again… too much cock in the face!!!!!!

Jason: It's hard to give a definitive answer on the cock in face issue, due to the lighting in the arena. That said, it was clearly more than any reasonable fan would expect or want from their metal show. Granted, this band is his side project to the Christian rock band he is the drummer in. Granted, he said that if you aren't down with God, that is fine, we can all still get along, etc. That wasn't enough. It was poorly timed. Following the ballad with this just didn't work. If he was going to insist on preaching, he should have done it between songs earlier in their set. Not to mention that it was crucial they end their set with a big, heavy song to lead into The Used. This was a poorly conceived ending to their set. Thankfully, The Used were up next and would soon make us all forget about this.

As with the previous night, the Used began with a short film with a piano intro playing. This built the tension and energy in the building to a peak and had the crowd dying for the band to hit the stage. When they finally did, it was on! The band quickly jumped into, “Blood on my Hands” from their latest record, Artwork and knocked it out of the park. They let loose for the next hour-and-a-half and blew the roof off of the Warfield.

They played a great mix of newer and older songs in their catalog. At one point they played four consecutive older songs, including “In love and death,” without stopping between them at all. This was a kind of medley of sorts. It was fantastic. The stage show was amazing. They really utilized the lighting of the arena perfectly. The lights and darks, with shadows, half lit faces and a sense of mystery and awe all worked beautifully. This was one of the best shows I've seen in a long time. They closed the set with and encore of, “On my own,” followed by one more rocking tune to end the night. Their rendition of, “On my own” was arguably the highlight of the entire night. It brought the house down and is the single moment I'll remember most from this show.

The Used brought it big time on this night. I was blown away. I have to admit that before this show I was a fan, but not a fanatic. After this, I'll be buying their albums and singing their praise. They won me over in a big way.

Jim: Ok… But… What was it like to hang out with the guys back stage? Were there antics, drinking, etc.? Did you score with groupies? Did you see The Almost in their underwear (I’m assuming they wore ‘whitey-tighties?’) Inquiring minds want to know!

Jason: Well, technically, we only met Quinn and a few random venue employees back stage. However, on the way in while we were waiting out back to get in for the interview, Bert walked by as he was talking with some of his people. Brett (my photographer, who is a HUGE Used fan) took the opportunity to say hello, shake his hand and tell him what a huge impact he had made on him. A funny thing about this is that there were a couple of hundred fans out front waiting to get in. Meanwhile, Bert and his people were casually hanging out around the side of the building where the buses were, smoking and drinking like there was no care in the world. There was hardly any security there. Any fan who had walked just 20 feet or so down the street would have seen the buses and the band and been able to walk right up to them.

If only they had known how easy it would have been...

Want More of The Used?
CWG review of Artwork
CWG Review of Loss Of Desire
View all of Brett's photos of The Used
Rock/Metal Editor, Jason Coldiron interviews Dan of The Used
Rock/Metal Editor, Jason Coldiron interviews Quinn of The Used

10 Reasons Why Everclear Is Still Relevant

2009-11-17T01:34:00.000-08:00

Written By: Jim Markunas
(Editor-In-Chief)

Photos By: Ed Hannigan

View all of Ed’s Everclear photos here.

10. Art Is Cool - He is, isn’t he? Yes! At 47, Art’s still got it, a rarity in a world of Fleetwood Mac and Eagles reunions that never seem to end when they should. Significantly less gay than Joe Perry, and more fun to watch than Frank Black, Everclear frontman, Art Alexakis makes this band what it is. The world loves a good frontman, and Art is one of the best – Take that Don Henley, you big ass!

9. Work Ethic - Everclear has never been a lazy band. They’ve toured incessantly since 1994, and aren’t afraid to start from scratch. Capitol drops them… Who cares? Band mates leave… no problem! Art is a working man, and much like B.B. King, he’ll be doing this until the day he dies.

8. They Treat Their Fans Well - Even when they were the biggest band in the world, Everclear always (and still do) made an effort to meet their fans after every show. In their arena days, they even went as far as letting some fans strap on a guitar and play with them. I managed to catch Art Alexakis on his “All By Mice-Elf” solo acoustic tour in 2003, and he actually brought audience members on stage to play various instruments. This quality is priceless - in a world of “we must treat our idols like they jump into their pants in the morning,” Art and Everclear remind us that they put their pants on one leg at a time like the rest of us.

7. Street Cred - Most rock bands, musicians, and rappers get soft in their old age. Can I believe Dr. Dre is still shooting people and running drugs out of his mansion and cushy office at Interscope? Do I believe Bruce Springsteen is still a ‘working man’ suffering through poverty and bad economic times just like the rest of us? Fuck no! These old guys are major paid… and soft! Artists like this have forgotten what hardship feels like. Art, on the other hand, can never catch a break. Yes… This sucks for him, but is great for Everclear fans, as Art never runs out of painful shit to put on wax! In 1995, Art frequently wrote songs about loss, being poor and drug addiction (stuff he really experienced). In 2009, he’s writing about divorce, being poor once again, and more loss (again, things that he’s REALLY experiencing). “Volvo Driving Soccer Mom” aside, you’ll never catch Art over-using his artistic license for the sake of staying credible – he’s 100% real.

6. The Hank Williams Syndrome… Or… What’s Bad For Everclear Is Good For American Music - Once you see what’s happened to Art in his life, suddenly your problems don’t seem all that bad. Yes… Art has had a hard life (like a Hank Williams song on steroids), and he can’t seem to stop living a hard life. Because of this, Everclear will always be the “underdog,” the band we root for. We want to see Everclear succeed, because if they can make their lives and career work despite all the fuck-ups, we everyday folk feel like we can succeed and make our lives work. Remember, if Everclear wins, we all win!

5. There’s Still Demand - The Roxy was damn-near sold out last Thursday (see our review). People still want to see a band with a track record play live. Can you assume that bands like Papa Roach, Everclear, Dinosaur Jr., The Foo Fighters, etc. will always put on a good show? I’d say it’s a safe assumption. Everclear has a proven track record, and it hold more weight than the next indie/L.A. flavor of the month.

4. They Change Just Enough - Critics have busted Everclear’s balls for years on the notion that they sound the same on every album. Yes… Everclear will always sound like Everclear… How is this a bad thing? Someone please explain that to me! When I buy an Everclear album, I expect it to be consistent. Would I like it if Art put out a speed-metal album? Would I like it if he crossed the bullshit, overrated stylings of Sigur Rós with the whininess of Fallout Boy? Fuck no, I wouldn’t!!!! However, Everclear changes just enough from record-to-record to sound fresh. Were American Movie 1 & 2 re-hashes of So Much For The Afterglow? No! They were different enough to be great, just as Welcome To The Drama Club is different from Slow Motion Daydream . Basically, we expect Everclear to sound like Everclear; I wouldn’t bust Paul McCartney’s balls for sounding like Paul McCartney, would I?

3. The Nirvana Syndrome… Or… Disenfranchised Youth - As long as high school, depression, and teenage angst/ennui exist, Everclear will have fans. People need music that makes them feel better about the shitty parts of life – Everclear is the perfect music for that.

2. Hooks - Everclear is catchy. Enough said.

1. Everclear’s Music is Timeless – Yes, they have the habit of sometimes sounding a little bit like they walked right out of the 1970s bar scene, but you can’t beat the tried-and-true pop/gunge/alt formula of verse, chorus, verse, bridge, etc., and you can’t beat the catchiness of almost any Everclear song or album. Radio-friendly without being wussy and uninventive, the entire Everclear catalog (with the exception of World Of Noise ) will never sound ‘dated’ – Art planned for this (he’s the principle songwriter and producer of every Everclear album), and judging by Everclear’s pop sensibility, his plan seems to have worked. I just hope he get’s his publishing rights back sometime in the near future.

Want more Everclear?
Download Everclear’s "Here Comes The Darkness"
Everclear Feature - 10 Reasons Why Everclear is Still Relevant
Rock/Metal Editor, Jason Coldiron interviews Art Alexakis
Everclear Tour News
View all of Ed’s Everclear Photos (Roxy)
View All of Ed’s Everclear Photos (House of Blues)
CWG's review of In A Different Light

Rock Out With Nico Vega

2009-11-09T01:20:00.000-08:00

Written By: Khadeeja Coonrod
Photos By: Ed Hannigan

View all of Ed's Nico Vega photos here.

What do you get when you take a hard hitting rock band that's full of three talented musicians? A whole lot of sound that should be thought to have ten people making music. This L.A. American rock band is Nico Vega, who knows how to turn up the volume. Nico Vega formed in 2005 and has a self-titled album out on Myspace Records, which had Linda Perry and Tim Edgar on production and Tchad Blake mixing.

The album starts with "Burn Burn," and the lyrics are telling, "Even if we tell a lie nobody's gonna know until we fall back, fall back. Even though we're so sharp. Even if we tell a lie nobody's gonna know until we fall back, fall back. I built this house on solid ground. Will you come and stay with me? I'll settle down." The guitar riffs speed up and go with the flow of Aja's voice who echos behind in the background. The chorus repeats at the end with both the guitar and drums until they all suddenly all go off in unison. The guitar and drum intro set the album nicely in until you hear the singers voice who is in between singing and wailing but in a beautiful rhythm.

"Million Years" reminds of a song that would be heard in a video game with guns. "I'll be around for a million years. No matter how hard you try you can't fuck with this," a statement about a female being mad after a man tries to play her. The music gets a satanic sound in the background after the flirt lines are revealed.

"So So Fresh" is as if there's a teasing going on, "You're so so fresh even when you drop it, you turn like a man. I know you're just a boy but I can hardly tell and no one I really can." Aja's voice backgrounds sounds like a chant as her voice teases saying "Na na na na na na na."

"Living Underground" puts me in the mood to watch a Children of the Corn flick, "We are in demand of the truth. We are children of the world. We wear all of our scars. We stand up and we fight for what we choose. We are in demand of a name." Aja's voice sings in a soft soothing while the guitar and drums come out in an 80's rock form then Aja's voice comes out in a snarl as she belts out the song then the guitar and her voice blend together to go from soft like a whisper, builds up louder, and it ends in a trance like state.

"Wooden Dolls" comes with the soft overtones in this. I could hear Linda Perry's influence on this one as I thought of 4 Non Blondes, What's Up. The voice was simple as all the theatrics were stripped away. Aja's voice was singing like a mother sings to a child. Her voice cuts to the core of the spirit and gets strong only to go back to being soft once again.

"Iron Man" is my personal favorite by Nico Vega. "You are relentless in the way you ask me so many questions of my days in the city. I wish that I could tell you something. I'm a hostage of my pride. I'll take all the heat you're packing. 'Cause I'm an iron man. I'm an iron man. You are relentless in the way that you know me and I'm a sheep when it comes to explaining. I wish that I could keep you happy. I wish that I can could keep you young. Please forgive me for the distance, but I'm an iron man. I'm an iron man. You are relentless in the way that you love me and I'm afraid of the thoughts that you're making. I wish that I could know the difference between your smiles and your frowns. Now I'm buried in the armor 'cause I'm an iron man. I'm an iron man." The mood is a touch of space meets heaven on earth in a labyrinth setting.

On Nico Vega's Myspace, under influences, this was said, "Any sort of passion, fire, or interaction between two people, or many people. Any person who has the will to lead people and sacrifice their own needs for the well being of others. Any warrior with a purpose, or a mission, and any artist who is not scared to be great. Anybody that decides to forgive themselves for the mistakes that they have made, and change for the better. We have a lot of musical influences, probably similar to the ones that you like. Oh...and, anybody who is a Lion at heart (support the pack, and be strong without judgement)." I was struck by how genuine the words are. I had to share that with anyone who didn't know about them before reading this.

Nico Vega's band members are: Aja- Singer, Rich- Guitar, Dan- Drums.

Vampires!

2009-11-08T16:28:00.000-08:00

Written By: Hallie Madenski

As the time inches closer and closer to the day the new "Twilight" movie is released, fans become more and more hungry for pale brooding guys with elongated hair. Though the vampire craze seems strongest now, society has always been fascinated with vampires. Perhaps because they are a monster that is actually human and could appear sexy in that "you might die but it will feel good first" type of way. The association that vampires feed or kill during sex is another alluring aspect to various desperate homemakers and young people with their inability to control hormones.

After the recent appearance of the show "The Vampire Diaries," and movies like "The Vampire's Assistant," and of course the raging boner that is the Twilight franchise, I tend to wonder when it will end. Like I said before, society has always been obscenely fascinated with vampires. Early films like "Nosferatu" and "Dracula" sparked interest and were deemed classics. Especially "Dracula," featuring the now deceased Bela Lugosi. Bela Lugosi's swift suave movement and bulging eyes brought a unique aspect to the vampire image, one altogether different from the one we see today. Bela Lugosi could incite fear with a simple twist of the hand, one clawed gesture, and a deep penetrating stare with his slicked back hair and protruding lips. Though he did have a hypnotizing charm, he was more the image of a father than of a sexy man you'd want ravishing you.

This new wave of vampires makes you wonder, which is more enjoyable? The older frightening and primal vampires or this generation's Bill Compton or Edward Cullen of Trueblood and Twilight fame. Clearly we know who is more frightening, the earlier movies incited fear where today's might seem thrilling to some, the actual origin is left relatively untouched and romance is largely magnified. Certainly Hollywood and the population's majority are set on bringing us more sex, not only with vampires but with everything. I'm always surprised by how sexual everything in America appears while the overall attitude is mostly that of a tattered old prude. I'm still waiting on a show or movie that depicts vampires as brutal instinctual animals who could never be a friend to any human. I guess that was "30 Days of Night" but still, let's get noticed.

Aside from the countless vampire movies and TV shows made, there are actually a lot of songs inspired by those mysterious undead Romanians. Concrete Blonde's "Bloodletting" (The Vampire Song) was inspired by the Anne Rice novel "Interview With The Vampire." The soundtrack for "Queen of the Damned" was partially written by former Oingo Boingo keyboardist Richard Gibbs and Jonathan Davis of Korn. In an unusual teaming up of sister labels Warner Brothers and Reprise Records released the soundtrack on February 19th of 2002. Two singles from the CD were released simultaneously. "Cold" by Static X was the more successful single of the two, the other being "Forsaken," featuring the lead singer of Disturbed.

We all know the band Vampire Weekend with their lively tunes and smart lyrics. The band's name comes from a film their lead singer made with the same title. Hopefully it's about vampires but with my questionable journalism skills I am unable to dig up any footage or information about this film other than the title. Punk band Bauhaus has a meaningful origin in the bloodsucking spirit. Their first single, released in 1979, was titled "Bela Lugosi's Dead." The song is a lengthy epic recorded in one take featuring the lyrics "Bela Lugosi's dead, the bats have left the bell tower, the victims have been bled." And later the line "undead undead undead" in repetition.

Godsmack, Slayer and My Chemical Romance have all penned songs about vampires but certain compilations stand out over others. While the Queen of the Damned soundtrack lacked luster, others flourished in all our memories, hopefully. The TV show version of Buffy The Vampire Slayer had a great little soundtrack featuring songs by Nerf Herder, Garbage, Rasputina, and Guided by Voices. Of all vampire-related things, the soundtrack and the movie alike for "The Lost Boys" belong in the Vampire Hall of Fame. "Cry Little Sister" by Gerald Mcmann, "People Are Strange" by Echo and the Bunnymen, and "Good Times" by INXS are favorites.

In reference to the new vs. old argument, I'd like to state that I'd take Dracula over Twilight's Edward Cullen anytime. At least Dracula could entertain me. Robert Pattinson's portrayal of a boring and mopey yet handsome character remind me all too well of how easily personality is disregarded. Somehow if someone cares about you and looks good you should just bury your nose in their ass and never leave their fecal fortress? Over anything else I am perplexed and aggravated by people with nothing interesting going on. It seems where Robert Pattinson lacks a personality, his costar Kristen Stewart makes up for it. Even the whiney werewolf character Jacob is more likable in that he at least cares. Oddly, while reading Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse and Breaking Dawn I even feel that author Stephanie Meyer is in some sort of trance when she writes about the character Edward. Everyone in the book is more intriguing than him but somehow he is a main focus of the series. The character is written about in little detail and is described mostly just as "beautiful." Clumsy and pessimistic protagonist Bella somehow falls for his charms and boom, they're in love and she can't part with him. At least her dad has the good sense to dislike him.

Another recent author who writes of vampires is Charlaine Harris, writer of the many books that inspired HBO's "Trueblood." While her concepts and ideas are very interesting and original her actual writing leaves a lot to be desired. I get the impression that she is a person living vicariously through her characters, maybe too much so. Her last few books in the series lacked discipline and character development, so I can only really recommend the first four books with a straight face. The show itself is actually better than the books. Though more than half of the show has nothing to do with the novels, it does follow the same basic story.

I caught a few minutes of the latest CW pooper "The Vampire Diaries" and after a few minutes I've concluded that you need not waste your time with that one. As with "Gossip Girl" and the remake of "90210" this show sifts out all the good parts of "The O.C." and filters in gaudy queens and their fumigated hair extension arm candy otherwise known as Blake Lively and that other one who tries to sing. Leighton Meester! I remember now. But I won't in a few years now will I?

While Twilight's fangs will never compete in sales with Harry Potter's wand, fans are crazier than ever. I don't envy not being able to walk down the street without cameras flashing at me. While Kristen Stewart is highly criticized for complaining of the downfalls of fame, Robert Pattinson gets nothing but sympathy when he whines about how he can't get a date in real life. Which is funny/sad since he is dating Kristen Stewart. Vampire films have been around since 1909 to now, 2009. All I can do is wait to see if the craze swells or is replaced by something new. How about something less sexy, like the always popular Wolf theme? "The Wolfman" starring Benicio Del Toro and Emily Blunt, looks promising but sadly the box office will surely show that vampires are still number one. Perhaps the next monster movie will star Zac Efron as Frankenstein or Brad Pitt as The Mummy? I can only encourage Hollywood to get a little ugly or "real" with these ever increasing monster movies.

5 Reasons Why After Midnight Project Is The Next Big Thing

2009-11-05T01:54:00.000-08:00

Written By: Jim Markunas
(Editor-In-Chief)

Photos By: Ed Hannigan

View all of Ed’s AMP photos here.

I find it difficult to call After Midnight Project a “baby band,” as I saw them not only upstage Chevelle at the House of Blues in Anaheim, but also because I’m 100% convinced that AMP is the future of modern rock. I’d be willing to bet my left testicle that in 2-3 years, this band will be the biggest thing in rock music; bigger than the Chilli Peppers, bigger than Nickelback, hell – maybe even as big as U2.

Some would call their sound marginal and/or derivative, but anyone using that label (a.) hasn’t truly heard “Let’s Build Something To Break,” and (b.) has obviously never seen this band live.

In some ways, After Midnight Project are derivative, but they’re derivative in the same way as U2, The Deftones, or The Chilli Peppers are derivative; in that they’re styles and influences span a lot of familiar, yet respectively different and interesting genres. Part of what makes AMP’s music interesting (which is the same key factor that’s worked for The Deftones and U2 all these years) is that you never know just where they’ll take a song. Yes, they have pop sensibility (i.e., verse, chorus, verse, catchy vocal hooks, good guitar riffs, etc.) but… they’re exceptionally good at bending and meshing genres in a fashion that simply put… works. A great example is “Backlit Medley” this song begins with a balls-out hard rock riff, and flows seamlessly into a Jimmy Eat World/Postal Service-inspired soft-rock opus with slight hints of electronica and a manly vocals that seamlessly flow in and out of uber-feminine Brit-pop falsetto; it’s so seemless, you wouldn’t notice unless you were looking for it.

Then, there are songs like “Hollywood” that take the played-out Strokes-inspired sound and bend it into something completely new, or the twice-released single “Take Me Home” that merges aspects of Tool with aspects of Jimmy Eat World and Owl City.

Editor’s Note: I can wax poetically on this for hours, but my words can’t do this band justice, just buy “Let’s Build Something to Break,” or catch them at any live show, and you’ll realize exactly what I’m talking about.

I digress… The top 5 reasons why After Midnight Project is the next big thing:

Reason #1 – The front man must have made a ‘crossroads’ deal with the devil… or Motown (same thing) - Singer, Jason Evigan, is the hands-down best front man of this decade. He’s got swagger, charm, extreme stage presence, and most importantly, excellent vocal chops. Picture what it would sound like if Jim Adkins’ testicles dropped, or if Daniel Johns had stuck with hard rock, and you’ve got Jason – a singer with a vocal range of a few octaves (he hits falsetto as well as Thom Yorke) and has the tonal clarity of Mark McGrath.

Reason #2 - Pop sensibilities - After Midnight Project understand how to write good songs. Officially, they’re one album deep, but any die hard fan has a copy of their pre-major label EPs. In theory, AMP has two full records worth of material released over a span of about 4 years. On their EPs, they proved that they could write and produce major label-quality songs without the help of a big name producer or a $200,000 budget. At the core, AMP understands that it’s all about making quality songs.

Reason #3 - Mainstream, yet completely inventive and original - After Midnight Project play radio-friendly, mainstream rock… if mainstream rock had multiple drug problems. Their sound, on the surface, is safe, but bends and molds the modern rock genre, breaking it into pieces, and taking it in a completely different, yet logical direction. They adhere to the genre, while simultaneously crafting a style all their own. Answer this… Why do people like Owl City? People like Owl City because what they REALLY want is a new Postal Service record. Would Owl City be as popular if they didn’t sound like The Postal Service? No… They definitely wouldn’t. Same thing with Hinder… People like them because they sound like 3 Doors Down and Creed. My point is that all modern rock is actually “post modern rock,” meaning it’s all been done before, and there’s not much left to do with the genre that hasn’t already done. Some bands attempt to ‘try new things,’ but miss the mark (Interpol, Silversun Pickups, etc.). Not only is After Midnight Project original (no one sounds quite like them, and they don’t sound quite like anybody else), but they’re also masters of styles, able to merge several different genre-specific ideas into one in ways that have truly never been done before; what other band can successfully mix a speed metal opener with a Radiohead-styled verse?

Reason #4 - The Lenny Kravitz effect - In short, girls and guys can enjoy this band together. I wouldn’t want my girl to catch me listening to Avril Lavigne, and I wouldn’t want to catch her listening to Pantera; there’s an un-written rule: guys listen to guys music, girls listen to girl’s music. After Midnight Project, much like U2 and the Red Hot Chilli Peppers, is the kind of band men and women can both listen to without shame and/or violating any un-written rules.

Reason #5 - Work ethic and values - After Midnight Project is permanently on tour. They’re willing not only to tour incessantly, but they take every opportunity to meet with their fans - Every show ends with the band signing autographs and meeting fans at their merch booth (for the sheer talent they possess, they’re an unabashedly humble and down-to-earth group of people). Since their inception, After Midnight Project have been all about their fans, and even have a special phone number for their fans to call and bug them. (P.S. They return every phone call they receive.) This type of approach, which is completely genuine, has worked for other bands in the past (Everclear, Deftones, etc.), and it works especially well for After Midnight Project, who pride themselves on their accessibility.

No disrespect to Chevelle they were great too!!!

Other AMP Articles:
Review of “Let’s Build Something To Break”
Interview With Jason Evigan

My Conversation With Mark Bego

2009-11-04T12:05:00.000-08:00

Written By: Victoria Hill
(Urban/Pop Editor)

I had the pleasure of spending a Saturday morning talking to a truly interesting man- Mark Bego, a best-selling celebrity autobiographer. Mark Bego started writing in high school and college and had the opportunity to go to New York to meet and write about some of the biggest stars of the day like Barry Manilow, Steely Dan, Elton John and Three Dog Night.

Mark has written about Elton John, Madonna, Michael Jackson, Mary Wilson of The Supremes, Martha Reeves of Martha & The Vandellas, just to name a few, and what I took away from our conversion was the love Mark has for music. Mark grew up listening to his parents’ record collection and now has made a career of his first love.

The first thing he does in the morning is turn on the stereo; he spends his day studying music, trends, and who is going to be the next big thing - It's a talent that Mark has had all his life. In the early 80s, a large publisher asked Mark who he thought would be the next big thing in music.
"Madonna and Michael Jackson," had been Mark's reply. He turned out to be right!

Mark was the first writer to champion and write books about Michael Jackson and Madonna. Mark even traveled with Michael and his brothers on the 'Victory' tour and wrote the book “On The Road With Michael!” Mark admitted that sometimes not all the stars he has written about are still successful, and some have died young, like Michael Jackson. Mark said it was strange to see people he's written about starting to pass away.

We talked about the difference between Elton John and Whitney Houston (Mark has written about both). Both have had issues with drugs and both are currently drug free, Mark and I noticed how much drugs can affect a career. Elton was lucky, drugs didn't affect his voice or writing ability, but Whitney has lost some of her vocal ability due to her flagrant drug abuse. Mark said he was happy to see Whitney back, but sad at the same time because her gift is somewhat gone.

Throughout our conversation, Mark shared great stories about meeting his heroes. Mark told a great story about seeing a young Pat Benatar singing a reggae version of “Stairway To Heaven” in a NY club, and while writing “Dancing In The Street: Confessions Of A Motown Diva” with Martha Reeves, Mark told me about the time when Martha was living in his Tucson, AZ home. He came into the kitchen one day to find Martha cooking soul food and singing to The Beatles.

How Mark got his house in Tucson was another story in-and-of-itself. While Mark was living in New York, Jimmy Greenspoon (of Three Dog Night) stopped by Mark’s apartment and commented on how small it was. Jimmy asked what Mark was paying for it. Mark told him the rent, and Jimmy said, “You could get a house in Tucson for that price.” Soon after that, Jimmy helped Mark find a great house in Tucson. The rest is history.

Mark has had a great year; five of his books have been released this year, including one about Ruth Mueller, who escaped from Nazi Germany and came to America with no money, but by the 1980’s was the president of her own corporation.

Mark is in no way just resting on his laurels. In addition to being a writer, he's also an actor (he's working with Angela Bowie (David Bowie’s ex wife) on the film “Bureaucratic Assassin.”) I asked Mark if he would ever retire, and he said, "No, because music and writing is my love and you can not retire from something you love." I admire this quality. How many people can say they're doing what they love?

It's always great to talk to people who love music and love their career, and talking to Mark was a great experience. As an up-and-coming editor, starting out in my writing career, it was refreshing to see the opportunities available; just makes me want to work harder!!

Diary of a Fading Rockstar, Part VII

2009-11-03T03:53:00.000-08:00

When Did The Midnight-To-Six Become Six-To-Midnight? Or: How The Real World Ruined My Breakfast

Written By Erik Rader

There’s a cliche I think we’re all familiar with that a rockstar’s alarm clock is usually set for noon, but he/she tends to like sleeping in a little past that. I think the whole concept of brunch was invented by a rockstar, or whoever provided that person with food. Since I generally provide my own food, my stomach is more or less my alarm clock these days, beyond the predictable mayhem caused by various small two and four-legged mammals parading about the house.

When we went out and got day jobs (or went back out and got back our day jobs, or whatever order it came in for you) we pretty much had to let go of the rockstar brunch. Maybe it really was a luxury. But in all truthfulness we had a full-time job with weird hours - all day most weekdays for songwriting, arranging, rehearsing, interviews, photo shoots, driving to the next gig, and night shift on the weekends - the gigs themselves, and all that low-rent spec time between paying customers at the big shot recording studio. Plus the fact that we were always expected to take our work home with us. And that’s just the work - there’s all the socializing you’re asked to do on top of that. Let’s see you get up bright and early after a night tossing back brandies at an awards ceremony. Unless there are hairs of the proverbial canine involved, it’s just not a reasonable expectation.

These days I do well with a structured work schedule - I usually get to work early and leave late; sometimes I even get asked to please stick to my scheduled hours. To get out on time, I’ve established a routine whereby I start a series of specific tasks around 5:00 PM, cycling through different areas of my responsibility each hour. It may sound anal, but it helps me not miss details. I’m not really a detail-oriented person, as the friendly credit card company representative reminded me over the phone today.

On unstructured time (you normal people call them “days off” I guess) there was always other activities you could do that were more or less set by the culture. If you weren’t writing, rehearsing, recording or playing a gig, you were supposed to be buying and listening to records, seeing somebody else’s band play, doing “research” on some sort of mind-altering substance, or showing up at some protest rally or other. Oh, and then there’s putting in the necessary “girlfriend time”, which in their minds was usually about 37 hours a day. This involved going to their parents’ house to eat meals in stony silence, or paying nail-biting visits to a doctor’s office to make sure the home pregnancy test was a false alarm, or listening to them talk about what a bitch their best friend is. There were nights when you’d feel torn three ways - having your parental landlords expecting you to be at home in bed before dawn, while having your girlfriend expecting you at her place even sooner, and your band mates expecting you to sleep it off on the rehearsal space carpet with them. It’s no wonder that many musicians burn out from taking too many stimulants and avoiding sleep altogether.

Actual “free time” is hard to find for anyone, especially if like me you have a propensity for making promises. Finding that zone in which one has no responsibilities to anyone or anything, where nothing is due, or overdue, actually requires a focus of mind and effort that takes years to develop. Avoiding responsibility is hard work; most of us fall into responsibility without looking for it or choosing it.

When you are the lead singer of a rock and roll band, this is actually your most important job, second only to actually singing in a rock and roll band. Everybody has something to do at soundcheck except you; and in the studio, you are always the last person to be recorded. You’re expected to stand there and look cool, but not too distracting, during the solos; and interviewers are always more interested in what the guitar player has to say, because they think you’re an idiot. Many people project onto you what has been termed “the soft bigotry of low expectations” - in other words, the popular perception of you is being about as connected to the daily realities of life as a spoiled housecat.

But you’re the focal point for the audience. Like Jesus Christ, no one may enter the Kingdom of Heaven except through you. You are the doorman at the Gates of Delirium. You are the tribal shaman, your community’s channel for mystical forces. You are expected to be toothless, insane, and needing to be fed. If you exceed these expectations, you are liable to have someone come up to you and say “Excuse me - are you the manager?” (This in and of itself is not so bad, as there is actually a narrow chance that somebody might unintentionally give you the money.)

It’s hard work playing an instrument, and no mistake. You have to stay in your room and play scales all day while other kids are playing stickball, going out on dates or getting high. You have to sit around sucking on a reed, or checking your pockets for guitar picks, or super-gluing your calluses. It’s especially hard being a drummer because you have to drive everybody around in the vehicle you bought to drive your gear around. Then the lead singer sits on your pedal by accident and breaks the strap, and you have to borrow a pedal from that asshole in the opening band. If you’re the bass player it’s even worse, because you have to pick up the guitar player at his girlfriend’s house, and he’s always late because, well, you know, and plus you have the most cripplingly heavy and unwieldy piece of equipment in the band: The Dreaded Bass Cabinet. Consequently, it is also the most dropped piece of equipment in the band. So is it any wonder that 2/3rds of all technical difficulties on stage are bass-related? But I digress.

It’s hardest of all being the lead singer, because your instrument is your body. You can set fire to your guitar or put explosive charges in your snare drum, but if you do either of those to yourself you’re liable to get killed, or wish you had. If a roadie drops a box of drum hardware, the most likely thing to get damaged is his foot; if he drops you, you’re the one who’s damaged (not even mentioning the fact that you were pretty damaged in the first place, which is why he’s carrying you). Band members can hang around backstage playing with their instruments; the singer can only play with him/herself. Vocal chords are dreadfully susceptible to extremes of temperature, atmospheric contaminants, or bad vibes. You can play guitar when you’re in a bad mood, but when you’re the singer the bad mood affects your instrument directly.

Another thing that sucks about being in a group of instrumental musicians is that they don’t think you play an instrument. You’re as functional as a coat rack in their eyes. They’ll stand there at parties blandly telling you that you should “take up an instrument”, as if using your own body as an instrument onstage is somehow lazy. You’re the lowest priority in the house mix, the monitor mix, even the studio mix. Every show for your first few years on the road will culminate in at least three people saying “You looked great, I wish I could hear you!” or “I wish I could tell what you were singing. Was your microphone even on?” It doesn’t matter how much presence you get in your mix during sound check; fill the house with people, and fill the sound man with cocaine, pot, PCP and Bushmill’s, and all of a sudden the lead guitar is louder than the thoughts inside your own head, followed close second by the drums and bass, and maybe the trombone after that. The trombone player is your hero, because he will never under any circumstances NOT be heard, not if they cut his mike, not if they stick a sock in his trombone, not even if they shoot him and bury him six feet under the stage. If they do that, a flaming trombone from hell will play Dixieland jazz straight up their asses. I think the trombone is an outstanding and often unsung instrument in the rock and roll pantheon. People latch onto the sax because it’s got a certain amount of built-in attitude in its sound, but the trombone wins because there’s no subtlety or pretension about it. Trombone is raw moonshine to the sax’s fancy wine. Trombone steps past the sharpshooter precision of the sax and pulls out a sawed-off shotgun.

I learned some things about being a rockstar from the trombone player. He never, ever, ever took himself seriously onstage or off; when he acted like he did, he was fucking with you. The trombone player made no enemies, was threatened by no one, and was ready with a smile in almost every situation. The trombone player was all about confidence, easiness and humor. If anything the trombone player said or did pissed you off, you knew you were probably being an asshole and should get off your high horse. The trombone player never sulked; it was almost impossible to hurt his feelings, and heaven knows I tried. The trombone player was the first to laugh if a practical joke was played on him; but his revenge was always swift and merciless, and the rest of the horn section were always there to back him up. The trombone player never gave a shit about what anyone else thought; he was only in it for his own entertainment, every minute he was in it. When he was done, he went to college and got himself a real job. He’ll probably be the one who pays for the lead singer’s funeral.

But more importantly, no one ever questioned whether the trombone player was “living in the real world” or not. (Okay, there was that time during his freshman year in college, but everyone’s freshman year is like that.) The trombone player, today, is as much a representative of “the real world” as anyone the lead singer has ever known. And yet he is still, and will always be, the trombone player. His spirit comes and goes across the face of creation with that sound forever following in his wake.

The trombone player represents something pure and eternal about the whole rockstar trip. Something that perhaps used that trip as a springboard to transcend all the shallowness and waste. The trombone player doesn’t have any regrets. The trombone player presents a lesson for us all: Play loud. Be heard. Wear whatever you want. Don’t be afraid to look ridiculous. And don’t bother having enemies - it’s just not worth the effort.

The trombone player understands brunch - that it’s a necessity, and not a luxury, of life.

Read the other part of the series:

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6

TREOS

2009-11-02T15:25:00.000-08:00

Written By: Steve Sawyer

I'm going to do two things at once, expose you to a band, and disappoint you. But you'll be better off for it. I promise.

If you've never heard of The Receiving End of Sirens, don't worry I don't blame you. Not a whole lot of people have. But strange this time, that it isn't because their music is so obtuse, or in a genre so obscure that only the musical elite who dare to bin dive in the local record store would come across them. It's just because the band doesn't exist anymore. Which is made even more confounding by the fact that they only ever put out two albums in the duration of their musical career, which loosely spanned over five years. During those five years, the band didn't exactly explode in mainstream popularity, and they only ever really achieved the same level of musical courtesy that is extended to most no name artists to fill out festival bills. But why?

The group released their first album "Between the Heart and the Synapse" in 2005. A completely straight-ahead rock album, with some emo leanings, and an affinity for electronic effects yielded the band a decent following. And their sound was familiar, and distinct enough to separate themselves from the crowd, and opened opportunities to be put onto larger bills like Warped Tour, and as support for 30 Seconds To Mars. So when their then singer Casey Crescenzo decided to leave to pursue his project The Dear Hunter, things looked grim. Most bands have an immensely difficult time recalibrating themselves to cope with the departure of any member of their group, let alone the lead vocalist. So rather than face the prospect of finding a replacement, the band decided to add a keyboardist and another guitar to the mix in the form of Brian Southall, and simply changed their vocal lineup to make their bassist Brendan Brown the lead, and adjusted the vocal lineup around him.

It worked. Brilliantly. Their second album "The Earth Sing Mi Fa Mi" is an almost perfect album in every respect, and far surpasses their first. From the beautiful layered vocal work that showcased that Brendan Brown was clearly capable of replacing Casey, to the truly compassionate and in-arguably honest lyrics. The album immediately differentiated itself from "Heart and the Synapse" with the opening track "Swallow People Whole", it showed a band that had greatly expanded and matured their sound, and stepped away from Casey's panicked vocal style, and seemed more intent on setting a mood and pace for the rest of the album to follow. And it's true that you got to see those flickers of their old selves for moments on more straight ahead tracks like "Oubliette". But even those moments seemed far more controlled, and deliberate, and didn't fall into the same genre traps that the previous album was guilty of getting caught in. No in fact, it's quite obvious on songs like "Smoke and Mirrors" that there is a conscious effort to restrain the vocalists from ever feeling the need to scream a single line, a trend that continues seamlessly into the next track "A Realization of the Ear" and the rest of the album. It's one of those rare instances where I can safely say that there isn't a song that doesn't belong, and more than that... the album is arranged in such a way that if you listened to it out of order, you would definitely be depriving yourself of an experience.

So with all that being said, it would seem elementary that the band would sweep the nation and take everyone by storm right? Absolutely, and it sure did seem that way immediately after the release of "The Earth Sings Mi Fa Mi" in August of 2007. The band bolstered up its touring schedule, and began to play larger and larger shows in more and more places. And with a reputation for a live show that flawlessly replicated their sound note for note, they quickly gained fans in exponential numbers. So it was something of a shock when in May of 2008 TREOS announced that they would no longer continue on as a band.

When upset fans pressed for an explanation, Brendan Brown offered one in the form of this message that was posted to the bands MySpace.

"I, Brendan, must admit that I am the main reason why TREOS is ending. My choice to no longer continue on with The Receiving End of Sirens has nothing to do with a lack of love for my band, and/or band members. It has nothing to do with a lack of passion for our music, or any music for that matter. My decision is due mostly in part to a huge rearranging of priorities in my life, and the unquestionable responsibility that comes along with becoming a father. January 15 my wife and I welcomed Parker Brown, our first child, into the world. Since then everything has changed. The happiness and joy I gained from being part of this band can't ever be taken away from me, but to be honest, I have lived a long time thinking that specific joy was as good as it got. Since Parker's birth I have realized my joy is a great thing, in and of itself, but the happiness I receive from his happiness is exponentially greater than anything I could muster on my own. The thought of leaving him to tour for months at a time is something I just can't stomach. I can't stand to miss another thing. I realize how important I am to my band, and how important our band is to some people, but I am far more elemental in the growth and happiness of my child, than I am anything else in this world." - Brendan Brown

The reaction to the news was just like anything in the bands career. Unexpected. Not only were they amazingly supportive of his decision, some of them even offered parenting tips, and to babysit. I suppose it shouldn't have been hard to figure out that the same guy that wrote the lyrics for songs like "Pale Blue Dot" who's main hook is the repeat "There's no place like home." would value his family life more than his music, but it's definitely not something you hear about too often in an industry that's notoriously motivated by money, and the pursuit of fame. And that's really too bad. It's far too often we hear of groups falling apart because someone is plagued with a horrendous drug problem, or because a member of the band decides their greed far outweighs the responsibility of basic civility. Quite honestly, those are the kind of stories I could stand to hear less of. But one of my favorite bands broke up because their lead singer wants to be a terrific father to his son? Yeah, that's good stuff.

As of 2008
The Receiving End of Sirens lineup was

Brendan Brown - Vocals, Bass guitar
Alex Bars - Rhythm Guitar, Vocals
Nate Patterson - Lead Guitar
Andrew Cook - Drums
Brian Southall - Guitar, Keyboard
Former Members

Ben Potrykus - Lead Vocals
Casey Crescenzo - Vocals, Guitar, Keys

Metric, Emily Haines and the Canadian Bacon Effect

2009-10-29T16:16:00.000-07:00

Written By: Hallie Madenski

I refer to a certain phenomenon as the "Canadian Bacon Effect." One of my favorite things about living in the Pacific Northwest and America in general is all the juicy fat that trickles into our music scene from Canada. Canadians love Oregon because for most of them it has a similar but less icy feel to their beloved territories to the North. Tegan and Sara recorded their previous album "The Con" in Portland with Chris Walla of Death Cab for Cutie fame.

Music from Canada doesn't sound any different from music here, or does it? As I put this thought on the spin cycle for a moment I start to question this theory. Is it me or does the intelligence of the people as a whole seep into some of the indie music of the syrup drinking, hockey-watching country, with its lessened population and good health insurance,The Royal Canadian Mounted Police, Tim Horton's, the largest mall in North America and of course the country's demonized wintery touch? All these attributes are things to be considered when thinking of the country, where to me, one thing is clearer than Clearly Canadian.

As a music lover first and a person second, I think of music when I think of Canada. Tied for first place as my favorite band, a certain group casts a silvery shadow in my eyelids. A band I want to listen to when I'm working out in the afternoon and then later when I'm trying to banish my neurosis and finally fall asleep. One to relax and to energize. One band to rule them all. Metric.

Named after a system America has never been able to fully convert to, the band is akin in this way. I've always felt that Metric never got what they deserve in terms of acknowledgment. A recognized band, but not a stadium band. Always at festivals but never quite top-billed. The difference between Metric and the actual metric system is that others have fully converted to the metric system. While Canada is more aware of the genius of frontwoman Emily Haines, I'm positive that neither country has heard enough of the angelic melodies and inarguably poetic lyrics of the band.

Fans tend to scoff when fame gets out of control. I find myself scoffing at Green Day and The Killers for their over-the-top portrayal of superstars. Well, not portrayal, they are superstars in their own right. There's something fishy about this though. To me announcing yourself as "the best" instantly drops you from my respect radar. When I saw a Green Day show in 2005 they referred to themselves as "the best punk band ever." There's so much wrong with declaring yourself as best band let alone best punk band, not only an extinct genre but a degrading and pompous comment that isn't even true. "Wake Me Up When September Ends" was one of the most annoying songs I've ever heard. The Killers "Hot Fuss" is one of my top favorite 30 CDs and so is Green Day's "Dookie" but when I see these bands now I feel bad for ever thinking so highly of them. I wonder whether the old synth-happy Killers will ever be back. Or do I have to hear the lyrics "are we human, or are we dancer" one more time? By the way, Mr. Flowers, most of us can tell when someone is stringing random words together to sound intelligent because we do it often ourselves.

I don't Metric to turn into snobs, so I fear their fame. The concerns of a selfish fan plague me. I want to treasure them and pretend that I discovered them when in reality I only started to listen to them in 2005 though they had been around since 2001. You know the agony of listening to a band before they become big? Your friends and random comrades start mentioning them, boasting of a new great band they found out about. Your teeth start to clench and your fists ball up. Actually, that might just be my own personal mania and ridiculous vendetta against others. Regardless, there's a monstrous frustration that comes with being concerned about music. I baby it. I rock it back and forth in my arms. I'm the delusional girl that thinks all the pieces in the bowl of candy belong to her, when in fact they are in the open and plainly there to be enjoyed by everyone. Metric is not my own personal piece of candy, and neither is your favorite band.

The blonde leading lady genius of Emily Haines and perfect pieces of the puzzle that are her band, released their most recent CD in April of this year. "Fantasies," Metric's fourth full length album, is the creme brulee of music. A hard shell of synth-rock danceable music on the top, with a substantially rich lyrical center. Listen to "Satellite Mind" and "Gold Guns Girls" then tone it down with "Twilight Galaxy." To be honest you cannot go wrong with any track from this delectable masterpiece. Like Garbage, they are a band incapable of making a bad CD. I'm now certain of that. I would watch Emily Haines in a movie, I would read her book and I would certainly listen to anything she composed even if it was wordless and created with only a hurdy gurdy.

Another band from Canada are the unmistakable identical twins mentioned earlier. Tegan and Sara, who just released their latest CD "Sainthood," are another anomaly. More famous than Metric but still struggling for America's full attention, certain audiences tend to linger more than others. With a massive lesbian/calm person following, they may not be your type of thing if you're, well, not into folk music with a faint drum beat and a forceful unplugged guitar.

Honorable mentions must go to now defunct Edmonton-based Pursuit of Happiness whose classic CD "Love Junk" should be rediscovered by today's generation as it is a great CD to age with. Artificial Joy Club's one and only release, "Melt," is a grungy classic. The Clik's "Snakehouse" is a brutal masterpiece similar to Metric's "Fantasies" in that it can pump you up or help you sleep depending on what track you venture towards. Hot Hot Heat used to be good and Feist is worth checking out. Acclaimed bag of poo, The Arcade Fire, are always buzzed about even though I've never gotten it, I keep listening hoping my ears will change. The copycat Gwen Stefani vocals of The Vincent Black Shadow are catchy pop infestations. Heavily tattooed Bif Naked deserves a nod as does the forlorn Alanis Morrisette, queen of the breakup CD. Broken Social Scene is moody and fitting for a listen while you take a bubble bath. Last but not least Quebec's Islands are a favorite, check out the bubbly "Rough Gem."

Now for a playlist, titled "Songs for a Moose." This mixed array of Canadian tunes might make you envious of "America's Hat." If Canada is a hat to America, America is a poorly dressed retard who drastically needs a stylish hat to add flare to their horribly bland outfit. America is Canada's soiled underwear. And NO I'm not French, and YES I'm mostly joking.

track 01 - "Wet Blanket" by Metric
track 02 - "Don't Rush" by Tegan and Sara
track 03 - "Twitch" by Bif Naked
track 04 - "Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm" by Crash Test Dummies
track 05 - "Love and Death" by The Stills
track 06 - "Silent Seven" by Controller.Controller
track 07 - "The Constant Lover" by Magneta Lane
track 08 - "Creeper" by Islands
track 09 - "I Wear My Sunglasses at Night" by Corey Hart
track 10 - "Metro" by The Vincent Black Shadow
track 11 - "Hangover Days" by Jason Collett Featuring Emily Haines
track 13 - "Needy Girl" by Chromeo
track 14 - "Video Kid" by The Birthday Massacre
track 15 - "Elevator Love Letter" by Stars
track 16 - "Sick and Beautiful" by Artificial Joy Club
track 17 - "Monday Monday Monday" by Tegan and Sara
track 18 - "Goodnight Goodnight" by Hot Hot Heat
track 19 - "Lay Down" by Priestess
track 20 - "Stopwatch Hearts" By Broken Social Scene
track 21 - "Gold Guns Girls" by Metric

A Moment With Hydropoetic

2009-10-23T17:22:00.000-07:00

Written By: Khadeeja Coonrod

If anyone is in need of inspiring music that you can move to then look no further than Hydropoetic. Sabree is his name. He's currently located in the Bay Area, California. Hydropoetic comes with beats that
flow like water and rhymes that hit you hard. This Hip-Hop artist will be a future influence for a good mood once his music comes out of your speakers. His lyrics capture the soul with nourishment until you're full with contentment.

Hydropoetic has written on topics that may relate to us in an unexpected way. Aerosol, a song about being a graffiti artist, is a close personal favorite for Hydropoetic. A personal favorite of mine by him would be the song, Beautiful because of the message it brings about seeing existence as a beautiful thing that's to be appreciated and cherished. The chorus lines from the song are, "Third planet from
the Sun and yes, I exist. I thank God for the way that I spit and yes, it's so beautiful, yes I'm so beautiful yes you're so beautiful, yeah it sounds beautiful."

I asked Hydropoetic if he could give me a few details of his name, how he got started in music, what inspires him when it comes to music, information about his upcoming album.

Sabree, what's your last name?

My full name is Hirshee Sabree Hassan. Sabree is my middle name.
Sabree Hydropoetic is my personality with a pen and pad; and or a mic.

Where do you perform?

I won't offer any performances until I have a solid release date for the EP.

Can you tell me where you grew up?

I was born in Oakland, CA and grew up in both Oakland and San Francisco, CA.

Please, tell me what inspires you about music; what keeps you to
continue to create it.

What inspires my music is life, my life, the way I see and understand it. I'm constantly growing as a human being and so I always have things to write about. I just try to come up with creative ways to express it.

How did you get started in music?

My introduction to Hip-Hop started as a very young graffiti artist. This lead to breakin' which then lead to the music aspect of the elements. In fact, flirting with becoming a DJ was the only thing I didn't do. Graffiti is my first love for Hip-Hop and 'till this day I sketch my pieces... don't think I can paint any more but I still sketch pieces. As far as the music aspect of it, I heard so many artists that I would break to like, all of the pioneers. I started at a very, very young age... but it wasn't 'till I heard Rakim and Big Daddy Kane when I wanted to emcee. I'm not a Hip-Hop "purist" due to the fact the potential progression of the culture can be misunderstood... and therefore, change can sometimes face rejection. Hip-Hop music is a collage of different types of music that should be celebrated; so to me, in the music elementals of Hip-Hop, it would not
be fair to be a purist. Pure to creativity is priority if anything.

Can you tell me something about the album you're working on?

I'm working on an EP now with my man Kurisoul who's producing all of the tracks. If you heard the song Beautiful then you should kinda know what soundscape to expect. He's a very very talented producer and his future is projects brilliance in Hip-Hop.

7 Best Things About Halloween

2009-10-22T00:58:00.000-07:00

Written By: Hallie Madenski

Halloween is one of my least favorite holidays besides New Years. I refer to these two dates as "slut holidays." For anyone between the ages of 16 and 30, Halloween becomes a giddy excuse to dress up like a nurse, partially-nude zombie or Marilyn Monroe, but with more cleavage. With all my prude old lady attitudes, I still understand why Halloween is fun for some people.

I do love candy, but that is really the children's aspect of it isn't it? Trick-or-treating up and down the neighborhood is for kids. Once you get beyond childhood, you realize you have to either be a social butterfly on Halloween, or hide in your house and hand out goodies. Lucky for me there is something I love about Halloween. Horror movies! And of course candy, and even though dressing up isn't for me, I could mention some ideas for costumes as I'm much more of a spectator.

1. Candy. Bow Wow Wow! Put it all in perspective, I want candy, and who doesn't? Whether you're a future diabetic like me or a occasional craver, we all have a driving desire to eat sweets. Candy is pretty subjective. So whatever you prefer, no one can condemn you, unless you like those liquid nipple-bottles full of corn syrup, then you're going to hell.

My personal choices for deliciousness are as follows. Brach's Candy Corn, Haribo Gold-Bears, Trolli Sour Brite Gummy Worms, Red Vines, Peanut Butter M&M's, Lemonheads and Runts. Mmmmmmm. Remember when old ladies used to give you quarters or raisins for Halloween to teach you a lesson about money and health? Don't follow in their footsteps, give out candy that you would actually eat. Kids will respect you and if there is any left you can shamefully gobble it up later on in the dead of night.

2. Horror Movies. "Rocky Horror Picture Show" is a novelty and a great movie for audience participation if you're into having rice stuck to you. (I'm sure there's a website for that)
There's novelty and then there's pure horror. My favorite horror movies are mostly classics like "Halloween" - 1 and 2, and "Texas Chainsaw Massacre." "Friday the 13th," "Nightmare on Elm Street" and of course "The Exorcist." A few less-ancient movies that I loved included "The Descent," "Saw" 1 and 2, "Dead Silence," "Wolf Creek," "The Orphanage," "Audition," "May," "The Ring," "The Devil's Rejects," "The Hills Have Eyes," "Hostel II" and "The Strangers."

I have to say "May" is one of the best movies out there that sort of fits this genre. It's kind of more of a dark comedy than a true slasher flick but it definitely has elements that sway most people to put it in the horror section. Look for a hilariously horny aloof lezbo Anna Faris early on in her career. "Dead Silence" and "Audition" are two other little known movies that deserve a nod. "Audition" being a Japanese film about a man whose wife dies and years later holds a fake movie audition in search of a girlfriend. Classically, he gets a little more than he bargained for. This movie features one of the strangest scenes ever, without giving too much away I'll say, there's a bag involved, and a man, sort of.

"Dead Silence" terrifies me, but it's not for everyone. A movie about a dead ventriloquist and her collection of dummies. The acting is questionable but the story is pretty damn good. This movie has more twists than Bolivia's Death Road. Also, I'm afraid of Ventriloquist dummies, and vengeful supernatural old ladies. Since I like to be a bit scared, it's kind of a win win situation for me. See "The Orphanage" for a more sophisticated horror movie, see "Dead Silence" if you are feeling young, or are young, and want to jump a little. My definition of scary is different, as is everyone's. But I can say for certain that if you don't like "May" or "The Orphanage" then you have no business even participating in the viewing of cinema.

If you're into total gore and shock my number one pick is the remake for "The Hills Have Eyes." French people really know what they're doing when it comes to horror.

Director Alexandre Aja manages to have you caring about the characters within 5 minutes. The hugest mistake of most new horror movies is that they don't make likable characters. For some reason directors think they should make characters with varying degrees of annoying. The most annoying character always dies first. Usually it's the scantily-clad cheerleader and her sex-crazed boyfriend. It's either one girl who lives at the end or a guy and a girl who just met, somehow the least annoying of the cast but still obnoxiously one-sided. The reason for this is production time and carelessness. Aja, and the guy who directed "The Descent," Neil Marshall, really know what they're doing. They give every character a personality you could relate to. You end up feeling sympathy for even the most aggravating character, like the short-haired loud mouth extremist in "The Descent." Or the intellectually challenged eye candy sister in "The Hills Have Eyes." There is a scene in a trailer that makes me want to turn the movie off. The scene is more vomit-inducing than the famous hillbilly scene in "Deliverance." "Last House on The Left" ties for disturbing scene though I must say. Overall Alexandre Aja's movie is more shocking than Eli Roth's "Hostel" or Rob Zombie's "Devil's Rejects."

To me the classic is still John Carpenter's "Halloween." The way Michael Myers appears in windows out of nowhere or behind a tree still scares me. I grew up in the woods in a house with a lot of windows so this and "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" always really got to me. I am really quite peeved that the classic ideas of Leatherface and Michael Myers have now been skewed so horribly by remakes. Though I did enjoy the first Texas Chainsaw Massacre remake I was disturbed by the fact that he is now depicted as some sort of giant wrestler with a breathing problem. Michael Myers and Jason as well. All wrestlers now. Huge, wielding their weapon of choice. Setting traps and shooting arrows and being cunning? Michael Myers was never that strong, just kind of invincible. But he wouldn't lift up a car, Rob Zombie. Leatherface was always a stumbling tie-wearing sort of tranny looking thing before the remake showed him as huge and strong and able to start his Chainsaw on the first try. A note to future directors, don't remake any more movies unless you're kind of going to try to do the first one justice.

One last thing about movies, in June of 2008 makeup and special effects genius Stan Winston died at the age of 62. He was involved in numerous classics including all four Terminator movies and the first "Alien" movie. Also credited with makeup and/or special effects in "Edward Scissorhands," "Iron man," "Wrong Turn," "Predator," "Jurassic Park," "Congo," and "Interview With The Vampire." Think of him as you are applying your fake blood and plastic fangs, and what a better job he'd be doing.

3. Costumes. Now, I know you all have urges to go as either regular Michael Jackson, zombie Thriller Michael Jackson or Bella and Edward from "Twilight." I'm just begging you, if you're a woman go as Lady Gaga, and if you're a man, well, go as Lady Gaga. All you need is a big nose, leggings, a bright blonde wig and a bizarre leotard or poofy dress of some sort. If you don't have a big nose but you have the leggings and wig, go as Madonna. Once my brother won a Halloween costume contest by putting a planting pot on his head and declaring himself a pothead. Simplicity is key. Oh, and if you insist on going the vampire route be more original than "Twilight" and try out characters from HBO's "Trueblood."

4. Decorations. There are four levels of decorating your porch or house on Halloween. The first, and laziest is putting a miniature pumpkin on your porch. The second is putting a full-sized but uncarved pumpkin out. The third is actually carving a pumpkin, putting a candle in it and setting it outside for trick or treaters and neighbors to enjoy. The fourth is to go all out and carve several pumpkins and buy crazy skeleton and witch decorations that cackle and hoot at passersby. This sometimes seems like more of a ploy to keep trick or treaters away, especially with all the rampant anxiety, imagination and jumpy horse-like symptoms that come with being young. I suppose only the brave suffice.

I have never been willing to fork out my dragon gold for seemingly unnecessary decorations that will only be used once a year. Instead I fall somewhere in with either carving pumpkins or leaving them on my porch. It's my way of getting into without looking like I tried. Kind of like a hipster. It might sound pretentious, but hey, that's me. Also, I fully applaud people who do go all out with decorations, it gives me a reason to drive around and stare at people's houses with an excuse that makes me not sound like a serial killer/stalker.

5. Haunted Houses. I live in Oregon, so I can only really recommend places locally though I hear the USS Nightmare in Kentucky is pretty great. Located on a real, supposedly haunted steamboat on the Ohio river. Anyway, in Oregon there is really only one unique concept and two other fairly decent haunted houses. Due to my anxiety ridden life, I have only been to one haunted house. The unique option though here is a corn maze that supposedly takes at least an hour to find your way out of. During Halloween they fill the maze with frightening characters such as Leatherface to confuse and chase you around the maze. It's a little too much for me, as I almost died in the Oak's Park haunted house.

Considered wimpy and for teenagers, I shrieked nonstop, my friend jumped onto my back in shock and my boyfriend screamed like an old man falling down the stairs. Girls half my age began laughing at us as they walked through the haunted house trying to scare themselves with seemingly fake yelps of joy/terror. I've heard that the most terrifying option in Oregon is The Thirteenth Door, a confusing haunted house where you have to find your way out as you are trapped in rooms with zombie-clad actors who are mainly concerned with making you pee yourself in horror. No thanks.

6. Books. Stephen King's "It" and "Needful Things" should do the trick. Also check out Chuck Palahniuk's "Haunted." I've never read it but I've heard "The Ruins" by Scott Smith is one of the most terrifying books ever. Although I doubt that, I still need to read it so I can feel better about recommending it.

7. Music. Last but not least, Halloween music can be the most comforting and easiest thing about the holiday. There's always "Monster Mash..." yeah yeah graveyard smash and whatnot, but then there's the other staples of Halloween music. I consider Danny Elfman to be the most talented horror-oriented composer. With his "Nightmare Before Christmas" soundtrack and his countless amazing Oingo Boingo hits such as "No Spill Blood," "Dead Man's Party," Weird Science," "Hour of the Wolf" and "When the Lights Go Out." My Halloween mixed tape would be comprised of the following tunes:

track 01 - "Monster Mash" by Bobby 'Boris' Pickett
track 02 - "This is Halloween" by Marilyn Manson
track 03 - "More Human Than Human" by White Zombie
track 04 - "Translyvania Terror Train" by Captain Clegg & The Night Creatures
track 05 - "Jack's Lament" by Danny Elfman
track 06 - "Thriller" by Michael Jackson
track 07 - "Every Day is Halloween" by Ministry
track 08 - "Halloween" by Siouxsie And The Banshees
track 09 - "Living Dead Girl" by Rob Zombie
track 10 - "Somebody's Watching Me" by Rockwell
track 11 - "Halloween Girl" by Ghosts on the Radio
track 13 - "Hour of the Wolf" by Oingo Boingo
track 14 - "Feed my Frankenstein" by Alice Cooper
track 15 - "This Could Be Love" by Alkaline Trio
track 16 - "Dig Up Her Bones" by Misfits
track 17 - "Ballroom Blitz" by Sweet

Alright so, lessons learned? Go out dressed as Lady Gaga. If eating candy turns your teeth black and/or makes them fall out it will just go more with the spirit of Halloween. Watch "May" while you carve a pumpkin or at least draw on one. Be brave and go to a haunted house, just bring lots of friends to pick you up when you have a seizure. And lastly, listen to Danny Elfman or Oingo Boingo. Actually any of the above songs will suffice. Do the dance to "Thriller" and light that candle in your pumpkin in the sweet memory of Michael Jackson and Stan Winston.

The Desert

2009-10-21T14:13:00.000-07:00

Written By: Daniel Alcantara
Photo Courtesy of hiro008

I’ve been writing either stories or songs or articles like this one since I was a child. It used to be that I wrote when I felt like it and that felt often enough but here I find myself completely without any material whatsoever. I’ve been here before and it’s usually when I start to take in all manner of content trying to get inspired and influenced. I saw a movie that changed my life but here I sit not able to write about it. Believe me, I tried. But how do you really write about going to see a movie? There’s no material there.

I tried writing about how I’ve begun to play my Gretsch guitar again after a long period of silence from it because I could only play through headphones. Now I’ve got an amp and have started to write music again but I can’t write music for an article. You don’t want a 500-word song, trust me.

I took in a lot of music while my wife and I were on vacation, a vacation that included about 6 or 7 hours of driving from home to the location and back home again. I still don’t have anything to say about that. And it hurts. I can usually fake something until it works but not this time. As I type this, Iron & Wine is coming from my computer’s speakers and while this used to be the perfect writing music for me, all that is coming is this long-winded whine-session about how I can’t write anything. My kitchen is a mess and I’d rather be cleaning it than writing this.

How did I get to this point? How do I get out? Those two questions are racing through my head and maybe writing this is my way of getting out. I don’t even know if this is worth sending in, but I’m going to anyway. It’s words and it’s got a bit of a story. Any creative person has been in this exact same place many times before and no matter how many times it happens, it never gets easier. The creative process is so organic and so natural at times when others, it feels like you’re trying to grow a farm in the desert. No matter how much water you pour on it, nothing can grow there. And that is the struggle of anyone that tries to make being creative their way to make a living.

What do you do when there’s nothing left in the soil that you’ve been working? That soil that’s rewarded you so many times before with the most amazing surprises? Some might stay there and wallow and take the dirt and make it shine. Others move on to a new patch of ground to see what might be in the soil. Is either method better than the other? I’d have to say that the former is much more commendable. It forces you to be even more creative before you’re sure that you’ve exhausted every possible avenue available to you. And that’s what I’ve found myself doing as I’ve been writing this article. I’m trying to make the dirt in this creative desert into something that I can use. Something that you can use. There isn’t much here, but I hope that it finds someone that is struggling to make something work when everyone else has moved on to greener lands. Hold out, something good will come. You just have to work for it.

Elton John: The Bitch Is Back by Mark Bego

2009-10-18T03:29:00.000-07:00

Written By: Victoria Hill
(Urban/Pop Editor)

For almost 50 years, Elton John has been a constant entertainer. More than a mere 'piano man,' Elton moved from playing smoky, dreary pubs to become one of the biggest icons of our time. His music has become the soundtrack of our lives, and his live performances are truly theatrical. Mark Bego, a best-selling biographer, takes you on a journey of the lavish, outrageous life that could only be lived by Elton himself.

The journey from Middlesex, England to the bright lights of Vegas, Broadway and the world was not easy for Reginald Kenneth Dwight, but he was driven to be more than a blue-collar worker living in a counsel house. Music was a salvation to the lonely boy who would become Elton John.

“Elton John: The Bitch Is Back” is an outstanding book which shows all the aspects of Elton’s life (addiction, weight gain, eating disorders, hair loss, affairs to living a clean, happy, healthy life with his partner David Furnish) without judging Elton. Mark’s writing makes you feel like you are experiencing Elton’s life first hand, which for me as a fan, is exciting.

Mark said "I specifically wanted to talk to people who personally know Elton, and who are not usually interviewed for Elton John books. These people's insights into Elton make this quite exciting. Researching this book I interviewed Alice Cooper, Billy Wyman of The Rolling Stones, Mary Wilson of The Supremes, Angela Bowie, Sarah Dash of LaBelle, Randy Jones of the Village People, Duncan Faure of The Bay City Rollers, and Gary Brooker of Procol Harum. I also received some great stories from Danny Hutton and Jimmy Greenspoon of Three Dog Night. A lot of people don't realize that it was Three Dog Night who recorded the song that became America's first exposure to Elton's music, via their recording of 'Lady Samantha.' One of my most fun interviews was with the totally colorful and outrageous RuPaul. And, those are just some of the rock & roll figures quoted in the book! There are many more."

“Elton John: The Bitch Is Back” is a must-have for any Elton fan. In an industry where music and artists are here today and gone tomorrow, this book shows that Elton is a true artist demonstrating class and showmanship. Personally, they don’t make them like Elton anymore.

Rating: 3 Guns

10 Shows And Movies To Watch

2009-10-13T14:22:00.001-07:00

Written By: Hallie Madenski

I watch too much TV and I go see too many movies. I can use my technology addiction to an advantage by telling others what to avoid and what not to. Shows not worth watching? How about "Two and a Half Men," "CSI: Miami," "The Cleveland Show," "Heroes," "90210," "Real Chance of Love" and "Dancing With The Stars?" On the other hand, here is a list of things not to avoid...

10. "Paranormal Activity": My friend and I went to see this movie hoping to be terrified and we simply were not. In fact I found the reactions of the mortified audience to be hysterically funny. This being said, it's still a good movie. Entertaining, suspenseful and well-acted. If you happen to be gullible you may be scared, but the "horror" aspect of the movie really didn't strike me in the way the director intended. Worth watching despite my bitterness toward all the comparisons to actual scary movies such as "The Exorcist." (How dare they!)

9. "Modern Family": This show brings back family comedies in their purest form. Tune in to ABC Wednesdays at 9/8c.

8. "Police Women of Broward County": TLC's wonderful reality show about lady cops provides the humor I always wanted from "Cops." While Cops had its moments it was never high enough quality or quite humorous enough to keep me interested in more than a few minutes, possibly one episode if I was feeling bloated. Police Women of Broward County has its serious moments, especially since one of the cops is a sex crimes detective. Some non-serious moments include a woman who claims marijuana was blown into her bra by the wind. Also, a group of people who put their own hair in their food to try to get out of paying their restaurant bill. And let's not forget the fearful woman who hides drugs in her vagina. This show is "Cops" with less brutality, more comedy and just as much reality. Tune in Thursdays at 9 PM Eastern time.

7. "Capitalism: A Love Story": The saddest of all the Michael Moore films is still worth watching. Moore has somehow managed to retaini humor while covering topics such as school shootings, terrorism and the decline of health care. This movie has its moments in the humor department but mostly it's just depressing. Not that I expect Farrely Brothers style humor from Michael Moore. His in-your-face approach to filmmaking has always been prevalent. Showing America at its worst and reminding us that even though our movie-going, semi-intellectual lives seem fine, others are suffering. This movie is, of course, about Capitalism. The taking and giving of things, mostly taking. Taking people's homes and selling them for a profit. The crashing stock market. The tears of lower and middle class America. While this movie ranks last on my list of favorite Michael Moore movies, it is still worth seeing and is by no means bad. Be prepared to become emotional. And please, don't call Michael Moore unpatriotic. Nothing gets under my skin more than people who can't handle the criticism of their own flawed country. Pointing out those flaws does not make someone a crazy extremist flag-burning fool. (And no, I'm not French)

6. "Jennifer's Body": Megan Fox is remembered for her role in Transformers. To me she has been in two bad movies and one good one prior to "Jennifer's Body," The two bad films are Transformers 1 and 2, the good film is "How to Lose Friends and Alienate People." Let's say Jennifer's Body is the movie to equal it all out. Now you need to really understand that this movie is a satire, that it is not to be taken seriously. You need to understand that Megan Fox is a less than mediocre actress with a more than angelic face, making it all well worth while. The movie takes the dialogue of Writer Diablo Cody's "Juno" to another level. Spike the punch, roll out the carpet and say hello to a hilarious faux horror movie co-starring budding starlet Amanda Seyfried of "Mean Girls" and "Mama Mia" fame. Other amusing roles go to J.K. Simmons (Juno's dad), talented face maker Amy Sedaris and sly guy-in-a-band Adam Brody. Adam Brody, who played an attractive nerd on The O.C., does a perfect job of capturing the attitude of guys who are in pop bands that masquerade as rock bands. Eyeliner and all, he asks the question, "Do you want to be rich and famous like that dude from Maroon 5?" While Adam Brody is off playing a cliche, Megan Fox is saying things like, "PMS isn't real, ... it was invented by the boy-run media to make us seem like we're crazy." Also coining the phrase "wetty" as a term for a female woody. While Diablo Cody hit the nail on the head with "Juno," she may have confused her core fans in making this gory comedy. Hopefully she earned some new fans in the process of releasing this film, using her revolving door of strangely charming wit.

5. "Hung": Hung is an intriguing heartfelt show about a man struggling to make money after his house burns down. He turns to the obvious profession, being a gigolo. Now this may sound tired and ridiculous, but it somehow isn't. The way the show weaves together comedy and human nature is refreshing and sweet. The characters are realistic and while sometimes obnoxious, they are also lovable. The shows protagonist, Ray Dreckler, is played by the previously boring Thomas Jane. Playing a man with a big penis could potentially be difficult to convey without seeming literally cocky but somehow he does it wonderfully. He is supported by a great cast, especially his "pimp" who is played by Jane Adams.

4. "Nurse Jackie": The season of this Showtime show, as well as HBO's Hung, is already over. That doesn't mean it's not worth mentioning. Rent it yourself for the dramatic comedy of a feisty, pill popping, affair-having nurse. Played by the talented and severely underrated Edie Falco of "Sopranos" fame. Her acting chops are up to par with Toni Collette of the wonderfully quirky Showtime show "United States of Tara.'" Catch up on the first season so you can tune in next year.

3. "Zombieland": Woody Harrelson is a badass. Need I say more? Actually I feel like I should say more since I don't think the advertisements for this film did it justice. 13 year old Abigail Breslin has a substantial role in the movie and isn't even really shown in the previews. Jonah Hill's alcohol-seeking love interest in "Superbad," the lovely Emma Stone, is good in the movie even when she lisps. Her crackling voice reminiscent of an equally smoky Lindsey Lohan. Big-haired Jesse Eisenberg of the future cult classic "Adventureland" is always charming, and even Bill Murray makes an appearance as Woody and company seek shelter in his home. Woody Harrelson plays a loner hellbent on finding his all time favorite treat, Twinkies. They have been all but wiped out on zombie-infested earth. It's also funny hearing Woody Harrelson describe this movie in interviews because he is actually a peaceful vegan hippie who doesn't eat Twinkies. Apparently, during filming, special vegan Twinkies were concocted just for his consumption. Look out for a standoff between his character "Tallahassee" and about 40 blood thirsty zombies. Like the entire movie, this scene isn't one you can forget. This movie is the opposite of a porn star, it's unpredictable and the climax is real.

2. "Bored to Death": Airs Sunday nights at 9:30 Eastern time on HBO. Surprisingly, this show has received mixed reviews. Its dry humor may not be for everyone but I am certain anyone who enjoys Seinfeld, Curb Your Enthusiasm or early seasons of 30 Rock could probably get on board with this show. Starring subtle nerd Jason Shwartzman, an eccentric pot-smoking Ted Danson and bearded "Hangover" sidekick Zach Galifianakis. The cast is genius, the script is genius. Just tune in. We can only pray this show doesn't get cancelled like so many other comedy masterpieces of its kind. (Rest in peace Lucky Louie)

1. "Anvil: The Story of Anvil": This Documentary follows the Canadian metal band Anvil on their journey to and away from fame. A band that started out strong in the 80's but never reached their full potential due to bad marketing. You don't have to like metal to like this movie. Original band members Steve 'Lips' Kudlow and Robb Reiner struggle with their lack of success and their relationship as bandmates all throughout this film. They now both maintain regular jobs in Canada to support themselves. They allow a misguided fan to manage a tour in Europe for them and when they arrive they find they are playing to crowds of around 200 on average. One venue's owner even refuses to pay them, offering them a serving of Goulash instead. The reality of it all can be too much. Lead singer Steve Kudlow is like a real life Mickey Rourke in "The Wrestler." A little unhinged, working hard to make a comeback, trying to turn nothing into something. Straining every piece of his heart and soul in the process. The band lays it all out on the line. As a fan of music and of film I give this movie an A+ for combining the two in such a delightful manner.

HORSE The Band

2009-10-13T14:16:00.000-07:00

Written By: Steve Sawyer

Horse The Band. Just the name itself conjures up images of a group of good for nothings slapping and banging at various instruments, in a manner that could only be described as manic. And in fact it's not very far from the truth. Horse The Band started in that magical time known as 1999 in Lake Forest CA. And by 2002, not only had they self produced and recorded 2 EPs and a full length, but they also managed to book their own tour and carve out a comfortable niche in a number of musical scenes, yielding them a ravenous over caffeinated fan base.

Often credited with coining the phrase "Nintendocore" Horse The Bands defining feature of their sound is easily the inclusion of Nintendo and game boy sound effects due to their use of the LSDJ synthesizer kit. Blending these sound effects with a mixture of punk, grind, heavy metal, and electronica has definitely yielded one of the most interesting sounds in music in recent memory. And the familiar sound effects essentially all but guaranteed Horse The Band would maintain a special place in the hearts of every nerd that ever owned a Nintendo Entertainment System. But what solidified their place in music was their incredibly dedicated ability to promote themselves, and constantly push their own sound into new unexplored territory.

Their first major release "R. Borlax" did just that. It put on display a band that had discovered, and defined a sound, and was now fine tuning it into something deadly. One Part Locusts, two parts Super Mario Brothers, and a pint or two of crazy, it's not very hard to pin down what makes the band special when listening to the album. Almost immediately you're greeted by an audible assault on reason. It's absurd, it's loud, and it's invariably unpredictable, but for all it's excesses, it puts a great big smile on your face. That might have been the reason it was so easy for Horse The Band to translate all of that musical energy into increasingly complex tours, both in size and scope.

By 2004 the band had managed to book a world tour that included 85 shows in 90 days, spanning 7 countries throughout North America and Europe, and was in the process of recording their follow up to "R. Borlax", which came in the form of "The Mechanical Hand". And while "Mechanical Hand" wasn't as avant garde as their previous efforts, it tightened up their sound, and came with a heavy coat of production polish. The added gloss helped to bring in even more fans than before, and enabled Horse to hit the road again. It was during one of these self promoted jaunts through our great nation that Horse stumbled upon Lou Malnati's in Chicago, where they were served a deep dish pizza that would forever change their lives and career. It is at this point that it becomes necessary to quote the band, because to put it in my own words, would do it no justice...

"We left that tour because we ate really, really, really good pizza in Lou Malnati's in Chicago with Dave's grandparents. The pizza was such that we were inspired by God to write music of the kind not heard in this world since Mozart was fed his first currywurst. A copy of Nietzsche's 'The Gay Science' was on hand and for 2 days we struggled with the question posed in 'The Greatest Weight' passage, which follows. In essence, it asks the reader to examine their every action if they had to repeat their lives exactly for all eternity, begging the question in each and every thing, 'Do you desire this once more, and innumerable times more?'

We couldn't decide if we should stay in Chicago and keep eating pizza for the rest of our lives. But after two days of rigorous theory, we realized we had to write divine music about the pizza. We decided to drive home immediately and write and record a 5-song EP called "Pizza" before Sounds of the Underground and Warped Tour started. God was there."

The "Pizza" EP gave Horse a booster shot of creativity, and fan support, and provided them with a renewed sense of purpose, and a wellspring of energy. Their sound again sounding fresh, and with fans clamoring for another album, Horse The Band started an unprecedented cycle of self promoting, in anticipation of their album "A Natural Death". And when the album finally hit. It landed with a loud resonating boom. The album showed a band that had not only pushed their sound again, but a band that had managed to mature in the short time between releases. Another concept album, "A Natural Death" was about the pursuit and futility of human life in the totality of existence. Heavy stuff, for sure, but it showed a very different side of a band that had previously been thought of as impossible to take seriously.

In 2009 after embarking on another self booked, and self promoted world tour that took them to over 45 countries, Horse settled back in to record their next full length "Desperate Living". And life has never looked better for the band. While it's still not right to call them accessible, they are closer to that word than they have ever been. With songs like "Shapeshift" and "Horse The Song" it's an almost infectious pleasure, and much like a skin disease, soon you just can't shake it. It doesn't hurt that they've recruited the crooning Jamie Stewart from Xiu Xiu to produce, and guest on one of the tracks, as it adds a depth of humanity, and heart that may have been lacking from earlier releases. But more incredible than anything is Horse's ability to again take a sound that they essentially created, and not only contribute to it, but redefine it, and put it in fresh new packaging for everyone to consume. Something tells me it tastes just a little like Pizza.

Horse The Band is:
* Nathan Winneke – vocals (1999-present)
* David Isen – guitar (1999-present)
* Erik Engstrom – synthesizer/LSDJ (1999-present)
* Daniel Pouliot - drums (2009-present)

Their New Album "Desperate Living" is available through Vagrant Records now.

Santigold, Santagold

2009-10-12T04:11:00.000-07:00

Written By: Khadeeja Coonrod

Santigold's (formerly known as Santogold) voice sounds like M.I.A. and Gwen Stefani combined but her music is as if she just arrived on earth with instrumentals that will blow you away into outerspace. Once you give her a try, you will never turn back because her voice will haunt you.

Her debut album, Santagold, was released April 29, 2008 in the United States. This American artist has a UK sound. It's Mars in the 80's. Santogold was placed at number 6 by Rolling Stone on the best 50 albums of 2008 list.

Rolling Stone also put the song, L.E.S. Artistes at number 2 on the 100 best singles list of 2008. With moving words that the song has, it's easy to see why; "What I'm searching for to tell it straight, I'm trying to build a wall. Walking by myself down avenues that reek of time to kill. If you see me keep going, be a pass by waver. Build me up, bring me down. Just leave me out, you name dropper. Stop trying to catch my eye. I see you good, you forced faker. Just make it easy. You're my enemy, you fast talker. I can say I hope it will be worth what I give up. If I could stand up mean for the things that I believe."

"The cool thing is that I was able to work with all these genres that are typically sub-cultural, like dub or punk or something, and then, by writing in a way that had hooks, made it accessible to everyone."- Santigold discussing the Santagold album

To fall in love with Santigold is an understatement. To name it the album of the year means you better be able to back up the statement which I personally will back it up with all I got.

To discover Santigold with you own ears, go to: http://www.myspace.com/santigold

The Kominas - Taqwacore from Lahore to Boston

2009-10-08T14:40:00.000-07:00

Written By: Natalie Hamingson

At the end of this summer, Boston Taqwacore band, The Kominas, wrapped their second tour of the United States. Since catching them during their stop in my hometown of Los Angeles August 5th, their debut album, “Wild Nights in Guantanamo Bay” has not left my CD player.

The word “Taqwacore,” a combination of the arabic word “taqwa,” meaning “God consciousness” and the suffix for the punk subgenre “hardcore,” comes from Michael Muhammad Knights’ novel, “The Taqwacores.” Though the book was about fictional Muslim punks, calling referring to the musical genre that it was a catalyst for as “Muslim punk” is somewhat inaccurate, since not everyone involved is Muslim.

As Kominas’ guitarist Shajehan Khan explains, “It doesn’t really account for the fact that some of us might not think of ourselves as Muslim anymore.” Guitarist Arjun Ray, who isn’t Muslim, said the band is trying to focus on taqwacore more as “post-colonial music that channels that type of anger from people who were colonized. That [definition] fits all of the bands we like to play with, and it doesn’t really leave people out in the way the media definition of ‘Muslim punk’ tends to do.”

Though the tracks on “Wild Nights” discuss Muslim American experiences, as Ray emphasized, “You don’t need to be Muslim to get into it.” Usmani adds, “The thing that unifies all of us is that we chose music.”

The album’s lyrics accompany aggressive riffs that embody the catharsis that I love about punk music, but the songs avoid punk’s tendency to be too loyal to the fast, three-power chord standard. “Wild Nights” begins with “Sharia Law in the USA,” a song that starts out with heavy guitars before launching into a snappy, ridiculously catchy verse mocking Islamohobia, “I am an Islamist, I am the anti-christ. Most squares can’t make most wanted lists, but my, my, how I stay in style.” The tempo stays fast through “Chaku,” the ska-ish “Ayesha,” and “Dishoom Bebe,” then slows down at “Par Desi,” a track about getting beat up (“Boots crush on my shoulder, where angels chose not to remain.”). Lead vocalist and bassist Basim Usmani showcases his vocal range as he wails on the love song “Layla,” before returning to his gravely rasp on “Rabyah,” which leads into the also hilariously catchy “I Want a Handjob.” The album closes with the most hip-hop influenced track, “Suicide Bomb the Gap.”

The Kominas were formed five years ago by Usmani and guitarist Khan, after the two met in college. Usmani who cites The Clash, TSOL, and Public Enemy as his biggest influences, introduced Khan to punk rock with a sort of “Punk 101” mix tape. Before that, Khan’s taste had leaned more toward Rage Against the Machine and classic rock like Jimi Hendrix and Led Zeppelin. They hooked up with Ray, who has a background in jazz, after a mutual friend suggested him as a drummer. Though Ray recommended his brother, Karna, instead, Khan said they could use another guitarist, as well. Ray says his induction into The Kominas was also his introduction to punk.

The band was put on hold when Basim decided to pursue journalism after blogging about his experience as a volunteer after the 2005 earthquake in Pakistan. He says of moving to Lahore to take a job as a crime reporter, “I just realized it was a really awesome thing to go out and do crazy things and write about it…If you ask me, it’s ‘the life.’” (Currently, Usmani writes for The Guardian.) While in Pakistan, he formed the short-lived homage to The Dead Kennedys, The Dead Bhuttos, with current Kominas’ drummer Imran Malik. The band never had a show, and only recorded one song, “Terri Assi Ki Tassi.” (Urdu for “Screw you”)

Basim’s next project was the Punjabi punk band Noble Drew, formed with Shajehan after convincing him to come to Pakistan. Since, as Shajehan explained, “rock music and western music is sort of seen as for the rich kids” in Pakistan, their first show attracted a somewhat “elitist” crowd. As Basim describes it, “We were playing punk rock, [trying to start] a mosh pit, and people were sitting cross-legged, smoking hash.”

Their gig on a restaurant rooftop in Old Lahore was more of a success. In addition to bringing in a more working class crowd, the audience actually moved to the music. Usmani describes it, “People were moshing, people were doing somersaults in the air…That showed me that there’s an audience for that type of music there. It’s just that you have to build it up, which we couldn’t do.”

Though they were able to put on the show with help from the budget of Omar Majeed’s upcoming documentary, “Taqwacore: The Birth of Punk Islam,” it wasn’t an event they could repeat. After Majeed’s film crew left, Khan was robbed at gunpoint, and another festival he and Basim were playing was bombed, so it seemed like the right time to come home. They decided to come back to the States after getting a call to play South by Southwest.

Now that the band are off the road until spring of next year, they’ve been playing a few gigs on the East Coast, including the book launch of Kim Badawi’s book of photographs, “The Taqwacores: Muslim Punk in the U.S.A,” and working on a few individual projects. Khan just finished voice-overs for the audio-book version of “The Taqwacores,” while Malik has been contributing drums for taqwacore peers Sarmust.

They’ve also begun work on songs for a new album, and the band are looking to expand their ideas beyond the more direct songs on “Wild Nights.” Khan says, “The Muslim stuff that we write about is important to us, but we had to get that out of ourselves in order to progress as human beings…You can only make that kind of statement once…You can’t do the same thing again.” Malik adds, “Now that the attention’s been grabbed, we can explore new ideas, and take it to a whole new place.”

As for taqwacore, Ray says, “We would love to see kids who really have to deal with these issues, and have still got all those hormones, and anger, and ‘fuck you’ in them to do something about it [so that it] maybe becomes a scene, instead of like, four or five bands hundreds of miles apart…which is what it is right now.”

The Glory of Sight & Sound

2009-10-08T01:32:00.000-07:00

Written By: Paul Losada

I'm feeling as hazy and scattered as a writer cliche gets just two hours before deadline, but what keeps me going is recalling the semi-religious feeling I had last night watching the opening credits to what is sure to go down as the party movie of the year: Zombieland.

Its use of Metallica's "For Whom The Bell Tolls" over slo-mo, hyper-violent visuals of zombies and gore made me feel, appropriately enough, more alive than I had all week. Judging by the rest of the rowdy crowd reaction at the Vista theater, something universal was attained in the marriage of sight and sound.

Music has its place in every facet of life, and improves most if not all situations whether it be screaming at you from an epic performance at the Forum, or distorting from the shitty car radio you couldn't afford to upgrade after converting your Mercedes-Benz to run on vege oil. But when music covers a scene in a film successfully, its power to get the heart racing while you, essentially, sit and do nothing is remarkable for its own reasons all together.

Metallica didn't just set a tone for the film, but also for the audience. I'm willing to bet 9.5 people out of 10 heard "For Whom The Bell Tolls" before and already loved it, but hearing the song with a wholly original visual revitalized it, gave it new meaning, and created the adrenaline rush one needs to watch almost two hours worth of flying blood and guts. Oddly, it was like hearing the song for the first time, yet it's familiarity helped stir an already positive feeling.

There's at least 9,781,347,201,239 other examples of stellar film soundtrack decisions throughout history (what I still think of as the most influential amongst the independently-minded is pictured above), but what I'm getting at here is the utter beauty of witnessing and experiencing somebody else's visual interpretation of a song. We may not come to understand somebody else on a personal level because of how they imagine a song to look like (who knows and who cares if Quentin Tarantino fantasizes about cutting off somebody's ear to Stealers Wheel, for example) but we can have a shared, collective experience that is entirely meaningful nonetheless. Obviously, a filmmaker's goals extend beyond titilizing an audience with music, but sitting down in a theater and allowing music to affect us in such a way is an experience that doesn't necessarily come first to mind for such an aural art form--but I'm willing to argue that it's equally important,
and will probably become more so given the evolving visual mediums of video games and new media.

I really hope nobody dismisses zombie movies as anti-intellectual.

DIARY OF A FADING ROCKSTAR PART VI

2009-10-08T00:29:00.000-07:00

Long Gone Lonesome Blues

Written By: Erik Rader

“Sometimes, you don’t know what you have until you walk away from it.”
____________________

The number of projects - musical, literary or otherwise - that I’ve embarked upon with an initial burst of intense energy, which have subsequently flopped, fizzled, faded, been f***ed up or fumbled, is rather large. I would say that the number of bands I’ve tried to start is only matched by the number of jobs I’ve had or careers I’ve tried to launch and the number of novels I’ve never finished (I could probably fill a library with those). Usually these projects are preceded by periods of deep depression and malaise, followed by a sudden plunge into a pit of despair and anxiety - just as suddenly followed by a soaring feeling of elation, an explosion of fully-formed complex ideas and concepts for new work, and even concrete beginnings. Rather than actually end, these bursts of energy have arcs that peak and then plummet with a noticeable rhythm. Goethe adjured us to just begin, and claimed that magic would ensue. I’ve had lots of magical beginnings. My problem is finishing. Maybe it’s a fear of endings as a metaphor for death, who knows. To the artist, nothing is ever really finished, at least not satisfactorily - rather, the process is interrupted by choice. So how do we choose when to fade out?

My friends with a mental health background will point out this emotional see-saw has a resemblance to bipolar manic depression, but every professional psychiatric screen I’ve been given over the years points to major depression instead, which is not as sexy a disorder, is somewhat rarer and less understood. Basically, the kind of depression I am under treatment for is the kind you have your whole life and just find ways to work around. I honestly am not aware of having delusions of grandeur, other than the one I had as a teenager that I was going to be the next Bono or Peter Gabriel and that soon hundreds of thousands would look upon me as a channel to the Next Higher Level of Consciousness or whatever.

Okay, that was pretty f***in’ grandiose! But it was just a feeling. I didn’t believe any untrue facts, such as believing that Michael Stipe and I were long lost brothers or that Natalie Merchant lived in my basement or that the ghost of Jimi Hendrix was teaching me how to play guitar. I didn’t change my name to Stingo or Jalapeno or Rapier or Space Robot 666. I didn’t buy an expensive motorcycle and drive it off a cliff. I didn’t get my picture in the paper frolicking with drag queens. I just tried to do my job as best I could - my job being to remain inspired, keep up my chops, and stay focused. When those things more or less stopped happening, I made an executive decision - and probably my first adult one - to pack up, leave town, and try to achieve those things again somewhere else. I’m told that alcoholics in recovery refer to this as “pulling a geographic”, and it is usually seen as a way of avoiding the problem.

I broke up with a fantastic girlfriend who really dug me, dumped my best friend on a Post-It, got rid of almost everything I owned (which wasn’t much), and rode off into the sunset on the Green Tortoise hippie bus. My plan was to head on up to my favorite aunt and uncle’s farm in southwestern Washington, where they offered to have me stay with them a few weeks to detox from my crazy social life back home and come up with a plan for my next move. During my stay, I took long walks on roads miles from any lamp post, under a clear sky crowded with stars the likes of which it is impossible to see with today’s air pollution and light pollution. It was a little bit like floating in a sensory deprivation tank or doing a spacewalk, with my cassette Walkman playing Incredible String Band, Van Morrison, Yes, Television, Ralph Vaughn-Williams, R.E.M., Lightnin’ Hopkins, Tom Waits and Hank Williams. Needless to say I tripped hard on those walks. I got so far out of my head I actually thought the lyrics in all the songs were secret coded messages intended especially for me. After about a month of this I decided I had spent enough time in my hermitage and was ready to rejoin the human race, if they’d have me. I rode Amtrak across the midwest and down the Mississippi.

In New Orleans, I didn’t get a damn thing done except drink, eat, work as a bus boy, watch the cockroaches and rats rule their kingdoms, and sit at the feet of people who fancied themselves the next William Faulkner or Brian Eno. I did managed to throw up on some of their living room floors. That was fun. When the winter holiday season came around, and the canned music at the restaurant started to include Vince Guaraldi’s “Christmastime Is Here”, I got nostalgic for a place that might be more...christmasy. I thought about it in that non-factual, illogical, emotionally-driven way that sensitive poet types in their early 20’s are given to. I thought about the part of the country where I was born - New England - and the fact that I hadn’t been back since being born there, and maybe it was time to check in. See some snow, smell scented candles in the stores, drink some hot cider and sing carols.

I don’t know why it seemed as if New England would be more 'Christmasy' than the South, but as I said I wasn’t applying logic to the equation. All I knew was, I had a nice pawnshop Gibson acoustic with a narrow electric-style neck but nobody to play with. I got on Amtrak and headed East. My first stop was Boston, the place where I was conceived.

The Winter of 1986 was one of the coldest on record up until that point. I kept hearing about homeless people freezing to death in doorways, and was glad that the guy in charge of the International Youth Hostel was breaking the rules by letting me and a few other guys stay there longer than three days in exchange for janitorial labor. During the day I would busk down on the MBTA underground platform playing a couple of psychedelic pop songs I’d written that had no more than 3 chords, sometimes just 3 augmentations of the same chord; and whatever song I remembered at least half the words to that I could actually play, like “Heart of Gold” by Neil Young.

Because I was a Berkeley High School alumnus, I naturally had several classmates of the brainiac variety who’d been admitted to various ivy league universities in the area. I slept on some of their couches for a few weeks for as long as I could push my luck before wearing out my welcome. I briefly worked at a delicatessen not far from the State House, but couldn’t quite hack the abrasive personalities of my middle-aged, thickly accented co-workers. Finally I got a job as a temp with Kelly Services, working as an office assistant for a well-known and respected public figure who happened to be an administrator at Boston University. I was a stand-in for the Admin Assistant who had slipped on an icy driveway and broken her leg. I wrote a lot of letters to friends and slept next to the phone for most of that job. When the AA came back, I got moved to another placement at Northeastern University as the supply cabinet guy for the English Department. By this point I’d got an apartment with some MIT geeks in Somerville, and was actually saving some money.

Around about this time I met some guys who answered an ad I had put up in a guitar shop. I basically wrote down all the punk, post-punk, prog, avant-garde and assorted other types of bands I was into, and said “I’d like to sing for a band with these same influences.” A couple of guys who were the mid-80’s equivalent of indy rock hipsters - at that time it was pea coats and Doc Martens - answered my ad and invited me over to their rehearsal space. For a lot of the audition we shouted out the names of bands we were into and wrote them down on the white erasable marker board.

Pretty soon there were more than a hundred band names scrawled up there. Then we tried to lurch through “I Found That Essence Rare” by Gang of Four. We had all the cool ideas, all the conceivable “right influences” and more, we had a couple of not so bad looking young dudes, some obvious talent in the room. There was also zero magic. We all felt it, we all knew it, even though we wouldn’t say it out loud. There was an awkward “We’ll call you” moment; the guitar player had some Doc Martens he didn’t want any more, and he gave them to me. So at least I got some boots out of it.

I found out my mom’s cousin lived in a nearby suburb, and I went to visit her family. She had a husband who was a sarcastic and condescending old-school conservative dude who worked as some sort of executive in public transportation (he died of cancer not long ago, so I’ll try not to speak ill of the dead). He had a depressed son who lived in his basement and worked at a chain restaurant. I guess I looked at the son and had a “Holy s**t there but for the grace of God go I” moment. While I was staying with them they also drove me out to the town in which I was born, a small, somewhat remote and economically depressed New England backwater that resembled nothing so much as a setting for an H. P. Lovecraft story about frog-like worshippers of the Great Old Ones performing human sacrifices in the swamp. I decided it was a good thing my parents didn’t stay there.

I had a good job, a place to live, and was saving some money - and I was also drinking alone a lot. As in, drinking a lot, usually alone. For various reasons I won’t go into here, I got it in mind that a change of scenery was called for. So, I pulled another geographic and got back on the train - this time to Providence, to stay with the friend of a friend who was a Brown student. I got a Kelly job there, and kept my head above water, but I got no work done, in terms of The Work. My stay in Providence was even shorter. I moved again, this time to West Philadelphia, where I crashed on the floor of a spare room in a house full of other friends of the same friend, some of whom were musicians. One of the people who hung out a lot at the house had a viola, and liked Metallica. We jammed out on a chord change I was working on, which eventually became the song "Weather." She was also kind of hot, but as per usual, I did not pursue any assignation with her, as she was available, while the in-my-mind perfect and inaccessible object of my affections was safely not.

I got a chance to see a show in Philly that was one of those shows you remember the rest of your life - Wire, in some club that could accommodate maybe a couple hundred people on the dance floor, shouting out “Map Reference!” and “12XU!” Instead what they got was “The Queen of Ur and the King of Um,” the poor bastards. But the real milestone was not the band, but the fact that my legs suddenly gave out under me and I collapsed. Thinking I was drunk, the bouncers almost ejected me, but I pleaded with them not to, saying I had the flu. They grudgingly allowed me to go to the john to compose myself. It turns out that what was wrong with me was that I had spent innumerable hours in the kitchen of those friends-of-a-friend, sitting in a chair, smoking cadged Merits, alternating between tea and cheap bottles of National Bohemian, and staring off into space. My blood pressure was dangerously low, and I had some sort of sciatica-like situation going on with my back and legs.

Shortly afterwards - possibly even that week, I’m not sure - I found myself sitting in that same kitchen one night in the dark, drinking tea and smoking and listening to “So. Central Rain (I’m Sorry)” from R.E.M.’s second full album ‘Reckoning’. Suddenly I started to bawl like a baby. I can’t explain why the confluence of these factors led to this emotional breakdown, but perhaps you can get a vague sense of it. The next day I called up my parents and begged them for money for a plane ticket back home.

While staying with my parents after my failed attempt at reliving Kerouac’s “On The Road,” I went mildly insane (mildly for me anyway - maybe not for others). I proceeded to look up every female friend who wouldn’t hang up on me when I called, and hit on every one of them. The last one of these attempts got me a date at a pretentious jazz bistro, too much chartreuse (which is the lame-ass’s excuse for absinthe), a drunken kiss goodnight (the closest thing to scoring I’d experienced in over a year), and a staggering walk home listening to Charles Mingus’ “Mingus Ah Um” on my Sony Walkman before being half-brained with baseball bats by young thugs being initiated into a gang. Five stitches and a mild concussion later, I decided to shave my head.

A few days later, walking up Cedar Street in a daze, I was mugged again - this time by my erstwhile band mates. Screeching to a halt and bundling out of their beat-up economy car, they half tackled me on the sidewalk with boyish enthusiasm almost as if the ugly break-up had never happened, and invited me to do a walk-on cameo appearance during one of their encores at their next gig, some time around Halloween. I allowed myself to be sold on the idea, possibly because of the concussion. I played a demo of my new song for them and received a lukewarm response - I’m sure it was nothing personal, just indicative of how far in different directions we’d traveled in such a short period of time. What the hell, I thought - I’d been all around the country, seen and done a fair amount of things, been hit over the head in my own home town - why not let bygones be bygones, get up and do my thing?

I had major second thoughts about it after I’d committed myself. On the blessed day I met my future wife (which is a whole other story unto itself), I mentioned that I was doing the gig, but didn’t give her any details because quite frankly I didn’t want her to see me in that context. When the night of the gig finally arrived, it was really weird, like a surreal dream (and resembling many dreams I had for years afterward). They asked me to get up on stage and sing one of our “hits” from the one record we made. I got up there, the eight piece band with horns sprung into action, and I.........forgot the words. The words I had written and sung hundreds of times in front of thousands of people. I winged it as best I could, but it was basically - to put it kindly as possible - a fucking disaster. Later, a review of the show in the local paper raved about how great the band was, and then made a brief throwaway comment in passing about “some guy who looked like Uncle Fester” appearing briefly onstage for no apparent reason. Thus did I cement my legacy for posterity.

After all of my clumsiness with women that year I had decided to swear off relationships forever, and it was exactly then that I fell in love with this wonderful, beautiful girl who would one day consent to marry me. The universe always seems to have other plans that supersede mine. She was so adorable I didn’t want to leave her side for an instant. Of course, me being the person that I was, I therefore logically decided to stick to my plan to leave town as soon as possible with my brother and try to start a new band on the East Coast. I am hoping that an emergent pattern is evident here.

I didn’t get a damn thing done this time either, as far as starting a band is concerned. My brother and I got bogged down in stupid depressing day jobs, and whenever we got together with his guitar and my lyrics, we just sort of sat there staring at each other waiting for something to happen. Now my brother and I really do have musical magic together; as a producer no one has understood my musical ideas better than he does. I can say to him something like “I want this section to have a certain sort of, I don’t know, Pete Townshend meets Roger McGuinn meets George Harrison feel to it, but with a little Pete Shelly meets Neil Young on the distortion,” and he will not only know exactly what I meant, he will get it to sound exactly right. But that winter, it seemed like some sort of pall had settled over us, stifling our Lennon-McCartney vibe. Perhaps it was simply due to the fact that we unconsciously realized what a dumb move we had made going out there.

Something did come of our trip to the East Coast though. I finally finished something, something memorable. I finished drinking. I finished the casually cruel behaviors I indulged in while drunk, the blackouts, the lapses of responsibility (okay, maybe not, but two out of three ain’t bad). I also finally wrote some lyrics to that song I had started in Philadelphia. It was a love song about only realizing someone was your home after you had left. As I mentioned in the last chapter, it was a little oblique and took some explaining. But it was a finished piece of work - my first that year. Having got those two little details out of the way, we decided we were finished with the East Coast. It was time to go home.

View Erik's Past Articles:
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V

The Album That Changed My Life

2009-10-06T04:23:00.000-07:00

Written By: Daniel Alcantara
Photo By: Unhindered_By_Talent

Something like four years ago, I was sixteen years old and discovering a whole new circle of friends. It was a great time for music as well. Death Cab For Cutie hadn’t released Plans quite yet, and many wish they hadn’t. I had just begun to start listening to music that was unknown to much of general society at that point.

A process I have come close to completing as I have no idea who is famous or who’s one a Grammy or who is on the radio anymore. Sure, I listen to the radio every day at work but that is against my will. But that’s a whole other conversation that I’d rather just not have right now. The point is, I had just begun to listen to really, really good music. Eisley was a new band to me and I had decided I was in love with them. I had also begun to work quite hard on writing songs.

One day, I was hanging out with Andrew, a friend I made through a mutual appreciation of Radiohead. He played the guitar and we decided to try and record some songs at his house. It was one of the great unproductive nights of my life, with the exception of one event. We ended up listening to songs on iTunes while still holding our silent guitars. I showed him The Decemberists and he showed me Pedro The Lion. That was the turning point in the night, though I did not know it until I was driving home. He burned me a few CDs and I listened to them while I drove. I couldn’t get passed a certain one though. It was called Achilles Heel. Something about the album was utterly magnificent. I had never heard songs that moved someone like that, especially when they were simply well-told stories set to music.

The songs were melancholy but not depressing, that is until I reached The Poison, the album’s final track. I found a bit of identity with the characters in the songs and with the questions they asked about things. Something in David Bazan’s voice made you feel the songs as he sang them. I felt something change that night. I had discovered a way for music to move someone without being spiritual in any way except that it was a beautiful, well-crafted piece of music. As I dug deeper into the Pedro The Lion collection, I found a wealth of really amazing songs about people dying or being murdered by their spouse because they were unfaithful. It was new territory for me, coming from a church-raised family that didn’t allow “un-Christian” music until I could pay for it myself through means other than allowance. I had been sheltered ever-so slightly to what really went on in the Bible. But again, a sidenote and very long conversation.

I found myself beginning to attempt writing murder-mystery songs and chase scenes. That was the year I began to write a concept album. The whole idea of which had somehow escaped my attention previously. I listened to music differently, I still do. It gave me standards for songwriting. I had learned not to just take what’s put in front of me but to prod it, question it, test it and find it true and good before accepting it. I’ve kept that with me. It’s become a part of who I am and has made me who I am. Not necessarily skeptical or cynical, just... cautious to accept anything that is said to be good as actually good. Achilles Heel by Pedro The Lion gave me a complete intolerance for bad art and for that, I am grateful.

Michael Jackson, Roman Polanski, and John Phillips Allegations

2009-10-05T14:53:00.000-07:00

Written By: Hallie Madenski

Roman Polanski, the late John Phillips and the late great Michael Jackson have all been in the spotlight for the same reason. Michael Jackson not as recently, but his death did bring up an interesting question. The question was quickly answered. Will people forgive someone who allegedly molests children? Yes they will.

This is a very sensitive subject and not one I wish to wrongly clarify. When someone with as great a musical talent as Michael Jackson is accused of child molestation people become upset, they don't want to believe it or they acquire an instant hatred. Is it because of their morals or intelligence? What about someone whose opinion rests somewhere in the middle?

What if I said I personally believe Michael Jackson was guilty of those charges and that I in no way condone what he did? Every time I think of him I think of those charges as well as the fact that he was a musical genius. Should someone be able to do something terrible and still be considered a genius? The lines are blurred. Since I never met Michael Jackson I can only say that I enjoy his music but that he led a very crazy life.

Roman Polanski is a talented filmmaker. He wrote the screenplay for the horror classic "Rosemary's Baby" and he directed Jack Nicholson in "Chinatown." He is not, to my understanding a good person. He was quoted as saying this in 1979 in response to allegations that he'd raped a 13 year old girl:

"If I had killed somebody, it wouldn't have had so much appeal to the press, you see? But... fucking you see, and the young girls. Judges want to fuck young girls. Juries want to fuck young girls. Everyone wants to fuck young girls!"

Yuck. The second most disturbing thing about this is that he has actual supporters, famous ones too. Some of them say the media is causing an undeserved frenzy. Why is Hollywood willing to ignore these things? I know Michael Jackson was a very sad twisted individual but that he probably never understood the harm he was causing. I feel like Polanski does understand. He's been hiding out in France for years until recently where he now faces extradition. His current supporters include Penelope Cruz, Tilda Swinton and Monica Belluci. Three women, all defending someone who raped and sodomized a 13 year old girl. Kirstie Alley is one who is not defending the director writing on Twitter "JUST FOR THE RECORD....RAPE IS RAPE...this is one HOLLYWOOD STAR who does not CELEBRATE or DEFEND Roman Polanski..his ART did not RAPE her."

Pete Townshend of 'The Who' is now on the national registry for sex offenders for paying to access a child pornography site in 1999. He has since claimed that he may have been molested as a child and that he hoped the images would help jog his memory of such an incident. Try hypnotherapy Pete. There is no excuse for looking at child porn.

Mackenzie Phillips recently wrote a book about her life that claims her father, musician John Phillips of 'Mamas and the Papas' fame molested her at a very young age. She was also quoted as saying, "I don't hate him. I understand that he was a very tortured man and passed that torture down to me." She went on to urge others to not hate him for what he did. I have a hard time not hating a man who had sex with his own daughter. Hate should be revised though, I hate how society works. I know there are reasons for everything and that people are tortured and miserable. Some people have hedonistic views and simply don't see the wrong in what they are doing. It doesn't make the action any worse, no matter your views. John Phillips ruined his daughter's mind. She became confused and started acting out in any way she could. We've seen this time and time again.

Oprah Winfrey has admitted to being repeatedly sexually abused by members of her family. She is a great exception to this rule. The rule of the inevitable demise of the human soul in response to abuse. Someone who is touched inappropriately or beaten or even emotionally battered for any amount of time could simply never recover. Others go on to live happy lives who draw strength from their negative experiences. Who knows what separates these two types of people. It is not a weakness to not be able to recover from such tragedy. But it certainly is a strength if you do somehow manage.

I just want to convey that just because someone is famous does not mean they should not be treated as if they are your next-door neighbor. If you saw your neighbor on the news you'd be frightened. So be frightened when you turn on your TV and see the next celebrity pleading guilty or not guilty to these crimes. Their indiscretions WILL continue to seep out of the woodwork. Don't be so blinded by talent. Victims of molestation often grow up with so much hatred and confusion they end up molesting others. It is the same with people who are physically abused at a young age. The majority of men who beat their wives were beaten themselves and so on. Do not turn a blind eye to this. On another note, don't accuse people without being certain. Most of society considers pedophiles to be the worst kind of criminals. Pointing a finger at someone without proof can be devastating to their future.

Donations for helping the cause of victims of rape and incest can be made at this website - https://donate.rainn.org

10 Worst Music Videos Of All Time And The Decline Of MTV

2009-09-30T00:06:00.000-07:00

Written By: Hallie Madenski

Most people don't even watch music videos anymore and there are two main reasons for this. One is that they are hard to find on TV - as of late, MTV and VH1 only show music videos late at night or in the morning.

Other channels that play them are not free and therefore inaccessible to the average person. Another reason for the lack of viewing is that music videos are not as valid anymore. Mainstream music videos usually don't tell much of a story these days, not one you'd care about if you had a wit of sense.

The videos of today seem to be oozing primordial sex appeal. It's practically cavemen beating women over the head. Beating them over the head with poisoned vocoder vocals and the same old 'boom boom' beats.

We all know MTV used to be a music channel, and now they are specialists in partially-scripted reality TV train-wrecks. Same with MTV's counterpart, VH1. As early as the mid 90's, MTV was criticized by the public, as well as the artists themselves, for not playing as many videos. By 1997 MTV had gotten wind of this and actually cared enough to do something about it. They incorporated the shows MTV Live, Total Request, Say What?, and 12 Angry Viewers. Total Request soon merged with MTV Live to form the popular video countdown show Total Request Live also known as TRL. Punk'd and Jackass aired in 1999 taking yet another plunge towards reality TV programming. This was seemingly harmless at the time.

2007 was a dark time for music videos, video programming was scaled down and reality was scaled up even more. Shows like My Super Sweet 16, Next, Newport Harbor: The Real Orange County, The Real World and The Hills had permanently polluted MTV's image. Taking the lives of rich people and making them seem dramatic and difficult proved unrealistic. My Super 16 is a show solely about spoiled girls getting what they want for their birthday. The formula was always the same. Child wants nicer car than parent originally wants to buy. Parent is urged to reconsider and eventually caves to child's horrid needs. End of show features surprise visit by mildly famous rapper.

All this leaves a wretched taste in my mouth, I want to spit at my TV and mash my eyeballs out with eggbeaters. A need to avoid MTV at all costs had washed over me. I do fall prey to some bad reality shows. Flavor of Love, I Love New York and Rock of Love all proved themselves as number one guilty pleasures but otherwise I was disenchanted with these so-called music television channels.

There was a time I craved MTV like a diabetic craves Peanut Butter Cups. I didn't grow up with TV, and it wasn't until 1998 that I really got to enjoy music videos through friends that had cable. TRL was my crack; all the bad pop stars and real rock musicians mixed together, as opposed to emo, pop and the penis-head crooning of Daughtry and similar artists. The few videos that do see the light of television are mostly vomit-inducing. I've watched some lately and I've concluded that these are some of the worst I've seen in the past few years...

10. Britney Spears - Break The Ice. Using anime to fill in for Britney when she was clearly too crazy to appear in this video was smart. Having it not relate at all to the song... not so smart.

9. Black Eyed Peas - I Gotta Feeling. Satire? I wish.

8. Bon Jovi featuring Leanne Rimes - Till We Ain't Strangers Anymore. Featuring the wonderful line "Make love to me baby till we ain't strangers anymore." It's going to take a long time for these two to make love until they don't feel like strangers. Their chemistry is almost as non-existant as this video's budget.

7. Greenday - 21 Guns. The incredible shrinking man, Billy Joe Armstrong, fails to live up to past glory. Another video with things breaking and falling apart? Really?

6. Jay Sean featuring Lil' Wayne - Down. This video is so 'one-dimensional' it makes a piece of paper feel like a 3-D movie.

5. The Killers - Human. Brandon Flowers wearing feathery shoulder pads? Eagles soaring symbolically? Tigers in the desert? Need I say more?

4. Miley Cyrus - The Climb. I didn't know Alvin and the Chipmunks had a new CD.

3. The Click Five - Catch Your Wave. Rabid fans chasing an obscure boy band? Did I get sent back to 1998 when I fell asleep watching the Miley Cyrus video?

2. New Kids On The Block - Summertime. OMG! LOL! WTF?!?

1. Jonas Brothers - Burnin' Up. OK... I could have picked any Jonas Brothers video, but this was the first that came up on Youtube. It might not even be their worst video, but I'm not willing to watch more. It features the late great David Carradine, future stripper Selena Gomez and usual badass Danny Trejo. Making a mockery of 007? Leave that to Daniel Craig.

Once I'd listed the worst recent videos, I wanted to emphasize that there are still a lot of good videos out there. Check out "Mojo" by Peeping Tom, "Monster Hospital" by Metric, "Perfect Situation" by Weezer, "Lovegame" by Lady Gaga, "Oscar Wilde" by Company of Thieves, "Sex is Not the Enemy" by Garbage and "Empire" by Kasabian. Madonna's video for "Celebration" is pretty classy as well, using sex appeal in the way that is so obvious and hilarious it isn't insulting to my intelligence.

Introducing, Yusuf, the Starlight Rocker

2009-09-29T00:09:00.000-07:00

Written By: Khadeeja Coonrod

"The Repenters Reggae Band is not just a musical entity, but a revolution! The hope of our music is for you to experience the transformation of a CONTRITE spirit, which gives you the keys to a
life of peace within your own heart, towards the world around you, and towards the God of your own understanding. The hope of our music is also for you to simply kick back and chill off our vibes for awhile, we see these two hopes as equally important. As we travel on this road together, enjoy our melodies and rhythms. Let your heart rejoice. Let your heart be healed. Let peace be renewed and restored.... through the process of a repentant and contrite heart!!! "- Yusuf and The Repenters Reggae Band

If you saw him walking down the street the first thing that may come to mind is that of a Rude Boy. Yusuf, lead singer of Washington D.C. based reggae band, would smile at you in return and give a thumbs up while inviting you to a show with his band. They performed at the 2008 D.C. Reggae Awards. Their style of music would consist of having Doo-Wop, Reggae, Roots, and a Rockers feel to it. The band was formed in 2007. Yusuf is one of the most recognizable faces in D.C.

Yusuf and The Renters members are: Yusuf the Starlight Rocker- Lead Vocals, Rickey 'Sucker-Free' Payton Jr.- Producer/ Drummer, CJ Diachenko- Keys/ Marley Girl Back-up Randy Rebel- Funky Bass on Demand Gem 'Annika' Thompson- Marley Girl Back-up/ Music Techy, Leanna Gold- Operations.

I was able to catch up with Yusuf Abdul-Azim (otherwise known as, the Starlight Rocker) for a little Q and A time. He came up with the name for the band that he felt best suited how he wants to be a repenter, one who would make a change for the better. He's written most of the groups songs and has come up with melodies for the tunes. He joined the group during a time in his life when he felt as though he was at a crossroads; an event in which most everyone can relate.

Yusuf's favorite song from their first album is called Stereotyping. This was a song that Yusuf could most relate to ladies and gentlemen anywhere because the world is full of stereotypes that have yet to be broken. This interview explains about what he's mentioning in his lastest music nowadays.

KC: Why reggae?

Yusuf: Because Reggae is, in my book, the genre that is like a soup.

KC: Was the fact that your father, Mark Greene of The Moments, who's also a singer have anything to do with you wanting to sing?

Yusuf: Nah... but it let me know that it is in my blood if i try it.

KC: What's the definition of stardom mean to you?

Yusuf: Stardom to me is when you are touching people in a positive way and
they love you for it.

KC: Name the number one person who's had influence on your music the most and why.

Yusuf: Probably Bob Marley because Marley sparked me in a tune when he said, "which man can save his brothers soul?' I wanted to be one of those kind of men; a good guy type rebel.

KC: What's the best music advice given to you that you'd like to pass on to the next person who's starting out?

Yusuf: If you're gonna rock remember if you benefit the listener you will last forever; if not, you will be forgotten.

KC: Is there any message you hope your audience will incorporate into their lives after seeing you perform or listening to you sing?

Yusuf: Mainly, the end of good is good. The end of evil is evil.

KC: What's the name of your newest album and which song do you recommend to be listened to first and why?

Yusuf: Original Rockers is the name of the newest album. First tune I recommend is: the Wrecking Ball because it's a brief summary of what took place in my world up to the event of the show about to be presented.

KC: What's the concept of your newest album and how did the idea steam?

Yusuf: The concept is about a host of different realistic topics like Laws of the jungle and Concentrate; kind of like lessons that should have been taught in school but aren't. The concept was to make smash hits that are timeless and beneficial to our generation. The generation of older people and the next generations to follow after. It steamed from when I was a teen... the word in the underground was righteousness.

Swollen Members: Back to Square One

2009-09-24T16:36:00.001-07:00

Written By: David Carr

If you are serious about your indie/underground hip-hop then you know about Swollen Members. Swollen Members have been the hard hitting ambassadors of indie hip-hop from across the Canadian boarder. The group combines hip-hop sensibilities with a heavy rock attitude. “I think we freak out a lot of hip-hop groups backstage…before we go on to get pumped up, we listen to AC/DC, Nirvana…we just listen to a lot of different stuff”, says mc Mad Child. This openness to music makes Swollen Members one of the few hip-hop groups able to tour with Nelly Furtado, Ghostface Killiah and Nickelback (yeah I know…maybe it was a contractual agreement). The group has been off the grid due to some personal and professional issues but they are getting ready to drop a new disc this fall, (Armed to the Teeth) they have added a new member to their “Swollen Army” (Trey Nice) and they will also be touring to support the new disc.

You can’t help but hear and feel the excitement in mc Mad Child’s voice as he talks about the group’s new disc. “I think this disc is the best work of our career! For our long time fans it might be a little tough to take at first. This disc is a little grimier. It’s a bit more street.” When asked if the tougher sound has anything to do with the issues that surfaced during their off period, Mad Child simply replies, “Our record label Battle Axe is still around in spirit, it just began to take on a lot of serious issues. When the group and record company started I was around all the time. Once I had to go on the road, we had to leave other folks in charge…they were good people but they just made some decisions that I would not have made. I ended up calling some folks at Suburban Noize and we decided to go with them. It has been great. They have been a great fit for us so far…Battle Axe just went into a different direction. That plus the advent of downloading really hit Battle Axe hard. For now, Suburban Noize is where we need to be.”

The record company woes were not the only thing that has kept the “Members” from recording and touring. Mad Child makes not bones about the other complication that has kept his group off the radar. “What can I say; OxyContin is a hell of a drug!” Mad Child laughs at his own exhortation and then becomes a bit more serious as he explains, “I was a walking zombie for a couple of years. I had some success, I had some money…I wanted to party, I wanted to have fun. I started taking percoset. I had no idea what this stuff even was, but what I did know, is that I could party hard on it and still go about my day the next day…it just became a daily habit.”

When asked how we was able to beat back this addiction and get the help he needed, Mad Child laments, “I was up to 20 percosets a day. I detoxed a couple of times and I was miserable. I stopped doing percoset but then I discovered OxyContin and that’s when things got very dark for me…I put on a ton of weight, I just sat in the movie theater of my place…I didn’t deal with anyone…my life really began to fall apart. Once I really had a sense that things were bad with my life and my career I decided to get the help I needed…the thing about being an addict is, if you are not ready to be helped you won’t get the help you need. People around me tried to help me but I was not ready.”

With the recent death of DJ AM the question of how one can remain sober comes into play. Many believe once an addict, always an addict and most doctors are quick to back up that claim. Mad Child’s voice begins to exude confidence when he explains, “I know what I am. I am an opiate addict. My therapy for keeping sober and staying away from that stuff is my work…it’s my group. The guys in Swollen Members are very supportive. I mean when I put myself on hold the group was on hold…they have gone through this with me…I am dealing with some personal trauma and I am on some medication to help me deal with this…I also have my friends and family with me.”

Mad Child seems to be in good spirits on his road to recovery and he is indeed back to work. The group has a three week tour schedule with label mates the Kottonmouth Kings and they will be making an appearance at the Cypress Hill Smokeout. Mad Child states, “I am excited to get back on the road again. I love touring in the states! We will also be hitting Europe too”. Mad Child’s exuberance truly is infectious and one can’t help rooting for him. I hope he can do what it takes to stay clean and sober. Swollen Members still has a lot to say and much to prove but without a doubt, the hip-hop world is a much better place now that they are back and ready to rock the mike and various stages again. Catch Swollen Members this fall. Square one will be the place to be when Swollen Members take the stage again!

Tuxes - Part 1

2009-09-22T03:39:00.000-07:00

Written By: Scott Fivelson

PROLOGUE - Texas, One Million B.C.

It was good land, rich land, big and sprawling and Paleolithic, rich in swamp, rich in algae, in the heart of The Fern Belt. Wild and unspoiled, a place just crying out in pre-linguistic grunts to be tamed, it was a land waiting for a man with a club and a dream.

So far, the clan that lived, by its own choice, in a tiny corner of these unclaimed acres had not yet seemed to produce anyone so far-seeing. The clan's lone cave was a simple mom-and-pop operation. Everyone pitched in and made choppers and scrapers. Expectations were low. You died at 30.

Meanwhile, out on the subtropical plain beyond the cave door, were the ones who, at least up until this time, had clearly been the movers and shakers.
Brontosaurus. Triceratops. Tyrannosaurus rex. The big boys.

Fifty to 75 feet in length. Thirty tons or more. In a word, players.

They strode the land, like some big private club, for months at a time, then wandered off, the clan didn't know where. No one asked. They just ran out and took a pee.
This was enough to ask out of life for most in the clan, who consoled themselves with faith in totems -- do-nothing gods like The Long-Toothed Cat or The Great Cave Bear. But it could never be enough for one among them, a hairy, dynamic one, who seldom spoke but whose eyes burned, beneath a sloping forehead, with the entrepreneurial spirit.

That he had more on the ball, and walked a little taller, than some who'd come before him was unquestionably true. Yet some who came later -- his critics and detractors -- would also point out that fate just handed some guys the aces, that there was such a thing as being in the right place at the right time.

It was early one bright, steamy morning, the day of the hunt. All the ablest spear throwers and rock tossers had just gone forth from the cave in pursuit of the small game that was safe, but yielded a small return. All the strong of limb, that is, except for the hairy, dynamic one, who, as chance would have it, remained with the clan that day to pick nits from the bottom of his foot.

The cave was filled with workaday sounds: chop, chop, scrape, scrape. Nothing out of the ordinary, just another boring Monday.
Then it happened.

The clan look-out came scampering into the cave and announced, by way of several somersaults and frantic hoots, that they had returned.
He didn't have to name names.

Work immediately shut down on the chopper-and-scraper assembly line. There was an interval of wild and not very productive gibbering. When it finally subsided, all eyes turned to the vacant-gummed 30-year-old known as The Old One.

By The Old One's calculations, the dinosaurs had returned about a moon early. This was an omen. Wrestling with its meaning, he stared into the fire and thought out loud.
"What," said The Old One, not quite in these words, but in grunts to this effect, "are the dinosaurs doing back on the land?"

"Balls!"

The cave echoed with the voice of the hairy, dynamic one, who, having been seated by the fire eating nits till a second ago, now rose to his full, impressive height of just over five-two. He hadn't known his destiny until just this moment. He still didn't know quite how to say it. But something in that part of the human brain that had just punched its timecard told him to go for it.

"What," he said, "are the dinosaurs doing back on my land?"

It was The Big Bang, an earthquake, a flood, a solar eclipse. In one fell swoop -- the daring invention of the pronoun "my" -- the hairy, dynamic one had become the first, in the history of the clan, to assert ownership over the land.

There was a stunned silence, after which the cave was up for grabs. Numerous injuries were sustained somersaulting. Much hooting was done by all.

When it was quiet again, The Old One approached the hairy, dynamic one. Slapping him once on the shoulder, ceremonially, The Old One invented an expression of his own.
"Nice going," said The Old One.

Even though such a thing as currency had yet to be devised, the hairy, dynamic one knew it was time to put his money where his mouth was. Turning from the clan, he threw his club up onto his shoulder, rubbed noses with his mate -- perhaps for the last time -- and headed out the door of the cave to take care of business.

"Give 'em hell, kid," said The Old One, inventing another expression.

The scene greeting the caveman as he stepped out onto the steamy plain was of the kind that, in the past, had been enough to discourage any serious interest in real estate in far larger and hairier mammals. Enjoying a junket on his land, drinking his swamps, eating his leaves, were field reps from at least four of the most formidable suborders around. Momentarily, the caveman exercised his fledgling capacity for wonder to wonder why he was not more afraid to go up against these heavy hitters. His instincts were urging fight, not flight, and it would be nice to know the reason. Slowing down his approach, the caveman took time to think it out, in terms he could understand.
The hairy, dynamic one didn't know much. His world contained but a few concepts. There was day and night. Cooked and raw meat. And, then, there were winners and losers.
All at once, the caveman glimpsed, through the steamy subtropics of his mind, that he was ready to risk it all, to put it all on the line today, because he was a winner.
He knew it was just a feeling. But all the same, he knew it was true. That he was a winner -- in fact, a member of a species of winners -- and that the dinosaurs, they were losers.

Sure, they were big.

You couldn't take that away from them. And he wouldn't try.

He wasn't that petty.

But, big as they were, that didn't mean diddly. They'd had their chance, and they'd blown it.

Losers.

It didn't matter how much they tried to throw their weight around, they couldn't disguise it. It was written all over them, on their tough, crude hides. You saw it, in each attack, in their slow, lumbering walks. In the way they kept getting stuck in tar pits. You'd never said it to their faces, but you'd thought it.

Losers.

Yes, they were big.

You had to grant them that. They had big on their side. They had it in spades.
But only one species could be the best.

If you can't stand the heat, get outta the jungle.

Life's tough.

Losers.

Big losers, sure. Oh, yes. Definitely. No question about that.
But losers.
And, as the caveman had seen, the bigger they are, the harder they fall.
Having bolstered his confidence with vague thoughts something along these lines, the hairy, dynamic one quickened his pace, walked straight up to the guy in charge, a Tyrannosaurus rex, wound up, and clubbed it murderously on the tail.
Up till this moment, the Tyrannosaurus had been leaning over with its back to the caveman, leisurely eating a Brontosaurus for lunch, or Brunch. Now, turning slowly, the Tyrannosaurus fixed him with a long, condescending stare that seemed to say, "Have you completely lost your mind?"

Maybe he had. Maybe he was crazy. A cockeyed dreamer.
But then, he was more than a man with a dream.
He was a man with a club.

The combat that immediately ensued between caveman and Tyrannosaurus bore some resemblance to battles of will between man and beast that would occur eons later on the Texas range, except that instead of bestriding the animal's back as it reared about the plain, the caveman was spending most of his time upside down and clamped between eight-inch teeth. Blackness was closing in all around. His personal stock was plummeting rapidly. Though he might survive, clan members, watching from the mouth of the cave, were already dividing up his food ration, since there was no use in tossing good berries after bad.

That was when luck intervened. Or -- as others would have it -- when the hairy, dynamic one, by frantically wiggling his half-swallowed feet, made his own luck. Creating an irritating tickling sensation in the throat of the King of Dinosaurs, the caveman was spat to the ground, his sole clothing, the pelt guarding his loins, snagging on a tooth and coming completely off in the process.

He clambered to his feet and stood helpless before the dread Tyrannosaurus rex, no weapon in hand and all the more vulnerable for being seen, in these last moments before the end, as no dinosaur had ever seen him before: stripped to the buff. So this was it. It was all over. And he wasn't even 30. Closing his eyes, clenching his teeth, he awaited the worst...only to have his eyes jarred open by a savage, earthshaking cry from the reptile that sounded like nothing less than a roar of protest against its Maker.

For what the Tyrannosaurus rex, even with its limited intelligence, had been able to grasp in an instant, or rather, two -- a first look and a double-take -- was that the hairy, dynamic one had been graced by nature with a hairy, dynamic one; one not only proportionately larger than the dinosaur's, when compared with their respective bodyweights, but, quite literally, larger – the Tyrannosaurus rex's secret shame being that its love machine was as pathetically unmatched to its stature as its undersized brain or its spindly little forelimbs.

Which was to say, it didn't have much, the caveman had more, and now everyone knew it.
The Tyrannosaurus did not roar again. It did not attack. The truth was, it couldn't. Demoralized to the very core of its 30 tons, the King of Dinosaurs just turned away and slunk off the land. It did not go alone. Moving in a slow procession behind it, the other dinosaurs on the land lumbered over to the caveman one by one, took one look, and, similarly emasculated, shuffled away beneath a dark cloud of anxiety, which, if allowed to go unchecked, could mean the beginning of the end of the high-rolling species.

An end that would come, not because of climactic change or volcanic eruptions.
But because they'd learned they were losers.
Losers headed for sexual dysfunction.
And at last...extinction.

As the hairy, dynamic one stood there on the Texas plain, refastening his pelt and watching the reptiles retreat in the distance, he sensed that an era was drawing to a close. He had driven the dinosaurs off the land. His land. Just wait till the other clans heard. As for his clan, they would be somersaulting for days.
But in a vague, rudimentary way, he knew it meant more than simply the fact that the clan artist would soon be asking him to pose for a portrait, chronicling his triumph, for the cave wall. It meant a future, which, by using his overtaxed brain one last time today before the probable onset of a crushing migraine, he saw this way:
Because he possessed a hairy, dynamic one, there would be children, some of whom would have little dynamic ones of their own, capable of producing his children's children, who in turn could make children...though he could be wrong about this.

Secondly, even more important, because of what he had accomplished here, there would be something for him to pass on. A land to build on. A growing legacy. Why, it could even be the beginning of...!
His mind groped, striving -- but failing -- to invent the word "empire."
Just then, the hairy, dynamic one noticed a flower on a nearby rise. It was a new type of flora, such as he'd never seen before anywhere in these parts -- a yellow rose.
Walking up onto the rise overlooking the land that would one day be Texas, the caveman laid down his club, picked the flower, studied it closely, and -- as if seeing in it all that the future held -- ate it.

BOOK ONE - Chapter One

Price Bundleworth awoke at the crack of dawn, possibly the only man in America whose first thought of the day was "T-G-I-M" -- "Thank God It's Monday."

The weekend -- the interminable, tedious, globe-trotting weekend -- was over. And now, as it did weekly in the eyes of Price Bundleworth, the world was playing out its eternal drama of death and rebirth. Soon, like the hardy perennials unfolding their petals in the springtime sun, banks would be opening, phones ringing, options trading, the long, barren winter of a weekend in Aspen melting away. Yes, some weekends it was Aspen, others St. Moritz. If it wasn't one of a hundred other glittering retreats where Price Bundleworth played. Played to forget. And when he could not forget, there was always the Percodan. Anything to deaden the pain that started at 5 p.m. Friday. The pain of not making money.

But now the pain was subsiding. As it did, and his head cleared, Price realized with bristling irritation that he had woken up himself, and not been roused by the rooster, whose crowing, had it occurred already, would have easily carried from the stables to the mansion. A punctilious man, as demanding of himself as he was of his employees, Price had never cherished the mornings when, due to the slackness of others, he was allowed to oversleep, and over the years had had to let several roosters go. Now, careful not to disturb his wife slumbering quietly beside him, Price Bundleworth swiveled around to sit on the edge of the king-size bed, picked up the micro-cassette recorder he kept on the nightstand, always close at hand, and dictated a short memo, the details to be worked out later.
"New rooster."

It was a cold, pragmatic decision, undeterred by sentiment or, thank God, as far as he knew, the possibility of having to take guff from any unions, the kind of executive fiat that Price Bundleworth had been issuing with confidence for most of his 70 years.
And the kind that, owing to a brilliant maneuver performed in the boardroom the preceding Friday, he would be issuing for many more.
As Price rose for the day, padded across to the bath off the master bedroom, and closed the door on the sound of a tardy cock-a-doodle-do! That would change nothing, he reflected with contentment on the way he had handled it all, bringing to a vote -- just days before his 70th birthday -- not a single resolution, but a bold resolution package that he hoped the board would find attractive. True, he'd been feeling out the board for months in subtle ways about changing the bylaws, but till the vote was actually taken, you could never be sure.

Finally, at 4:45 p.m. Friday, he'd played his gambit. President, CEO, and Chairman of the Board Price Bundleworth formally proposed an amendment to the corporate charter the key line of which was the following:
Be it resolved that the mandatory retirement age of 70 be abolished, and be it also resolved that each member of the Board of Directors shall receive, for his personal use, one South Sea island.

The resolution passed with only one vote against, this coming from a member of the board, near 70 himself and likewise able to benefit from the first part of the resolution, but who, unfortunately, was prone to outbreaks of skin cancer. The dissenter notwithstanding, Price had done it, obtained approval of a new bylaw, which, in effect, rendered him invulnerable for the remainder of his lifetime. A bylaw that secured him against the dangers of corporate politics, of ever being removed -- no matter how necessary -- due to either ill health or mental incompetence, by prohibiting such action and going on to explicitly state in its conclusion that the President, CEO, and Chairman of the Board of the corporation -- and also the holder of an indivisible block of 51% of the voting shares -- shall be, as it had always been (though never before had it actually been specified in writing), "the oldest living male member of the Bundleworth family."

Prior to the meeting, and per his instruction, Price's lawyers had privately reviewed the resolution, which he had taken pleasure in drafting himself. Challenged to find a loophole, they had pronounced it airtight, and informed Price Bundleworth that the only possible threat to his position was if his mother, now 92, had a sex-change operation.

At last, as he stood on the brink of what he had recently begun to regard as his prime, Price Bundleworth was safe against all comers. His power base was protected, and now, with his mind uncluttered, he would be able to get back to business. The business of acquiring more power.

At the mere thought, a sturdy erection began to crowd his pajamas. Price undressed, stepped into the shower, and, as was his custom, helped himself get back to business by turning the shower dial to "C".

Back in the master bedroom, in reality awake all this time, Mavin Bundleworth was lying quietly and staring at the question that stared back at her from the underside of her frilly white sleep mask every morning.
After 25 years of marriage to the richest and, yes, once upon a time, unquestionably the most exciting man she'd ever known, she had a closet full of furs, she had a wallet full of Platinum, she had everything that a woman could want -- except a reason to get out of bed.

Mavin didn't need an analyst to tell her -- although that didn't stop her from seeing one and being told it three times a week -- that she was bored. But he was wrong. She wasn't bored. She was bored, bored, bored. So bored that once, before dawn, she'd actually gone and shouted it from the housetops. Why had she even bothered? When she'd finally come down for breakfast, Price -- sitting there, oh so typically self-absorbed, sipping his coffee over his copy of The Wall Street Journal -- had merely remarked that he thought the rooster needed to be taken to the vet.

Was this the attentive, passionate, caring man who'd once bucked family tradition and gone down on one knee in the aisle of an IHOP restaurant at 2 a.m. to propose to a waitress with barely a sticky penny to her name? As much as she wished to say it was so, she knew that she could not. There was a world of difference between the man who'd carried her to his marriage bed and the one who tossed restlessly now for six hours each night, apparently in some kind of pain. At what point, Mavin wondered, had the distance, the coldness started? Well, if you were going to get technical about it, it had actually started at 9 a.m. Monday, the day after the honeymoon. Ever since that morning over two decades ago when Price had returned to work, business had obsessed him, inflamed him, literally consumed him in ways she'd preferred not to contemplate. Yes, it was true that all along they'd had their getaway weekends. But what pleasure was there in jetting around the globe to a ritzy casino to watch a glum, workaholic husband repeatedly throw nines and fives? It all served to explain why the prospect of Price's mandatory retirement had for years held out the glorious promise of a second honeymoon. And when he'd averted it, why, in protest, Mavin had almost taken a scissors to her Platinum Cards, till a little voice that said "Shop" stilled her trembling hand.

The loneliness that came with marriage to a man like Price Bundleworth had been easier to weather, of course, in the early years, when there had been children. Curled up with her little ones in front of the fire, reading The History of the Getty Oil Business -- she would cherish such moments always. But children grew. Avaris, 21, having come into money long held in trust, was now on the Continent, apparently trying to do Europe on a hundred thousand a day. She missed her terribly. Of her two offspring, she'd always felt a special bond with Avaris. And, of course, she had still not gotten over the tragic death of Cad.

Despite the hot Texas sun that presently streamed in the bedroom windows, rendering her sleep mask useless and making her care-worn eyes feel like charcoal briquettes, Mavin had just resolved to spend the day, if not the week, in bed, when an unavoidable reason to face the world presented itself. Today, she suddenly remembered, was Price's birthday; and tonight, at the mansion, a gala was planned to help usher in his 70th year. If Mavin had nothing else, she still had her reputation to maintain as a world-class hostess, trend-setting fashion plate, and disher of dirt to First Ladies.
She would get up.

She would get dressed.
She'd call the President's wife, and they'd trash Mrs. Putin.
Then she would go downstairs and oversee preparations for the party down to the last detail.

These things she would do, not because she wanted to -- she was still bored -- no, more than bored -- but because, besides being bored, she was also something else, something that only a million-dollar birthday party for her husband could shout from the housetops.

She was a Bundleworth.

So preoccupied with his early-morning routine that he barely noticed that his wife, still in bed, seemed to be having a nightmare in which she was being required -- perhaps at some border crossing -- to repeatedly identify herself, Price Bundleworth came out of the shower, crossed the room, and entered his wardrobe, thinking of the one person in life he couldn't do without: his butler. Major-domo, valet, manager of household affairs, all rolled together and contained within a single somewhat rotund but impeccable figure, Price's man, Edgers, had been faithfully performing for almost four decades both tasks big and small, thus freeing the mogul for complete devotion to business. Today -- as Price noted with pleasure, surveying the wardrobe -- would be no exception. Saving him precious executive seconds by not having to reach for one inside the closet, a business suit, freshly cleaned and pressed, hung beside the wardrobe's three-way mirror. Though it went hard against the grain, once he was showered, to slow down for anything, Price couldn't help using some of those seconds to stand and admire the items of carefully chosen apparel that were so much a statement of his personal style. The shirt. Long-sleeved. Not tan, not cream, but white. So heavily starched that before you could tuck in the tails, you had to break them over your knee. The tie (unconsciously, the visual focal point of every businessman's attire). Diagonally striped. A placebo for the eyes, giving away nothing. And, finally, the suit. Conservative. Classic. Immune to change, because it was perfect. What the well-dressed executive would be wearing on Earth till the end of time.

A smile of deep satisfaction playing around his lips, Price Bundleworth removed the white shirt from its hanger and proceeded -- though this was like carrying coals to Newcastle -- to dress for success.

And yet, there was another reason, too, for his pursuit of sartorial excellence besides the fact that it was an unwritten rule in the competitive world of CEOs. Simply put, if, in business -- as in life -- appearances mattered, then they never mattered more than when appearances were your business.
In Price's case, they were his fortune.

For Price Bundleworth wasn't the CEO of just any corporation, he was the head of Tuxaco, the multinational formalwear conglomerate, renter and seller of tuxedos in 48 states, most nations that accepted the Euro, and also the self-styled "Foremost Purveyor of Elegance to The Third World." To be sure, Tuxaco had its fingers in other pies -- in oil, in software, in fact, in everything from stem cells to cell phones. But as all were reminded by gyrating singer-dancers each year at its annual convention, the good, solid bedrock of the corporation was still "Deep in the Heart of Tuxes."

Now repeatedly checking the image of his suit, tie, and cuffs in the three-way mirror as behooved one with such a special responsibility to men's apparel, Price Bundleworth at last gave the mirror a nod of approval. He was ready for business. A few moments later he was coming down the great winding marble staircase from the second floor, a spring in his step, thinking with pleasure that he wouldn’t take time for a grapefruit this morning, instead he'd wait till he got to work and eat a few VPs for breakfast.
There was one part of his daily regimen, however, that Price made it a point never to neglect. That was the taking of a thoughtful moment before the start of every prosperous day to pay respectful homage to the past, and to tradition, in which he was a strong believer. Walking softly into the library, at this hour still quiet as cathedral, Price's eyes scanned the walls hung with art from his private collection -- a superb Renoir, a middling Rubens, a very good Gauguin -- he took out his micro-cassette and spoke briefly: "New Rubens" -- till they came to rest on the large and imposing portrait above the fireplace, the only work in the room that could not be credited to one of the Old Masters. The fireplace, with its facing arrangement of deep leather sofas and armchairs, was the hearth and also the very heart of the Bundleworth estate. Drawing more sustenance for ruling an empire from this little act of communion than he would have from listening to a hundred motivational-lecture tapes, Price stopped by the fireplace and looked up at the portrait of the man who had made it all possible.

He was pictured seated on a boulder in a proud, aristocratic pose, his pelt modestly long, his club held perpendicular to the ground in the manner of a walking-stick: a regal, nameless Neanderthal -- known around the house as "Great-Grandfather" -- who, as archeological evidence showed, had sought for the family a place in the sun till he finally laid claim to the land where the Bundleworth estate, pool, and tennis courts stood today. Rendered posthumously, of course, its details based upon a rather less formal study still visible on the wall of a cave on the edge of the sprawling grounds, the painting served the family as a portrait of struggle and vision, and, not incidentally, as a reminder to others that here were people who were really Old Money.
Enough. Swallowing the lump in his throat, turning on his heel, Price Bundleworth left the library and walked directly to the front door, where, like clockwork, his butler Edgers was waiting, Price's briefcase in hand.

"Have a good day, sir."

"Thank you, Edgers."

With barely a glance, Price Bundleworth had his briefcase and was gone.
A few quick steps, and Price was comfortably ensconced in the back seat of a gleaming black stretch limousine, being chauffeured down the long Texas miles of private roadway and starting on the paperwork that it never ever made him carsick to do on this particular stretch of highway because it was the land, his land. Soon, his work back in his briefcase, they'd be on the interstate, where, Price hoped, they wouldn't be slowed down too much by the usual Monday morning tie-up you always hit coming into the Dallas-Ft. Worth-Bundleworth area.

But unbeknownst to Price, there was far more waiting to stand in the way of his empire than simply the bumper-to-bumper traffic that lay ahead. For watching his limousine as it sped away from the family estate, tracking it keenly, as if it were a stock going down, down, down, were the binocular-aided, hate-filled eyes of someone, who, despite Price's continually rosy financial picture, was not bullish on Price Bundleworth.
Someone who didn't know how and didn't know when, but knew only that there would be no rest, could be no rest, until the dynasty-wielding billionaire had been destroyed, or, at the very least, brought to his knees, begging for a government bail-out.
Yes, thought the watcher, you have all the marbles now, Price Bundleworth.
But not for long.

The novel, "Tuxes," is available in the BeachSide Press trade paperback
edition from Amazon, or can be ordered from your local bookstore. It is also
available as an eBook from Agora International eBooks at www.internationalagora.com.

Music We Can Depend On: The Value of Not Entirely Original Pop

2009-09-22T01:08:00.000-07:00

Written By: Paul Losada

The deadline for my first feature for Chicks With Guns is due in 5 hours, and I can't think of anything more rock 'n roll than sitting down at this-a-here laptop without a goddamned clue as to what to write about except to start an argument!

I've been awake for 24 hours now, the past nine of which were spent chugging down Red Bulls, listening to Prurient at maximum iPod volume, bloodletting, and snorting up what still feels like all of Bolivia just to get through a shift of work. Okay, I'm making up at least two of those (and I ain't sadistic enough to listen to Prurient), but all of this at least feels true because I've been without three of the most stability-inducing records of my collection.

As our economy continues to encourage freelance labor over full-time jobs, as our need increases to learn more skills than thought possible so we can better thrive, and our relationships more sporadic and "in the air" because of all this, we probably live in the most turbulent and outright chaotic times of human evolution--at least for those of us who can still remember a time when dinner revolved around the "Jackie Gleason Show." When the reality of life seems too overwhelming, this is when we need our most predictable, almost routine-in-its-songwriting records to strike some sort of a balance and provide calm. The true value of the Ramones, Iron Maiden, and pretty much any stand-alone album by the Jesus & Mary Chain fucking shine in times like these! Order does exist in this universe, damnit--and I can't think of a better place to find solitude and dependability than in the grooves of a great, albeit unsurprising piece of vinyl.

I went through a particularly brutal summer in joblessness and having to live with my parents this year, and Lord knows how I would have handled it without the copies of Leave Home, Killers, and Psychocandy that always remain in my old bedroom. Yes, yes, there's plenty of better examples in ambient, dub, and drone that offer a whole lot more wall-to-wall sameness, but by no means am I putting down any of these well known records. A purpose is served with routine song structuring (which all of these albums deliver in spades--you're tripping if you think differently). An artist that offers separate yet almost indecipherable from one another songs can create the perfect pattern to put the mind at ease without boring it.

In my case, the sheer randomness of my father's mood swings combined with a lack of returned work calls could always be staved off with the music I use specifically for these events; the music I can always depend on NOT surprising me. Technically that can mean any album you've heard more than once, but there's something truly special about a band that refuses to exert more effort into its songwriting process than it absolutely has to.

I just find it hard to believe that anyone could dislike a band because "all their songs sound the same." Fucking awesome, I say! That's what makes them great! Now, whether or not the songs are actually good is another argument.

How To Start A Band

2009-09-21T23:57:00.000-07:00

Written By: Daniel Alcantara
Photo Credit: Stew Bl@ck 

I used to be in a band. It was fun but we were as stable as Oasis. We lasted for three weeks.

It started when my friend, Tommy, and I were eating at Subway and were talking about putting together a band. He'd just written a song that ended up sounding like a parody of a Dixie Chicks song. I'd been working on songs for a concept album I wanted to create that was based around a leftover story I hadn't finished from the previous NaNoWriMo. We had decided that as part of our church's summer youth group events, there would be a concert. We were going to headline it, even though we weren't an actual band yet so we set about finding a name and looked around the Subway for inspiration. It came on the wall with a map of New York City painted on it. Right by our table, I saw the name of our band.

Bedford Ave.

We took that name and made it our identity. Neither of us had ever been to New York and for all we knew, it was the red light district but we made it our name.

Soon, we were sitting in the church auditorium, Tommy at piano and myself on drums. Tommy kept trying to take control but I decided I was the band leader and tried to lead us through the theme from The Fresh Prince of Bel Air. It didn't work so I switched to guitar. We only had two weeks before the show, so we really had to get the practicing going.

A week later we were back at the church to try a bit more rehearsal. We were running through Tommy's song and got to the final chorus when suddenly, there were drums! Our friend Jared started to laugh from the control booth as we looked back and saw my brother, Patrick. We'd had an epiphany! We did need drums, but with both Tommy and I on non-drum instruments, Patrick would be the perfect substitute.

A few minutes later, Jared had left the control booth and was setting up to play bass. He didn't know how, but I wrote out a few simple charts to get him started and we became a full band. We only had two more days to get ready for the show and a complete instrument to be learned in that time so the practice session extended late into the night until we went home. The next evening, we were back at it. The show was the following day so we wanted to make sure we were set to go.

Practice was successful and the next day was show time. We needed to build the stage outside where the show would be happening. It was as stable as it could be with so little time to get it done. As we started to get the PA system set up, we ran into the problem of having no lights. This was a huge problem because:

1.)We were so pretentious that we needed to be seen.

2.) Jared still needed to look at the chord sheets because he had been playing bass for about 4 days total.

We rushed around trying to find lights and stands and fixed the problem. When show time came around, we kept our cool. Rock stars never lose their cool in front of their fans while the opening acts are performing. I was actually helping out on drums for the first act, but that's about all that can be said concerning their performance. The second act was a friend of mine that was doing some songs from his own band. And finally, it was time for Bedford Ave to take to the stage that was suddenly not feeling substantial enough. Not because we were too important a band and the stage too small, but we were too heavy a band and the stage was not ready for a few heavy bodies to be moving and shaking on it.

When we began to do a quick sound check, one thing became very apparent. We were in deep trouble. The monitors weren't working properly and we could barely hear a thing. If we couldn't hear ourselves, we were sure to sound horrible. No performer in his right mind, having monitors available, will be calm when the monitors stop working. But we trudged on and worked our way through our set list. I don't know how, but we finally made it to the third from last song. We had arranged a cover of King's Of Convenience's "I'd Rather Dance With You" into something that would have put Billy Idol to shame. That is, until half way through the song when everything sort of fell apart.

Tommy got a bit too excited and kicked over his piano bench which was also holding Jared's sheet music. This caused him to lose his place and have to fake his way through the rest of the show. The newest problem, though, was that we had finally managed to hear Jared's bass and it was apocalyptically out of tune. As soon as the song ended, we tried to get the bass in tune but the battery in the tuner had died so we got it as close as we could. We tried to start the next song, but the other guys stopped playing. I decided to play anyway until my mic was cut off.
The cops had shown up...

Why it doesn't matter if Lady Gaga Has Balls

2009-09-21T15:14:00.000-07:00

Written By: Hallie Madenski

Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta, stage name Lady Gaga is a true enigma. A pale Grace Jones or an equally pale Madonna. Her enlarged nose and imperfect face have snuck their way into one of the strangest music videos in years. The video for "Paparazzi" of course, is a plethora of strange images and matching outfits. The naked ass of a statue, some money featuring the singer's wonderfully chipmonked cheeks. Kissing an obscure actor, speaking a foreign language, fake eyelashes obscuring the top portion of the iris. A ram's head. An open beach front room with only a bed a chair and a small table occupying them.

These are some of the first things you see in this video. Sounds pretty inane I suppose. Until Lady Gaga is pushed out a window to what you'd think would be her demise. But no, the awkward singer pushes on with her bizarre ballad of a satiric love for the paparazzi in a wheelchair and later in crutches. Twisting her little frame into bizarre artistic poses. I don't really claim pop music as my number one loved genre, though it is THE number one genre. There is no other universally loved genre. Pop music is the mathematics of music. It is known everywhere and accepted for what it is by millions. Widely criticized and still pushing to make everyone just generally feel good. Like a child, it is simplistic and innocent and a little pushy.

Innocence of course is a broad term, one not usually used to describe the popular new music of today with it's blatant sexual content. This video uses blatant sexuality to make you feel not stupid, only amused and bewildered. The less subtle Diablo Cody of Music, Lady Gaga is honest in her portrayal of herself. It's obvious to me who she is, while I am not so sure about the High School Musical generation young America seems infatuated with. A whole other type of simplicity, the more murky type I think.

Lady Gaga is an architect of pop music, writing her own songs and singing them in a way that would make even Barbara Bush want to dance in public. My boyfriend hates Lady Gaga, he thinks she is all smoke and mirrors and a one hit wonder who will quickly fade into the past. I think that's more what he hopes than what he thinks. Even if her second CD was terrible people would still buy it because of the popularity of the first. Her massively broad fan base wouldn't let it happen either. Now I'm not on to completely stick my nose in someone's behind without criticizing them a little first. Lady Gaga's antics come off as a little narcissistic, especially when changing outfits numerous times at the VMA's and showing up with Kermit the Frog as her ummmm, date? That might have been mildly amusing if she hadn't kissed him so many times in the pre-show.

Well we are all looking now aren't we, Miss Germanotta? I heard someone on E!'s Chelsea Lately call her facial bird nest apparatus a "muppet gloryhole" which I thought was a great description. Her outfits do cause controversy and have possibly been said to have been stolen or let's say "inspired" by Irish performer Roisin Murphy. If you look at the similarities you might not call Lady Gaga the most innovative style icon since Gwen Stefani.

Another classy rumor is that Lady Gaga is in fact a straight up man or hermaphrodite. With all her confidence, gay fans and bisexuality I don't think she cares a wit about whether people think she possesses a nice heaping set of balls or not. From what I've seen of her in interviews, sassing the young plaid clad vest wearing 20 something interviewer, I can only picture her with a grin on her face at the very mention of these supposed balls. Secretly a lot of the insecurities of being a woman could translate as an actual desire to have a penis, not literally, but metaphorically. So, to you media and homophobes alike, wouldn't it just be your nightmare if we did all have balls. Then what would you gossip about? Still some failed drug induced starlet falling out her car at four in the morning, but not about how scandalous is it that Lady Gaga might have both male and female parts. Pushing at the boundaries of sexuality is a game long in the making and the more it evolves the more you'll realize, it doesn't matter who has balls.

DIARY OF A FADING ROCKSTAR PART V: Teenage vs. Middle-Aged Love Stories

2009-09-18T00:16:00.000-07:00

Written By: Erik Rader

Last week, after more than a quarter century of songwriting, I managed somehow to write a love song. Not a tortured angst-ridden love-in-flames song, not a “Love is a dodgy premise at best if not impossible” song, not a “Why won’t you love me?” song, not a “Why don’t you love me anymore?” song, and not an “OMG WE’RE DOOOMED” song - just a love song, no more, no less. Okay, it’s got maybe a tablespoon of broken glass in it, but rather than shame and misery and self-hatred and bitterness and resentment and whatever else you might imagine, it’s just that little bit of ouch that - guess what? - any of us who have actually really loved somebody already knows all too well. That “real life” stuff. In a rock song, can you believe it??!

My songwriting comes out of an education in the blues, soul, Italian classical music, punk rock, post-punk, dub reggae, metal, grunge, goth, country death, and so on - so I can, and have, written a fair number of tortured angst-ridden love-in-flames type songs, steeped in vitriol and 180 proof disappointment. The first song I ever wrote, words and music, came about this way:

I am invited to a party at the house of my “in” with the punk rock scene, a tough punk rock chick, who happens to think mods are cool. There’s lots of different kinds of kids there of course - most of them too young to know what clique or gang they’re going to end up in. The mix is diverse mainly because of the absence of adults and the promise of beer.

My friend introduces me to a young lady with long brown hair and penetrating eyes, with whom I experience the template of many “dates” or similar interactions with women to come - me jabbering on and on like an idiot, them looking at me with a look of silent amusement. I don’t know what it is I find so compelling about this girl - maybe just that she’s a girl, and she’s at least pretending to listen to me. Underneath the gear I’m still the great big dork writing science fiction novels, imagining himself to be James Bond.

So we work our way through a can of beer together, and maybe it’s more like two or three, I can’t remember very well - for obvious reasons - and then, predictably, I am trying to kiss her, and it is fairly obvious to both of us that I have no idea what I am doing. Maybe she doesn’t either, but then girls don’t have to. I mean come on - they’re girls, they can get away with just being girls, that’s all the magic required. I, on the other hand, am so hopeless I can even screw up something as down-to-earth as kissing a pretty girl.

Just then, up walks a guy who seems as if he’s three feet taller than me, with blond hair and insouciantly handsome looks; a tough bad boy-type who is probably the one that always knows where the good weed is, who’s had twice as much beer as me, and walks as if he’s had half as much, who actually says this: “Here, let me show you how it’s done.” He takes the girl by the hand, curls her in towards him like they’re dancing at a sock hop, and plants one on her like Humphrey Bogart. She appears to melt into him with relief, as if thinking “Thank God someone who knows what they’re doing intervened!” - she’s actually enjoying kissing this guy.

I think it’s possibly one of the top five, maybe even top three most humiliating moments of my entire life. When the friend who brought me on the back of his scooter finally drives off with my dead weight hanging precariously off the back end, I wave blearily to her and cry out like a mournful loon drifting over a desolate lake: “Call me some time!”

Over the next couple of days, I phone her over and over again, trying to find some kind of spark of interest in her voice. Finally, despairing of my not giving it a rest, she doesn’t even hang up, just puts the phone down and waits for me to realize it’s hopeless.

Since there is nothing else constructive to do at this point, I find myself writing a song - my first song, at least in terms of having music and lyrics and not just being a clever sounding song title on an album cover of an imaginary band (a pastime that, I will one day be astonished to learn, I seem to share with Robert Pollard.

It took me about fifteen years to actually sit down with a friend’s reel-to-reel 4 track and commit it to tape, but here it is. And to the girl, who is now a lady and in fact is now a friend of mine on Facebook, I can only say thank you for providing me with more inspiration than I was likely able to provide you. [I can in no way take credit for her cutting her hair short and forming a band with her friends shortly afterwards.]

Later songs of mine would deal with the predictable punk rock issues of war, terrorism, revolution, pollution, racism, sexism, shoplifting, running from cops, suicide, etc. But the subject of mere love as a songwriting topic was elusive at best, a nightmare at worst. The closest I was able to come to writing something resembling a love song is a harrowing depiction of a shotgun wedding over a blistering 12-bar R & B riff that the lead guitar player brought to rehearsal one afternoon - among other things, it contains the dubious and reprehensible admission on the part of the protagonist that his primary motive is “an ambition to get your daughter in the sack”. You can see a performance of this song here.

Our contempt for the typical love song reflected our contempt for the typical anything. Our soundtrack was “Hate and War” (as opposed to Peace and Love) by the Clash; “(Love Will Get You Like A Case of) Anthrax” by Gang of Four; “Stupid Marriage” by the Specials; and “Into You Like A Train” by the Psychedelic Furs, which featured the raggedly charismatic Richard Butler yowling “No kind of love”. One of our songs even contained the lyric “Touch the issue, hands get dirty/Play love songs until you’re thirty”, and as every rebellious youth knows, one should never trust anyone over thirty (Paul Weller claimed once not to trust anyone over 25). It’s probably the reason why, at 43, I frequently have trouble trusting even myself.

People think that being in a band is a ticket to Chick City (or Dude City if that’s what you prefer). Some people even manage to work that angle for themselves. It’s a lot like going out and getting a dog, hoping that it’s a chick magnet. But then you bring the dog home with you at the end of the day, and it looks up at you as if to say “What’s for dinner?” Now you’ve got something that needs taking care of, that actually requires effort. Seeing as how the only reason we wanted to form a band was because we really wanted to form a band, we didn’t mind the effort so much. But it’s hard work coming up with things to write about if your intention is to always break new ground, to avoid treading familiar pathways. If we’d opened up to writing actual love songs, maybe we would have had a larger palette to work with. After all, the driving forces for our creativity were rage, adversity, angst, anxiety and suffering; and if you can’t find at least two of those elements in any relationship, it’s probably not a relationship worth remembering.

Some time after leaving the band I wrote a love song of sorts that was so vague and poetic I had to carefully explain all the references in detail to the person it was about (the woman who would one day become my wife). I don’t remember exactly what she said, but I believe it was to ask what the point of a love song was if the person it was written to couldn’t even recognize it as such. There you have it in a nutshell - what it’s like being married to a poet.

When I went through my period of de-emphasizing music in favor of developing my craft as a poet, I wrote a lot of surreal, purposefully obtuse poems. I rebelled against the idea of poems or songs being “about” something obvious. A lot of my poems, when read aloud, got laughs or cheers for some of the images, but the overall response was one of puzzlement. Then, I read a poem that was essentially about missing someone and hoping they come back; it brought down the house. I resisted the lesson, though, and went back to my paeans to plastic garbage bags stuck in trees and things of that nature.

Lather, rinse, repeat for about fifteen more years.

I can’t really explain in a dramatic or even interesting way how I finally came around to working out a love song, a way that ties the whole story together and makes a complete and intelligible (much less interesting) narrative. As I may have mentioned before, I started taking responsibility for my own health to a degree I never had before, and this included (perhaps above all else) my mental health; and I stopped trying to exorcise demons of the past, and instead tried to domesticate or at least taxidermy them. One of the things that this helped me do was to pick up where I had left off developing as a songwriter. Instead of trying really hard to say something relevant and original, I just tried to speak from the heart without too much forethought. I tried to be honest, to tell the truth, admit my mistakes without self-pity, and through it all stay optimistic and keep my sense of humor. What I ended up with remained true to some of the dark, ironic essence of my past writing (the song does include references to human sacrifice, gambling, alienation, and the all-time favorite, disappointment). It also had major chords, sweet harmonies, and the word “Love” in it.
Here’s the song:

Madly (Sha La Lo) © 2009 by Erik Rader, all rights reserved.

I Disdain Your Soul

2009-09-17T23:58:00.000-07:00

Written By: Hallie Madenski

Let's talk about my four least favorite people right now. Michael Vick, Kanye West, Chris Brown and Serena Williams.

It's just bad for society and civil rights in general, that these people all happen to be black, when they are in fact just douchés as humans. I never did appreciate people assuming I'm racist for supporting Hillary instead of Obama and I’m not going to be blindly worshipping Kanye's diamond sneakers anytime soon either. The most unattractive thing to me is a pompous nature, something all four of these people possess. Chris Brown, in all his woman-beating glory, making a faux apology on Larry King Live. Michael Vick doing the same half-assed apology, one he was clearly forced to do for the good of his image. His image of course being that of someone who electrocutes and cuts the heads off of innocent animals.

How can you defend someone like that? Well easily I suppose, being a narcissistic seemingly blind and deaf person yourself, would make you sympathetic towards Michael Vick and Chris Brown. At least Chris Brown can sort of dance and sing, what can Michael Vick do? Throw a 3 yard pass to an already skilled receiver? Check. Someone can go to jail for years for tax fraud but somehow animal serial killers go under the radar. He spent time in jail for gambling more than for the canine murders. What kind of world do we live in? For the most part an enjoyable one, until I turn on Sportscenter and see Serena Williams.

Serena Williams, the bane of female tennis' existence. Sister of the good-natured Venus, Serena's been known in the past for claiming her opponents won by "cheating." And recently she broke her racket right before she flew off the handle completely, screaming that she was going to shove her ball down the throat of the unfortunate line judge who called her for making a foot fault. She didn't in fact step over the line during the serve, but that isn't really a good excuse for her total roid-rage, hulk-style showdown; though the word 'showdown' might imply a worthy opponent.

I’m not sure the skittish five-foot-tall line judge really counts. Serena issues the classic half- hearted apology soon after her match, saying it was "in the heat of the moment" and that she "didn't recall it even happening." Chris Brown had the same story, hmmmm, no I don't recall putting my fist in Rihanna's eye and biting her flesh. Not even remotely convincing.

Depressing photos of Rihanna's battered face appear on the screen, he looks at them and continues not show a speck of emotion. Most people would know to pretend to look sad just for pity's sake. I turned the interview off halfway through, since Larry isn't really the hardball question-asking dictator that he could be. But that's why someone like Chris Brown chooses his show. You're not going to see him on Howard Stern anytime soon because he's a big baby who can't handle pressure. I don't care how big of a star he becomes, if I saw him in the street I'd spit in his disgusting face and attempt to castrate him as he ran from me.

Onto less disturbing matters, Kanye West appeared on the VMA's recently, and of course sent a earth-shattering message to poor Taylor Swift. "Beyonce's video is better, why on earth did you win you weird, less-beautiful little country bimbo?" Okay he didn't say that, but I saw it in his eyes. The whole night became about Taylor Swift after that, people booed Kanye, as was deserved, and Beyonce invited her on stage when she herself won for best video. In your face Kanye, at least Beyonce won something huh? Speaking of Beyonce, a message to her: your hotness is not an invitation to constantly wear shiny bodysuits that somehow don't give you a cameltoe, got it?

All humor aside, it all points back to how I really just dislike arrogance, and I think I thrive on dissecting these people. I want to take apart their brains and figure out what makes them think or feel that they can get away with their behavior. Is it an impulse or is it all planned out? Is Chris Brown’s abusive childhood partially responsible? Yes. But does everyone with a terrible life end up taking examples from the things that hurt them. No.

The instant urge to make a totally false apology to all of America or whoever is listening really says a lot about humanity. The fact that most people buy it says even more. Is their a special part of the brain that accepts falsehoods or do we just have terrible intuition as human beings? I feel a distance that I don’t want to feel when I see women accepting Chris Brown’s apology and men and women alike forgiving Serena Williams because she is a figure of symbolism in women’s tennis.

If a lesser known player had acted that way they might have been thrown out of the game for their actual behavior. Serena’s game was at match point and she left because the foot fault ended the game, not because she was escorted off the premises. Kanye and Chris and Serena and Michael are all at match personality point in my mind, and they already lost.

Marilyn Manson: Then And Now

2009-09-08T16:41:00.001-07:00

Written By: Jim Markunas
(Editor-In-Chief)

We had the pleasure of seeing Manson perform at the Fox Theater in Pamona, CA. I had a feeling the show was going to be great right about when a large group of protesters with giant signs, condeming Satan and "his music," tried to convince one of the concert-goers to get out of line and join his church.

"What the fuck do you mean, being a mouthy woman is a sin?!?!" the woman screamed at an old "Christian" fellow who listed 25-30 various sins on a giant billboard. Needless to say, the girl chose to stay in line for the show. We made it inside, and waited in anticipation for Manson to perform. After yawning through the opening act (whoever they were), Manson took the stage amidst applause and cheers. The last few times I had seen Manson were during the "Holy Wood" period. I was used to the days when Interscope gave Manson a huge touring budget, and was wondering if his new "low-budget" tour would top 2002's series of shows that featured a mechanical Pope outfit and shit-tons of pyrotechnics.

Manson played an intimate set that was a little less shocking than all of his past big-budget tours, but no less entertaining. There were no pyrotechnics or mechanical Pope outfits, but Manson did manage to pop a handfull of pills on stage. Also, Slayer's Kerry King joined Manson, playing guitar on "Irresponsible Hate Anthem." Manson ran through all of the classics from his back catalog plus a few new gems from "High End Of The Low" with the same passion he had a decade prior.

Manson, who's primarily a 'single's artist' (shockingly unique for a Goth Metal act), has had quite the extensive career, his music no less entertaining than his image. Lately, the press has bashed Mr. Manson mercilessly; not about him being the "Anti-Christ," but more so about him being a "has-been" (See any post on Buddyhead.com, or The Onion's "Mairlyn Manson Goes Door-To-Door To Shock People") - However, I felt that CWG should give an old friend a break! We're still fans of Marilyn Manson, and we're going to run through Manson's career to date.

Marilyn Manson is an American rock icon founded by Brian Warner and Scott Putesky in the city of Fort Lauderdale, Florida. Throughout his career, Manson has advocated nonconformism and iconoclasm, often utilizing controversial imagery and lyrical content. Besides the Goth Metal/Industrial/Shock Rock monkiers, it's difficult to pigeonhole Manson's overall sound, as each album thus far has had a distinct and individual sound. Manson creates a unique image and aesthetic for each album and tour.

Marilyn Manson started his career in 1989 as Marilyn Manson & the Spooky Kids. The band's uniquely theatrical performances gathered a local cult following that subsequently developed into a worldwide fanbase. Manson's band's lineup almost always changes between album releases, as he's famous for abusing his guitar players - (See "A Long Hard Road Out Of Hell: Autobiography of An Anti-Christ Superstar" by Neil Strauss). The current members of the band are the eponymous lead singer Marilyn Manson, bassist Twiggy Ramirez, drummer Ginger Fish and keyboardist Chris Vrenna.

The name of each band member was originally created by combining the first name of an iconic female sex symbol and the last name of an iconic mass murderer or serial killer, doing so to demonstrate the odd dichotomy of society (American society, in particular). In recent years, new members of the band have strayed away from this formula and used their own names. The members of the band dress in outlandish makeup and costumes, and have engaged in intentionally shocking behavior both onstage and off. Their lyrics often receive criticism for their anti-religious sentiment and their references to sex, violence and drugs. Marilyn Manson's music and performances have frequently been called offensive and obscene, and, more than a few times, protests and petitions have led to the group being banned from performing.

As this controversy began to wane, so did the band's mainstream popularity. Despite this, its many devoted fans have made Marilyn Manson a consistently high-profile group: three of the band's albums have been awarded platinum certification and three more have been awarded gold, and the band has seen four of its releases debut in the top ten, including two number-one albums.

The Spooky Kids and the early years (1989–1992)

In 1989, Brian Warner was a college student working toward a journalism degree, gaining experience in the field by writing music articles for South Florida lifestyle magazine, "25th Parallel." It was in this capacity that he was able to meet several of the musicians to whom his own band would later be compared, including My Life With the Thrill Kill Kult and Trent Reznor of Nine Inch Nails. He met Scott Putesky shortly afterward and, after showing him some lyrics and poems he had written, proposed that they form a band together. Warner, guitarist Putesky, and bassist Brian Tutunick recorded their first demo tape as Marilyn Manson & The Spooky Kids in 1990, taking on the stage names of Marilyn Manson, Daisy Berkowitz and Olivia Newton Bundy, respectively. They were soon joined by Stephen Bier, who called himself Madonna Wayne Gacy; Bundy was replaced by Gidget Gein, born Brad Stewart. In 1991, drummer Fred Streithorst joined the band, with the stage name Sara Lee Lucas.

The Spooky Kids' popularity in the area grew quickly, largely because of radio DJ Scott David of WYNX-FM, an early fan who eagerly played songs from the band's demo tapes on the air; and because of the band's highly visual concerts, which drew from performance art and used many shock techniques. It was not uncommon to see onstage "naked women nailed to a cross, a child in a cage, or bloody animal body parts."

Manson, Berkowitz, and Gein often performed in women's clothing or bizarre costumes and, for lack of a professional pyrotechnician, they would occasionally set their own stage props on fire. The band would dramatically contrast grotesque theatrics with elements drawn from the culture of the members' youth in the 1970s and 1980s: characters from that era's children's television made regular, often somewhat altered, appearances on Marilyn Manson flyers and newsletters, and were frequently sampled in the music. They continued to perform and release cassettes — shortening their name to Marilyn Manson in 1992 — until the summer of 1993, when the band drew the attention of Trent Reznor, who at the time had just founded his own record label, Nothing Records.

Portrait of an American Family/
Smells Like Children (1993–1995)

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Reznor offered Marilyn Manson a contract with his new label and the opportunity to support Nine Inch Nails on their upcoming headlining tour. The band accepted both offers, and recording sessions for its national debut, "Portrait of an American Family," began in July 1993. Working with producer Roli Mosimann at Criteria Studios in Miami, Florida, the band recorded a selection of new songs along with material from their Spooky Kids repertoire and, by the end of Autumn 1993, had completed the first version of their debut, titled "The Manson Family Album." It was not, however, well-received. The abrasive sonic "rawness" that Mosimann's production had brought to such groups as Swans had failed to materialize on "The Manson Family Album"

Reznor and all the band's members found it flat and lifeless, and poorly representative of Marilyn Manson's dynamic performances. At the same time, the band was having difficulties with bassist Gidget Gein, who had begun to lose control of his addiction to heroin. In October 1993, Reznor agreed to rework the production on Marilyn Manson's album, taking them and their tapes to The Record Plant in Los Angeles. Gein, who had been hospitalized after an overdose, was not invited. After seven weeks of mixing, remixing, and rerecording, the album, now titled "Portrait of an American Family," was ready to be presented to Interscope Records.

Even as the first single "Get Your Gunn" was beginning to receive radio airplay, Gein received a letter declaring his services "no longer needed" by Marilyn Manson after he overdosed on heroin for the fourth time; he was replaced by Twiggy Ramirez, then known as Jeordie White, of Miami thrash band Amboog-a-Lard. In December 1993, Ramirez first performed as the band's new bass player on a week's worth of headline dates through Florida with Jack Off Jill opening. While playing Club 5 in Jacksonville, Florida Manson was accused by the town's Christian Coalition of violating the town's adult entertainment codes. Jack Off Jill singer Jessicka was accused of solicitation and offering to engage in lewdness. Both singers were arrested and charged with misdemeanors.

On the first date of a fourteen-week national tour opening for Nine Inch Nails, Ramirez made his national touring debut. It was during this tour that Manson had occasion to meet with Church of Satan founder Dr. Anton LaVey. After a cordial meeting, LaVey honored Manson with the title of "Reverend" — meaning, in the Church of Satan, a person who is revered by the church, and not necessarily one who dedicates his life to preaching the religion to others, as with a priest or minister.

In March 1995, the band began its first national headlining tour, a two-month outing with Monster Voodoo Machine as support; this would be drummer Sara Lee Lucas's last tour with the band. Tension between Lucas and Manson had apparently grown as the tour wore on and, on the next-to-last night of the tour, Manson secretly decided to end the show with a flourish: during a performance of the then-current single, "Lunchbox", he doused Lucas's drum kit in lighter fluid and set it ablaze — with Lucas still attempting to play on behind it. (Manson apparently forgot that the band had one more date to play.) Lucas quit the band after the final gig the next night. Less than two weeks later his replacement, Ginger Fish, joined the group, Marilyn Manson was touring again, this time on a bill with Danzig and Korn.

That tour ended in summer 1995, after which the band relocated to the new home of Nothing Studios in New Orleans, Louisiana to begin work on the third single from "Portrait of an American Family," "Dope Hat." Accompanied by a music video which featured Manson in the role of Willy Wonka in a shock-horror version of "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory," the proposed single for "Dope Hat" eventually developed into the hour-long Remix album, "Smells like Children." The album's fifteen tracks of covers, remixes, and bizarre sonic experiments also included the band's version of the Eurythmics' "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)", which would prove to be Marilyn Manson's first legitimate hit: the video was placed in heavy rotation on MTV (in stark contrast with the "Dope Hat" video, which MTV had banished to late-night airplay only a few months before) and the mainstream music press was suddenly clamoring to cover the group.

A five-month headlining tour followed, from September through February, during which the band began to debut new material like "Irresponsible Hate Anthem", "Minute of Decay", and "Smells like Children". Rumors of a new album circulated widely during this time, and were confirmed when the band returned to Nothing's New Orleans studio in early 1996 to perform what Manson termed "a musical ritual designed to bring about the Apocalypse".

Antichrist Superstar (1996–1997)

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Marilyn Manson's second full-length studio album, "Antichrist Superstar," was released on October 8, 1996.

It was recorded at Nothing Studios with Trent Reznor himself acting as executive producer. The process of making the album was reportedly a long and difficult one, highlighted by experiments allegedly involving sleep deprivation and near-constant drug use in an effort to create an environment suited to the album's moody and occasionally violent content. During this time, antagonism between band members was high, which caused the departure of guitarist and founding member Daisy Berkowitz. With Berkowitz out of the band, Twiggy Ramirez performed lead guitar for much of the recording of "Antichrist Superstar," and the group placed an ad seeking a new guitarist for its upcoming tour; Timothy Linton, auditioned for and was given the position.

Breaking with the six-year tradition of icon/killer naming structures, the newest member was dubbed Zim Zum – a name derived from Kabbalah, one of the major sources of inspiration for the album. The album's first single, "The Beautiful People", made a fairly major impact on the alternative rock charts, and created enough anticipation for Antichrist Superstar that the album debuted at number three on the album charts.

The year-and-a-half long Dead to the World Tour in support of the album followed; it was the band's longest and widest yet, and included Marilyn Manson's live debut in Alaska, Hawaii, the United Kingdom, continental Europe, South America, Asia and Australia. In the United States, however, the band was receiving more attention than ever before, and not all of it was positive.

As the tour was getting underway, the band found itself the target of congressional hearings, led by Senator Joseph Lieberman, to determine the effects, if any, of violent lyrics on young listeners. Lieberman would later go on to refer to Marilyn Manson as "perhaps the sickest group ever promoted by a mainstream record company." In addition, nearly every performance on the tour was picketed by religious organizations, pleading with fans to not see the musician who once said "I think every time people listen to this new album maybe God will be destroyed in their brainwashed minds."

On November 10, 1997, the band released a remix/live EP, "Remix & Repent," featuring new versions of Antichrist Superstar's four singles, "The Beautiful People", "Tourniquet", "Antichrist Superstar", and "Man that You Fear", alongside songs recorded live on the U.S. leg of the Dead to the World Tour. Two unreleased songs from the Antichrist Superstar recording sessions were contributed to film soundtracks: "Apple of Sodom" to David Lynch's Lost Highway, and "The Suck for Your Solution" to the Howard Stern biopic "Private Parts." As the year ended, Manson made the announcement of the upcoming publication of his first book, the autobiographical "Long Hard Road out of Hell;" the book was released in February 1998, along with another live documentary of the world tour, a home video entitled "Dead to the World."

Mechanical Animals (1998–1999)

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On September 15, 1998, Marilyn Manson released "Mechanical Animals," an album strongly influenced by David Bowie. Interscope's promotion of the album was massive, including an enormous billboard of singer Manson as an androgynous extraterrestrial over Times Square, and repeated appearances on MTV and other networks to promote the album and the single "The Dope Show."

Propelled by the success of "Antichrist Superstar" and by this press push, the album debuted at number one on the Billboard 200 Albums chart. The band had recast itself in a new image for this album; setting aside the bleak darkness of the previous record for a more concealed morbidity.

Marilyn Manson was now a glam rock band, which spawed many imitations (Jet, White Stripes, The Darkness, etc.) By this time, the band had permanently relocated to Los Angeles, and Zim Zum had been replaced by glam-influenced guitarist John Lowery, who joined the band as John 5.

After a brief promotional tour, the band set out on the Rock Is Dead world tour with Hole and Monster Magnet as support. The tour, however, would be a problematic one: on March 1, 1999, the three bands played the first show in Spokane, Washington; by March 14, Hole had left the tour and Manson had broken his ankle, forcing postponements of some shows. Jack Off Jill and Nashville Pussy were asked to take select remaining opening slots on tour.

Less than three weeks after the tour resumed, two students (Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold) at Columbine High School in Littleton, Colorado killed thirteen people, and then took their own lives; early media reports declared them fans of "violent" music (a lot of attention was directed at Manson, however it was later confirmed that Harris and Klebold were not fans of the group) and video games.

On April 28, out of respect for the victims, Marilyn Manson canceled the remaining dates of the Rock Is Dead tour, and would not reappear in Denver until the 2001 Ozzfest. Manson's song "The Nobodies" was directly inspired by the shootings.

Holy Wood (In the Shadow of the Valley of Death) (2000–2001)

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The rest of 1999 and much of 2000 was a period of relative silence for Marilyn Manson. The band spent over a year quietly writing and recording in a studio in Death Valley, with only the single, "Astonishing Panorama of the Endtimes" — an outtake from "Antichrist Superstar" — appearing during that time.

On November 14, 2000, "Holy Wood (In the Shadow of the Valley of Death)" was released. Returning to the darker, more visceral sound of "Antichrist Superstar," much of the album's content was written in response to the Columbine massacre. This is Manson's best selling album by far selling over 9 million copies.

Described by the band as the third part of a trilogy begun with "Antichrist Superstar" and continued in "Mechanical Animals," its overarching theme is an exploration of the relationship between death and fame in American culture, and its lyrics and artwork contain many references to John F. Kennedy and Lee Harvey Oswald, John Lennon and Mark David Chapman, and even Abraham Lincoln and John Wilkes Booth.

The Guns, God and Government world tour expanded upon the exploration of America's fascination with violence, and with the tour's logo — a rifle and handguns arranged to resemble the Christian cross — Manson made no attempt to conceal what he saw as the source of that fascination.

On May 16, 2001, it was announced on the Marilyn Manson website that Manson planned to quote the Bible at his next concert, to "balance out" his violent lyrics, "so we can examine the virtues of wonderful Christian stories of disease, murder, adultery, suicide and child sacrifice. Now that seems like entertainment to me."

On June 21, 2001, Manson did indeed read from the Bible onstage in Denver, Colorado, presenting such passages as Leviticus 20:9 ("For every one that curseth his father or his mother shall surely be put to death") and Psalm 137:9 ("Happy shall he be, that taketh and dasheth thy little ones against the stones").

The Golden Age of Grotesque (2002–2004)

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With the "triptych" of the previous three albums now complete, Marilyn Manson was free to begin a fresh project. In 2002, Jonathan Davis of Korn invited Marilyn Manson into a studio to record vocals on a track he wrote entitled "Redeemer." The song, produced by both Jon and Richard Gibbs, was then released on the "Queen Of The Damned" soundtrack.

After finding inspiration in the decadent Swing era of the 1920s, the band recorded "The Golden Age of Grotesque" that year and the album was released on May 13, 2003.

Eschewing the lyrical depth and volume of symbolism and hidden meaning of "Holy Wood," "The Golden Age" was relatively straightforward; in an extended metaphor, Manson compares his own often-criticized music to the entartete Kunst banned by the Nazi regime.

New member Tim Skold (KMFDM), replacing Twiggy Ramirez, added a new dimension to the band's sound; he brought with him the band's use of heavy industrial beats, for better or worse. "The Golden Age of Grotesque" was frequently impugned as derivative of KMFDM and lacking the originality that Marilyn Manson had become known for.

The album still managed a number one debut on the album charts, selling over 118,000 copies in the US its first week of release.

Lest We Forget: The Best Of (2004–2005)

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"Lest We Forget: The Best Of" was released on September 28, 2004. It was referred to by the singer as his "farewell" album. It was supported by a series of "greatest hits" performances, the Against All Gods tour.

After the release of the single "Personal Jesus", the band made a number of promotional appearances. At the Comet awards show in Germany, drummer Ginger Fish fell from his drum riser, fracturing his skull and wrist. Former Nine Inch Nails drummer Chris Vrenna replaced him.

John 5 had also been replaced; Mark Chaussee of Fight took over lead guitar on the Against All Gods tour, and was subsequently replaced in the studio by Tim Skold. Though John 5 denied any hostility towards Marilyn Manson following the announcement of his departure, at the band's appearance on the Rock am Ring music festival in 2003 an incident took place between John 5 and Marilyn Manson where Manson deliberately kicked the guitarist. John 5 responded with anger, throwing off his guitar mid-song and raising his fists to Manson as if to fight with him, before resuming the song without any further incident. "Lest We Forget" was certified Gold in 2005.

It has been speculated that Manson's "farewell album" comment may be an indication that the membership of Marilyn Manson may no longer be permanent, and that the musicians who record the albums and play live may, in the future, rotate, as has been the case with Nine Inch Nails and KMFDM.

Manson's 2007 album, "Eat Me, Drink Me", was recorded by the core Manson and Skold.

Eat Me, Drink Me (2006–2007)

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Marilyn Manson's sixth studio album, "Eat Me, Drink Me," was released on June 5, 2007, debuting at number 8 in the US. Released more than four years after "The Golden Age of Grotesque," "Eat Me, Drink Me" marked another change in musical styles that the band has become famous for.

One remarkable note of the album is that it was written entirely by Manson and Skold in a rented home studio. The album is also the first major label Manson album without Madonna Wayne Gacy (Pogo) as a listed member, making lead singer Marilyn Manson the only original member since "Portrait of an American Family."

Rumors also circulated for some time that Marilyn Manson wrote the song "Mutilation is the Most Sincere Form of Flattery" as an attack on the band My Chemical Romance, for his "Eat Me, Drink Me" release (which he later denied, saying that it was aimed at people in general seeking to imitate him).

On January 9, 2008 Marilyn Manson posted a bulletin on MySpace confirming that former bassist Twiggy Ramirez was rejoining the band, and Tim Skold had parted ways with the band.

The High End of Low (2009–present)

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The seventh studio album by Marilyn Manson began recording sessions following the band's Rape of the World tour, which ended on March 2, 2008. The actual recording of the album took place at Manson's Hollywood Hills home between November 2008 and January 5 2009.

Manson said "after my greatest hits album ("Lest We Forget: The Best Of") came out, I took a long break from music because it was a period where I was not sure who I wanted to be. I left music for a while, but that's not an error I want to repeat in the future."

In a January 2008 interview, Manson said "I just feel like there is a big change happening now. It's going to be the one. 'Eat Me, Drink Me' is opening the window and this is going to be the Hurricane Katrina." Manson described the new album as, "very ruthless, very heavy, and very violent".

Band members (Current)
* Marilyn Manson – lead vocals (since 1989)
* Twiggy Ramirez – guitars, bass (1993–2002, since 2008)
* Chris Vrenna – keyboards, percussion (since 2007)
* Ginger Fish – drums, percussion, piano (since 1995)
* Andy Gerold – bass (touring since 2009)

Band Members (Former)
* Zsa Zsa Speck – keyboards (1989)
* Olivia Newton Bundy – bass (1989)
* Gidget Gein – bass (1990–1993)
* Sara Lee Lucas – drums, percussion (1990–1995)
* Daisy Berkowitz – guitars (1989–1996)
* Zim Zum – guitars (1996–1998)
* John 5 – guitars (1998–2004)
* Madonna Wayne Gacy – keyboards (1989–2007)
* Tim Skold – guitars, bass (2002–2008)

Band Members (Touring)
* Mark Chaussee – guitars (2004–2005)
* Chris Vrenna – drums, percussion (2004–2005)
* Rob Holliday – bass (2007–2008), guitars (2008)
* Wes Borland – guitars (2008–2009)

A Glimpse of Leah Orlikowski

2009-09-03T16:29:00.000-07:00

Written By: Khadeeja Coonrod

I met someone truly stunning a few months ago in Key West, Florida Her name is, Leah Orlikowski. I stumbled into an open mic night at a coffee shop called, Sippin' and kind of slunked into a chair. I watched different artists get up and do everything from sing, to perform poetry, or showcase their skills on an instrument. The vibe was very diverse and was very welcoming. The set up called for a more intimate portrayal of how open mics should be, it was like stepping into an Unplugged show, with all eyes on whoever decides to share.

When Leah's turn was up, she was sipping on a cup of coffee; she had such a classic beauty to her, very elegant and was wearing a hippie/bohemian ensemble, with a flowing skirt, a tank top and an island-style necklace. Her short curly hair was half tied up, and half falling out with loose curly pieces hanging out. She went up, grabbed a guitar, and started playing a song she wrote with a sense of passion that would've stopped anyone in the street to come take a listen; and listen they should, because to hear Leah is a gift that should be received with open ears.

Leah finished one song and suddenly someone requested for her to do "Across the Universe" by The Beatles. "Um, I think I'm gonna do a song I wrote because I never sing my own songs and I think it'd be good practice for me." Leah responded and she mentioned how she had written the song years ago, and wasn't sure if it was any good. She let loose as she belted out the words and strummed the guitar. With every power chord was her voice to match the notes and with every soft note, was an awe of silence coming from the audience. There wasn't one person in the room who wasn't taken by her talent.

I was lucky enough to meet her the next time I went to Sippin'. She was very welcoming and asked if I was an artist. I said I was a writer and she tried to persuade me into reading from a notebook I had in my hand. I declined since I was shy, and had never performed my poetry in front of an audience. She told me how she was going to be leaving Key West to go to Ohio since she had a job lined up at a bar somewhere to sing. I was impressed by this. I also found out she sang a few nights a week on Duval Street in Key West and I saw her a few times whenever I passed by on my way to work or getting off work and she'd either be singing or watching someone else performing while beaming proudly for whomever was on the microphone and dance away in her chair or on the floor in front of the stage.

At Sippin', you meet many talented artists who do music or poetry and sometimes; both. Most of them are wanderers and adventurers who always migrate somewhere else like birds do when the seasons change. I was lucky enough to have captured some wonderful moments with most of them and Leah is one of them. I found her on Facebook after searching for her and told her I wanted to write an article on her and had some questions for her. I said I would appreciate it if she could answer them to the best of her ability. This is what she sent in return:

"Wow! I feel so honored! Ok... so... I've been singing since I very young and I've always wanted to. As far as wanting to pursue it as a career, probably since I was 17; before that I sort of saw it as something people only do to become famous, very superficial and unreal to me. Then I realized that it isn't about becoming a "star," the media just makes it appear that way. It's about sharing what you are blessed with to inspire your fellow human beings. I started performing on my own at the 16th street mall in Denver, Colorado, street busking. Then I would get random shows through friends at small venues in Denver. My first steady gig was at Willy T's on Duval Street in Key West. I hope that was extensive enough."

Leah Orlikowski is an artist to look out for, wherever she may end up since she's constantly off and about in the midst of those fortunate enough to be able to be in her presence.

Check out Leah's live performance on CWG TV

Diary of a Fading Rockstar, Part IV: Jimmy Is A Punk Rocker

2009-08-26T00:56:00.000-07:00

Written By: Erik Rader

When I was a child (and already formulating my career plans as a future rockstar) I enjoyed my Sunday clothes so much I wanted to wear them all week. Regardless of the unpleasant actuality of the little old church ladies pinching my cheeks while criticizing the length of my hair, it was the source of my very earliest frisson of cool. It had already been made clear to me that rockstars dressed differently than most people - Rick Wakeman of Yes had his sparkling metallic cape; Kiss had their giant boots and Kabuki makeup; Jimi Hendrix looked like a gypsy from another planet; the Stones looked like barbarian princes come to burn the village to the ground; even the inoffensive, loved-by-parents Beatles had the hirsute earth-toned appearance of poets or highwaymen.

None of these fanciful costumes struck me as being a natural fit with my personality; I never wished I could wear my Halloween werewolf costume the rest of the year. My Sunday clothes, however, felt magical and powerful - it was like being a secret agent or spy, my second choice for a career after rockstar.

If I had shown up to school in a tie and blazer, however, I probably would have gotten my ass kicked. I came from a working class neighborhood in Southeast Portland and attended a school with a huge brick smokestack, the kind that looked like a factory; certainly this was no accident, as I suspect that this was the intended destination they were preparing us for. It was bad enough that my liberal intellectual parents allowed me to attend 3rd grade in long hair and paisley blouses, alongside the kids in their crew cuts, T-shirts and stiff Levis; I think they would have let me show up for school in my Sunday clothes and be crucified.

Fortunately for me, we moved to Berkeley just as I was entering fourth grade, and as we all know schoolchildren in Berkeley in the 70’s would have routinely been sent to the principal’s office for looking normal. Unfortunately, we also entered a state of poverty that temporarily forced me to conform to the attire of my peers - in other words, to dress like a child laboring in a Maoist reeducation camp.

In Junior High, something changed. My parents had finally managed to figure out which thrift stores in town were happening, we had all somewhat overcome the trauma of our relocation, and I was starting to formulate my own opinions about what I should wear.

One day, I decided to wear my Sunday clothes to school.

I didn’t get my ass kicked; in fact, several of the boys that used to punch me around for fun exclaimed “Hey, cool clothes, man!” But even more importantly, several of the pretty girls who had ignored me before now said “Hi.” To a thirteen-year-old, this is like your first hit of crack.

Shortly after this, there was a school assembly, at which some of my classmates performed a cover of “Godzilla” by Blue Öyster Cult. They played the opening riff over and over without a bridge, and there didn’t appear to be any vocals. At the time I was singing lead in my church choir, but I didn’t put two and two together. It didn’t occur to me to go up to the nascent musicians and say “What you guys need up there is a front man” - I was still too blown away by the fact that they had somehow got the school authorities to let them play at an assembly, and they hadn’t even learned the bridge. I didn’t know it then, but one of the guitar players would end up in my band.

What they had planted in my mind was the seed of possibility - it was possible for someone my age to get up in front of people and play loud rock music, to somehow sneak behind the Wizard of Oz’s curtain and mess with the special effects. What caused that seed to germinate, however, was punk rock. Specifically, the Ramones.

Up until that point the majority of the kids I knew had been cowed by the specter of “musicianship” - everybody was into groups like Rush or Yes that played millions and millions of notes, and had huge multimillion-dollar light shows; it seemed that being in a rock and roll band was as unattainable a fantasy as being a grownup, having your own place, driving a car, getting laid, getting a job. When my brother, his best friend and I discovered the Ramones, we were immediately overcome by the realization that not only could losers like us be in a band - losers like us could be rockstars.

Many years later I would learn that the business associates who called themselves the Ramones and their management very carefully crafted their sound and image concept, but at the time everyone was convinced that they were what they appeared to be: A bunch of hooligans who had probably stolen their instruments, could barely play them, very likely slept in the beer and weed scented garage they rehearsed in, and wrote their songs about sniffing glue and turning tricks on 53rd and 3rd from personal experience.

We’d heard about the “punk rock” that, the newspapers claimed, had been invented somewhere in England and was the purview of Satanists, neo-Nazis and child-rapists; that it consisted of screams and grunts and curses over the atonal bashing of cheap musical instruments; and that punk rockers all had purple lipstick and safety pins through their nostrils. However, the Ramones gave the lie to the squalid hysteria flooding the late 70’s newspapers and television news reports of mainstream America. We knew guys like these Ramones, who skipped class, smoked reefer and sniffed glue, wore motorcycle jackets (some even rode motorcycles), had long greasy hair, set things on fire, liked loud obnoxious music and didn’t give a fuck about anything. They weren’t anything all that exotic; they were already fixtures of our environment. The music they represented had already existed for a long time, but had been so fiercely and religiously ignored by the mainstream that most people imagined it had sprung wholly and instantaneously from Malcolm MacLaren’s forehead.

What very studiously conceived pop art constructs such as the Ramones did was to bring the punk ethos into the consciousness of people like me who would take it to the next level. Not long after the arrival of the Ramones’ first album in 1976, an explosion of bands around the world would revive and revolutionize popular music in a manner that had not happened since the Beatles captured the airwaves over a decade before, spawning ten thousand imitators and arguably recapturing the mystical and anarchic power of rock and roll that had been unleashed by Jerry Lee Lewis, Little Richard, Buddy Holly and their peers, but had been subsumed by a popular recording industry intent upon rendering rock and roll into a safe, asexual, white-skinned cash cow that wouldn’t frighten aunt Mildred or disturb the neighbors.

After the Beatles, the cycle began again, but the sine wave of revolution and co-optation became shorter and shorter. Thus, we have 4 years between The Day the Music Died (the fateful plane crash that took the lives of Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and The Big Bopper) and the Beatles’ conquest of American radio with the single “I Want To Hold Your Hand”, the first salvo of the British Invasion; a mere 3 years between Iggy meeting Bowie at Max’s Kansas City in ’71 and the Ramones’ first performance at that same venue in ’74; and between the “death of punk” at the Sex Pistols’ disastrous performance at Winterland in San Francisco in ’78 and the release of “Gangsters” by the Specials on Jerry Dammer’s 2 Tone label, just one year.

We were inspired by the Ramones, but we sure as hell didn’t want to look like them. My inspiration for how to look came instead from the album cover of “Exposure”, the enigmatic and problematic solo release of former prog-rock axeman Robert Fripp. On that cover he was photographed in a dapper, almost conservative blazer, dress shirt and tie, his hair cropped short in Roman fashion. But what really turned all of our heads around 180 degrees was the release that same year of the film “Quadrophenia”, and the appearance at Rasputin’s Records on Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley of loosely shrink-wrapped import copies of “In The City” by the Jam.

My friends and I were completely unaware that revival cults of 60’s Mod culture already existed among bored, disaffected former-punk rockers in San Francisco, San Diego, LA, New York, Boston, and several other major American cities; Berkeley had a funny way of being a cultural backwater in those days before the internet made the exchange of information functionally instantaneous. As far as we knew, we were it. In fact, finding out later on that other people were into it kind of spoiled it for us. In the heat of that moment in 1979, when we decided that we were Mods, the feeling that we had finally discovered our revolutionary stylistic niche was undeniable.

Surfing this wave of momentum, rehearsals in my parents’ garage began in earnest. Our hair was all wrong and our outfits were drastically misconceived (there were floral print Vans present, lamentably, for which certain members to this day refuse any apology; I however am fully repentant of my very brief interest in white painter’s pants). But we were playing Who and Ramones covers loud and fast, actually writing stupid three-chord songs that sounded like a cross between the two, and nothing was going to stand in the way of our inevitable world conquest. Expectations and strategies would later have to be amended in the face of brutal reality, but in that incandescent moment, we were far more sure of ourselves than we had any right to be.

This was even better than wearing one’s Sunday clothes to school; this was like making every day Sunday, without the annoying inconvenience of actually having to show up at church and have one’s cheek pinched by the old ladies.

At some point we managed to get hold of a copy of Richard Barnes’ notorious photo essay on mods (Mods!, orig. Eel Pie Publishing, 1979) and from that point onward it was an obsession. When I paid a visit to the guitar player from the band I’d seen at the school assembly back in junior high, intending to recruit him for my project, he had already acquired a dapper pinstriped mohair blazer with a “Maximum R&B” badge. He brought with him a rhythm guitar player who looked like he might have stepped off of a Yardbirds or Small Faces album cover from twenty years previous. A keyboard player I had taken many classes with in school, an unassuming yet bright fellow who had never particularly stuck out much in spite of his freakish tallness, suddenly appeared in a raw silk blazer and inch wide tie.

It seemed as if something was in the air. My horn-playing friends from church youth group, who played in the jazz bands of their respective schools, may have been skeptical about the Who, the Jam, mods, or any rock and roll influences; but they came to us enthusiastically by way of the Specials and their updated suedehead attire. While other bands at school made their statement by ripping the collars out of their T-shirts, we actually had the school GQ pimps calling us out as fellow stylists.

When kids from the suburbs started coming to our shows dressed in off-the-rack mallrat versions of our meticulously crafted looks, we became disillusioned, but then at that point the whole musical direction of the band had spun out on a thousand different tangents anyway. When what we had envisioned initially as a way to stand out from the pack became just another flavor of running with it, we more or less abandoned it. To our chagrin, however, we found ourselves continually pigeonholed, labeled, categorized, and genre-fied in the local press, who seemed hip to where we had been two or three years previously but not in the present.

One local rock journalist of considerable pedigree went so far as to send his son (actually one of our schoolmates) in his place to see us play and report back to him, effectively ghost-writing the review. In a strange sort of way our attempt at grabbing visibility for ourselves rendered us even more invisible than ever - when one becomes the subject of projection, there isn’t even an original subject to ignore any longer.

Fast forward about 20 years, across a gulf of time in which I’d attempted to start seemingly endless bands, or else audition for others; a time during which my “look” became nondescript, my songwriting even more so, and no one who had been witness to my original 15 minutes was anywhere in sight. I had done such an excellent job of erasing myself from my past life that I couldn’t cash a check to the old account - hell, I couldn’t get arrested anywhere. Not only was I light years away from the concept of wearing my Sunday clothes 7 days a week - I didn’t HAVE any Sunday clothes. I had done such a good job of caving inward upon myself that one friend remarked, “Don’t you go and start trying to live your life like a character in a Tom Waits song.” In fact, that was pretty much exactly what I was trying to do.

It simply did not look good.

Then around about 2006 the mood changed for me again. I was noticing that the old styles of music and clothing were coming back into fashion - not that I really cared, it was just sort of interesting, and jogged my memory about some things - and that it wasn’t that hard to find the kind of clothes I used to wear at my nearest local thrift shop. I got my hair cut short, started matching solid color dress shirts to narrow silk ties and four-button jackets, or knit polo shirts to vintage windbreakers. I vowed to absolutely eliminate all pleated pants and baggy jeans forever from my wardrobe, and breathed a sigh of sweet relief. I found myself recalling what I had somehow managed to forget - that dressing a certain way made me feel good, and feeling good was for me a full time job that required full time effort.

Concurrently with my return to a sense of personal dignity, my creativity exploded; I wrote and recorded more music in the space of a couple months than I had in the previous decade; and, as you can see here, the words flowed forth in a shameless cascade, where once I had hidden them under a rock.

For the most part I continue to set myself apart from the mainstream of any subculture, but I no longer shy away from the subtle “secret handshakes” as I call them, or as a fellow Stylist from back in the day refers to them, “a wink of mod”. Meanwhile the young people seem to at last be re-awakening from their long and terrible slumber in the realm of ridiculously baggy clothing - although I still see kids wearing hideous knee-length basketball shorts with sneakers resembling clown shoes. I no longer harbor any hard feelings to inhabitants of the mall culture who may borrow a grace note here or there from mine; after all, imitation is a relatively sincere form of flattery.

I frequently find myself biting my tongue, wanting to walk up to a 19 year old and say “The jacket and pants are great, but what were you thinking with those shoes?” or “Next time let me cut your hair - I could have done a better job than the overpriced idiot who did that to you.” But then I remember what I would have said at 19 if some 43 year old weirdo had come up to me talking such garbage. Instead, I keep quiet and try to teach by example. And encouragingly, dear old friends from high school who might easily be saying “Come on, grow up, you’re not a teenage rockstar any more,” are instead exclaiming “Where have you been!”

Puff Daddy: Reality TV Star Extraordinaire

2009-08-25T00:00:00.000-07:00

Written By: Jeremy Weeden

The other day I watched the first couple of minutes of Puff Daddy’s new reality show "Making His Band." For those who don't know, the show consists of Diddy trying to find a band to accompany him on tour. My first thoughts were, "Who wants to see Puff Daddy on tour?"

I mean I would have been first in line many years ago if he were accompanied by the Bad Boy roster. But now what does he do? He does not have any big hits except “Last Night” from 2006, so what is he going to perform? Then I began to think that if I had moved to America from a secluded part of the globe in 2000, I would think of Puff Daddy mainly as a reality TV star as that is what he has been for the majority of this decade. Starting in 2002 with the first "Making the Band" show, he has been on a reality TV kick. He has failed to make the significant contributions to the music industry this decade that he made in the 90s. Right now, it appears he's just getting by on being Diddy.

In the 90s, he had a hand in bringing out Jodeci, Mary J. Blige, Biggie Smalls, Mase, Total, The Lox, Carl Thomas, and Lil' Kim just to name a few. In the 00s, he has brought us the first "Making the Band" reality Show with Da Band. He has brought us two other "Making the Band" shows since then with two other groups, Danity Kane and Day 26. Now I'm not trying to take anything away from these groups but they obviously do not compare to the music Puff Daddy helped put out in the 90s.

Adding to his reality shows, he had a show where he was looking for an assistant and now this new one looking for band members. Granted this new show is at least looking for actual musicians, so that's good simply for the fact that musicianship seems to be unimportant in music nowadays, including the different seasons of his reality shows he has had 10 reality shows this decade. If you think about it, no other one person has appeared in that many reality shows. Even American Idol has only had 9 seasons, so he has more reality show appearances than Simon, Paula, and Randy. This is why I think Puffy is mainly a reality TV star now.

Bad Boy has put out a few albums this decade but nothing groundbreaking save for Carl Thomas’s debut "Emotional," which came out in 2000. This is not to say there were not some good albums released by Bad Boy, maybe you really like Yung Joc or Cassie is your thing, but for the most part, I think we can agree that the impact by Bad Boy Records this decade was nothing like it was in the 90s. I love the work Puff Daddy did in the 90s and I appreciate his impact on music overall, but he needs to get back to making good quality music and leave the reality shows alone.

Will Calhoun Breaks Down the Learning Process with Living Colour

2009-08-16T22:07:00.000-07:00

Written By: David Carr
Photo Credit: Bill Bernstein

Will Calhoun is a hard rock drummer. He is also an esteemed graduate of the Berklee School of Music. He has recorded indigenous music, Moroccan music, he leads his own jazz combo, and he is also a photographer and an accomplished songwriter. In short, Will Calhoun is not your average, ordinary heavy rock drummer, but you see in the long run this makes sense. Calhoun is the driving force behind the rock band Living Colour, and Living Colour have never been your average, ordinary heavy rock group.

Living Colour burst onto the music scene in the late 80’s with a signature hit "Cult of Personality," a unique sound (hard rock turned inside out with funk, soul, blues, punk, metal and hip-hop) and a knack for lyrics that took a hard critical look at the world around us. The band rose to success quickly only to flame out in 1995. After reuniting in 2000 and releasing a disjointed reunion disc, "Collideoscope," Living Colour is back this September with a new, more cohesive offering: "The Chair in the Doorway," and a fall US tour which will include one gig with Fishbone and another with The Roots.

When asked how he feels about Living Colour’s forthcoming release, Calhoun casually states, “Well I feel great about it. I not only like the disc, but I like the effort that was put into making the disc happen. We had a lot of assistance from some really great people… We got a lot of help on this record and the songs had total democratic input from all four of us and the people helping us.”

The band’s latest effort was recorded in Prague. When asked to comment on why the group chose to record outside of the US Calhoun explains, “We were playing a lot of gigs overseas and in Europe. Once we got some time off, we just decided that we would send the crew home and we would stay. We recorded most of the tracks at Sono Studios… The place is amazing and we really got a chance to get in touch with a very international vibe on this record. It’s easy to get caught up in being an American band and having an American sound, but we do have an international fan base, so it was good to get some more exposure to what was happening internationally with regards to the different music scenes.”

Calhoun is no stranger to international music scenes. After Living Colour’s break up Calhoun embarked on a journey that took him around the world in search of indigenous music being done in Australia, Brazil and Morocco. Although his travels began in 1995, Will is quick to point out that his interest in other cultures started very early on, before his tours with the Stones and Jane’s Addiction.

Calhoun explains, “This thing really started when I was a kid. My favorite magazine was "National Geographic!" We had things all around my house from all over the world thanks to my dad. By the time I was in Living Colour, I was planting the seeds of my travel plans when we toured overseas. I would keep in touch with the people that I met and send post cards and letters to these individuals. After the break up of the band, I figured this was my chance to travel, take pictures and learn about these different types of cultures and peoples, so I went to Africa, I went to Brazil, I went to Morocco and South America. I did a ton of recording and got incredible insights into these places.”

Calhoun’s insights have not only found their way onto his solo CD/DVD, “Native Lands,” but he will also be publishing a book of photographs from his travels around the world. He has been on many panels on university campuses, discussing his travels and studies pertaining to world music, rhythms and rhythmic patterns. Many of these rhythms have also been integrated into Living Colour’s brand of “heady” hard rock.
Calhoun is also helping to integrate the art of communication into the band’s repertoire, in an effort to ensure the miss-steps that broke the band up in ’95 are not repeated in 2009.

“Communication in the band is a thousand times better,” Calhoun states, “Thanks to age and experience we are much better at dealing with each other. Most successful bands that are able to stay together for the long haul learn how to deal with each other… We are trying to be open to each other’s musical opinions. Good bands know when its time to take a 3-4 year break, away from each other, and they know when its time to come together again to make the doughnuts!”

Doughnut making aside, one would think that this type of revelation would have shown itself in 2003 when Living Colour got back together to record and release “Collideoscope.” When asked to explain what happened during the initial reuniting of LC, Will takes a deep breathe and exclaims, “That was a really bad time period for us! It was like, everything we had was bad. We wanted to be back together again but we were not dealing with what broke us up, meanwhile things that were supposed to happen just didn’t. A lot of people who said they were going to help us, really let us down… At that time everything was bad - Bad management, bad relationship with the label, bad relations in the band, bad shows at some tour stops and then with all that going on, we tried to record 'Collideoscope.' I think we all knew that there was no way we were going to be able to record a focused record but we had to go through the process… We had to suss out all of these things in order to be this band… 'Collideoscope' became a psychological process for the band. In order to have a full cohesive album like 'Chair in the Doorway,' we had to go through the psychology of making a disc like “Collideoscope.” It wasn’t easy at all, it was a learning process for all of us. Most bands get a therapist, we recorded “Collideoscope.” That record was our therapist. We dealt with what we needed to on that record in order to record this one.”

This isn’t the first time Living Colour’s stickman has used music as therapy. Calhoun wrote the haunting ballad “Nothingness” on the band’s third studio disc “Stain.” The tune was about a relative of Calhoun’s who had slipped into heavy drug abuse. Calhoun relates that a song on their latest disc, “Not Tomorrow” also has special meaning to him and the band.

“I came up with the lyrics/lyrical idea for that song… It just came from my travels and meeting people from various cultures, countries and backgrounds and seeing how they dealt with stuff within the here and now, it’s the idea of not waiting and just getting to what you have to deal with. The song has a syncopation that is similar to Gnau music with hand claps and such. I showed the lyrics to Corey, and Vernon put some bluesy guitar on it and we decided to record it. The night we recorded that tune, Corey had finished his vocal tracks and had just found out that his mother had passed away that evening. He knew she was sick, and we knew it was coming, but still… Corey was going to re-record some parts, but we told him he could go. We said he could finish later. He was adamant about finishing the tracks that night, not tomorrow… Not tomorrow... We were up till 3 AM when we finally finished that song, and that was the last song we recorded for the disc. It was his way of dealing with the loss of his mother, he wanted to deal with his loss and finish the song, and he didn’t want to wait to do both.”

As Living Colour prepares to hit the road, Calhoun is anxious to perform some of their new material on stage. The band has always felt they could only stay together if they had something relevant to say. When asked what does “The Chair in the Doorway” have to say or mean, Mr. Calhoun explains, “The title really says it all…the concept is a visual one."

"The idea of this chair, this thing in your way. It’s a real thing and you have to do something about it. It’s a real obstacle in your way. You can’t pretend it’s not there. You have to deal with it if you want to move forward. We had to deal with it as a band if we wanted to move forward musically… You have to figure out how to deal with obstacles and not ignore them, whether it’s in politics or in your personal life. All around the world folks are dealing with these obstacles whether its racism, sexism, homophobia, terrorism. Whether you sit in the chair or move it in or outside of the room, you are gonna have to deal with it…for me that’s what this record is all about.”

As Will Calhoun gears up for the band’s fall tour, one can’t help but hear the anticipation in his voice. Calhoun says the band is ready to show what they can do not only on their own tour, but also at any and all festivals.

“We like to keep it challenging!” Calhoun claims, enthusiastically, “I'm looking forward to playing out at metal festivals, funk festivals, jazz festivals and rock festivals… We can hold are own on these bills and keep it interesting while we challenge ourselves and the audience.”

Will Calhoun and his bandmates seem poised and ready to challenge the rock world once again. Hard Rock fans should take heed, Living Colour is back and they have positioned themselves right in the middle of the rock music doorway. They will not go quietly nor will they be ignored, so you the music fan will just have to deal with them.

America's Badass

2009-08-12T12:56:00.000-07:00

Written by: Khadeeja Coonrod

"You Never Met A Motherfucker Quite Like Me!" is what I want to hear as I open a can of Badass Beer. Yes, that's right, BADASS BEER. The only flaw about what I'm saying to you is that I don't have any Badass Beer to drink but if anyone does, please let me drink with you and don't forget to salute the man behind this beer, Kid Rock. The first ones to try the drink were the ones who went to Comerica Park that took place July 17 and July 18 2009. Badass Beer beer has been described as an American style lager that has a light beer taste to it without the nasty after taste that all beers seem to come with. This signature beer should be available Labor Day.

Detroit's rock artist is working on a follow up to his 2007 album, Rock N Roll Jesus and so far has finished 12 songs. Kid Rock (real name is Robert James Ritchie) ended up cancelling a tour to continue his artistic flow in completing songs. He stayed home to get work done in the studio instead of going on tour. The album is scheduled to come out in November 2009.

1990 was the year when Grits Sandwiches for Breakfast came out and was Kid Rock's debut album, however, it wasn't praised too highly due to the content of the album which includes a song about oral sex, Yo Da Lin In Da Valley. This first album already hinted at his music picks with rock and country mixed with rap.

Devil Without A Cause was his next album to come out in 1998 and that's the spark that shot up Kid Rocks stardom. These were the days when Kid Rock had Joe C along for the ride. This was when TRL was still happening and your host was Carson Daly. Kid Rock's songs, Bawitdaba and Cowboy were instant hits with fans.

In 2002, Cocky was released but it didn't do as well as the previous album however, the song Picture which Kid Rock did as a duet with Sheryl Crow was a single that made it to gold and is counted as his most successful pop song in the states.

Rock N Roll Jesus came out in 2007 and had included the instant hit, All Summer Long; a song that took Lynard Skynyrd's Sweet Home Alabama and Warren Zevon's Werewolf in London and mixed the two into one.

On August 6, 2009 Kid Rock gave Ohio pizza delivery driver, Harry Colyer, a check for $1,500 after Harry was beaten during a robbery. Kid Rock had read about the incident (while in town for a concert during July, 2009) in the The Cincinnati Enquirer and wanted to help.

Kid Rock has been in movies which include: Joe Dirt, Biker Boyz, and Hancock. He's been nominated for five grammys. He has a band called Twisted Brown Trucker. He is known as both a rapper and a rock N' roller. He's one of a few who can incorporate country into his music and have it be a smash.

Goodies From The Rock Ridge Back Catalog

2009-08-10T16:11:00.001-07:00

Written By: Jim Markunas
(Editor-In-Chief)

One of our good friends at Rock Ridge Music sent me a bunch of cool CDs from their back catalog. So... I figured, I'd introduce some of their past releases to you, our readers.

Rock Ridge Music is an independent record label based in Newark, New Jersey. Some of the more recognized artists on the Rock Ridge roster include Reel Big Fish, Psychostick, Stroke 9, Chris Volz, The Ike Reilly Assassination, and Sister Hazel.

Buy On:

Five.Bolt.Main: Five.Bolt.Main came together after Flaw was dropped from Universal Records in 2004. Chris Volz met with Ivan Arnold and Ben Patrick – whom both were part of Flaw prior to their breakthrough album Through the Eyes in 2001.

At the time, both Ivan and Ben were in a project called Silent Q, which by the time Flaw disbanded, had enough material written to put an album together.

Silent Q included guitarists Aaron Welenken and Jason Chandler. At this point Volz joined the band, which was tentatively titled Vent, but was later changed to Five.Bolt.Main due to legal reasons. Within 7 months the band had scored themselves a record deal with independent label Rock Ridge Music.

Buy On:

Chris Volz: Chris Volz is an American alternative metal/hard rock singer. He is the lead vocalist of Flaw and played for the now defunct Five Bolt Main. In 2006, Chris Volz announced plans for a solo project. He has recently revealed that his debut solo album will be released through the independent record label Rock Ridge Music, and it will be titled Redemption.

The solo album was released on September 11, 2007. A clip of the title track off the album has been posted on his official music myspace. Volz is out of rehab now and was working on a new album with Flaw, but was kicked out of the band in April 2009 due to his continuing substance abuse problems and allegations that he abused his girlfriend.

Buy On:

Cinder: Cinder is an alternative rock band, formed in 1999 when singer Roger Young and lead guitarist Kenny Craig began playing bars and clubs around the Southern Florida coastline and writing songs for album Soapy Tuna. It was at this time they picked up bassist Pat McGuire and drummer Brian Colbert and changed their name to Jesus Gun. In this form they recorded another album, which was available only at shows. In 2001 they signed a record deal with Geffen Records and the album Break Your Silence was recorded, with Scott Weiland (of Stone Temple Pilots and Velvet Revolver) producing nine of the album’s eleven tracks.

In addition, Jay Baumgartner (Papa Roach, Alien Ant Farm, and Drowning Pool) and John Kurzweg (Creed, Puddle of Mudd) lent a hand in the production process as well. After the album was finished, the band name was changed again, this time to Cinder, under pressure from the record company, for legal reasons. Cinder began touring with such heavyweights as Creed and Sevendust, gaining a loyal following across America. Unfortunately, before the release date Geffen Records was bought out and unsigned bands including Cinder were released, and the album never was released. The single from that album Soul Creation was released and received much airtime on both the radio and on MTV, essentially promoting an album that was doomed to never exist (though a promo copy of the album did indeed leak onto the internet in 2002).

"Soul Creation" managed to get onto the Mainstream Rock charts. Soul Creation was also featured in PS2 videogames MX Unleashed and NHL 2004. This single helped keep the band's dreams alive as they struggled with their record company's contract. It took two more years for Cinder to be released from their contract with Geffen Records expired, and two more years after that before they were picked up by Rock Ridge Records.

Buy On:

boyhitscar: The band was formed in 1993. After releasing their first album, My Animal, independently in 1998, they went on the Sno-Core Tour and recorded their next album, Boy Hits Car, on Wind-up Records. A third album was self released in 2005 called The Passage.

In 2006 the band re-released the album in July after signing with Rock Ridge Music as their distributor. It was announced on their myspace that they are currently working on a new album which will be released sometime in 2009.

Buy On:

Edgewater: In June 2005, Edgewater parted ways with Wind-up records and began working on an independent release. The album was named We're Not Robots.... It was released in August 2006 through Forevergreen records and distributed by Rockridge music. The band remained inactive for the last part of 2007 and through mid 2008, until an announcement on their myspace revealed that they were working on new material for a 2009 album release.

On July 2nd however, the band posted a message entitled "Goodbye and Farewell", stating they were trying to get together and play some live shows, but it turned out impossible to get on the same schedule.

The band is now split into various new groups. They are The Singularity Project, Boynamedcircus, and June Halo - among others.

Have I sold you? If so, or if not, check out Rock Ridge Music's internet radio station, Rock Ridge Radio here.

Sharon Jones And The Dap Kings

2009-08-07T00:29:00.000-07:00

Written By: Josh Wright

Good God. That woman can bring it. I find myself saying something along these lines every time I listen to Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings. The band has been through a set of transformations and personnel changes since their initial forming in 1996. Enthusiasts have been conscious of their music, but until their 2006 release "100 Days, 100 Nights," they have not been widely known. Their current notoriety can be calculated on two fronts: the first being the Dap Kings being the backing band for Amy Winehouse’s Grammy winning album and the second being their inclusion on the Dark Was the Night compilation which boasted indie rock hard hitters such as Justin Vernon (the man behind Bon Iver), The Dessner brothers (The National) and My Morning Jacket, only to name a few. If what a person can believe what he reads on the internet, their performance for the compilation at Radio City Music Hall was epic, if one were to hang a word on it.

Their inclusion might stick out like a sore thumb to some, or even many. The Dap Kings record entirely on an analogue system, their sound is the only proof needed. Their instruments are also only current to the mid-seventies. For any admirers of the infectious thump and groove of soul and funk music of the mid- sixties to the mid- seventies you will be right at home. Numerous people, whom I have played Sharon Jones and her boys for, have been quite surprised to find out they are currently making music. I can say in certainty when I stumbled upon them, I couldn’t quite believe it myself. To see Sharon Jones and the Dap King’s brand of neo-funk sandwiched between the Arcade Fire and Beirut on an album was strange.

Sharon Jones, the talisman of the group, is a fantastic story all herself. Born in Georgia in 1956, she grew up like many did in that day learning the ropes by singing in church. She attempted to break through the music she now sings when it was in its heyday. As she has attested in interviews, record executives told her she was, “too short, too black and too fat,” which completely overlooked her voice that will come through your speaker, look you right in the eye and break it down to you whether you like it or not. She could never breakthrough and settled for session singing and touring minimally as a backup singer. After she deemed the dream dead, she began working as a correctional officer on Rikers Island, a New York state penitentiary. Fans of Law and Order should be familiar. She had to wait until 1996, when she recorded backup vocals for funk legend Lee Fields. The gentlemen producing orchestrated her finding the Dap Kings. One of the men, Gabriel Roth started Daptone records of which the Dap Kings are the house band and which they are signed to. As it sits, Sharon is living her dream; traveling around the world thrilling live audiences with her mercurial live performance. She is the perfect front woman: a bright, deep soul voice accompanied by more energy than most are accustomed to. She will dance all up and down the stage, then do it again just because she can.

I’ll be the first to tell anybody how much I feel for soul and funk music. Otis Redding flat out taught me how to be a man, and my greatest dream is to play bass for Parliament in the late seventies. The following regards more so soul than funk, but the subject matter dealt with is striking. Soul singers sing about such pure, such noble ideas. They love the one their with, they tell it like it is, they don’t take no mess from anybody. They are who they are, because they are. Sharon Jones displays these ideas as any soul singer should, placed directly on her sleeve. But when the beauty really strikes is the humility amongst their set ways and sure talk. On previously mentioned "100 Days, 100 Nights" they have recorded what is, in my humble opinion, the gem of their catalogue. The song is called “Humble Me” and that pun in the appositive above was most definitely intended. A steady, hi-hat heavy drum beat brings in a jangly guitar riff, and before you are ready you are hit in the chest by a woman that was born to sing. She sings, “let me be grateful/ for all that I see and all that I have/ and everyone I meet/ make me grateful for my voice that I might lift you up/ and grateful for these old legs that I might jump and hum and shot oh yeah/ grateful for the music that puts my soul on high/ grateful for the people that come out to hear me every night/ oh please humble me/ don’t let me forget who I am.” Damn. Those are words that don’t need my, or anyone else’s, analyses because she just dropped some knowledge.

I’ve hurled enough superlatives towards one subject for one day. Please reader, seek her out and find out what she’s saying. I’d say this world needs some honesty and humility and I’ll tell you right now: this band will improve your world, if you let ‘em.

DIARY OF A FADING ROCKSTAR Episode III: The Pros and Cons of Time Travel

2009-08-04T16:29:00.000-07:00

Written By: Erik Rader

This is probably going to turn out to be an embarrassing admission, but here goes nothing: About two years ago I started dressing like I did in high school. Last year I did some digital remixes of songs I wrote back then on my Macbook, some of which I uploaded to MySpace. And this year, I’ve downloaded a lot of the music I used to listen to back then, my own personal soundtrack I used to listen to on my Sony Cassette Walkman, now in a tenuous sort of existence as 1’s and 0’s. It seems more than coincidental that I’ve also recently begun to reconnect with old friends from that time in my life, either digitally, in person, or both. This is a common theme for people about my age, albeit amplified by our new total-access culture; what hasn’t changed is that not only do most of us find it embarrassing, pathetic, or both - it’s also usually a big mistake.

William Faulkner is purported to have said, “The past isn’t dead - it isn’t even the past.” Faulkner’s own mortality aside, this becomes even more true when information about the past is so much more easily resurrected than before. I’m sure we’ll eventually be able to reconstruct Faulkner from his existing DNA and reboot all of his memories, something for which I doubt he’ll thank us.

It used to be that to do this you had to crawl up into a filthy attic, avoiding whatever sort of verminous species had taken up residence there, and dig out vinyl records, cassettes, photographs, letters, yearbooks, and old clothes from boxes. One had to sort through a physicality that both transported one to the realm of memory and yet left that memory safely dead. However, the way things are now, you have old flames from age 16 reconnecting via Facebook and ruining their current decades-old marriages; you have the school bully who used to terrorize you now asking you to “friend” him so you can buy insurance or buy into his new religion.

You might think, and I’m not sure I can convince you otherwise, that I’m acting like a certain type of middle-aged person you can run across pretty much anywhere - the guys no longer within a loud shout of their twenties, who spend way too much money on sunglasses and designer sneakers, who shave their heads at the first sign of male pattern baldness, who get super-badass tattoos on their forearms; the women who seem to think they can dress like a sixteen year old going to the mall and yet still retain their dignity. But how this turns out for you really depends on how you looked in high school in the first place. If you were never that kind of person, it’s kind of a little bit late to be starting now.

I acknowledge that I am rowing on troubled waters here, but I may be a special case. In high school, I was the lead singer in a band that went from local popularity to opening for major acts in stadiums, recording a record, and even appearing in Rolling Stone magazine, all in five short years. (This was before I quit for various reasons I won’t go into here, and spent the next 20 years trying to start band no. 2.)

Over the ensuing years I ran from that past as if my ass was on fire. I still liked the same music, I just didn’t play it any more, and wouldn’t for any amount of money; and as for looking the part, I made every effort to look like someone who wasn’t trying to look like anything. Unsurprisingly, I failed in this effort, merely succeeding in looking very uncomfortable most of the time. When I think about the clothes I wore all through my 30’s, I find myself wishing I could forget. It’s time for me to admit that most of the music I wrote during that time was an equally bad fit. I certainly didn’t succeed in getting very many other people interested in it - hell, maybe I wasn’t even that interested in it.

My daughter was born about two weeks after my 40th birthday, and her arrival snapped me out of a depression as wide and deep as the decades I had spent trying to redefine myself. Seeing the world through her eyes helped me to see something I’d been suspecting for a long time - that my 15 year old self knew a few things that 40 year old me had managed to forget. One of those things was that 15 year old me wasn’t afraid of being seen. The circumstances of life eventually beat that cocksureness out of me, but at the time I reveled in the fact that people could recognize me for my swagger from city blocks away. I remember one friend cryptically informing me, “I saw you the other day, walking down the street, all like a rockstar an’ shit.” I pestered that friend for an explanation, but didn’t get one. I think I can see now what that friend saw, looking back. I’m certain that it wasn’t arrogance, although people who didn’t know me would sometimes tell me that’s what they thought it was (people who did know me knew that I had pretty much the opposite problem). It was, I believe, a simple knowledge of self. I didn’t have to “find myself” (and I wasted a great deal of time on that particular search, entirely due to forgetting this fact) because I already knew who and what I wanted to be.

Unless I’m deceiving myself, this recent climbing back into my old skin has been a low-cost and relatively inoffensive way of clearing away a quarter-century fog, a kind of coming to my senses, a dragging myself back from the brink. If I am to credit positive external feedback, there must be some benefit in my decision to forego appearing as if I had slept under a bridge. For the time since I first left my home town - which, I reckon with a wince, is more than half my life ago - that was my fashion statement: “Will work for food.” I recall meeting with an agency recruiter who sighed deeply before gesturing at my clothes (which I had thought were pretty tight) and saying “So, Erik - what do you want to be when you grow up?” I guess I had lost my swagger.

By contrast, almost every job interview I’ve gone to in the past two years has started out with the contact person reassuring me “We’re really pretty casual around here.” At my current place of employment a customer recently asked me “So, do they make you dress this nice for work or.....?” I’m not sure what the “or” option is. I found that it took too long to explain, and so instead I came up with the stock answer: “It’s just my thing.”

We tend to reject the concept of “cool” as insincere, shallow, somehow morally beneath us - we who are, to be sure, such highly substantial and spiritually developed beings. I guess I have a different definition of cool than other people. To me, it was always directly traceable to the people who created the term - urban musicians, poets and artists of the African Diaspora - and their search for dignity in the face of adversity, of self-determination in the face of cultural genocide. It’s been watered down a lot since then, and I for one certainly cannot say that I have ever been the victim of cultural genocide, unless we all have been. But I can relate to the search for dignity in the face of adversity - or as one overly-quoted wag has said, “Clean living under difficult circumstances”.

And that is what I want to recapture: Not my youth, which is as gone as gone can be, but the attitude that one’s destiny is within one’s grasp, and that dignity cannot be found in conformity, but only in an outward thrust against it. I don’t think it’s wrong to want that swagger back, that cocksureness, the intention to go against the grain whenever possible. People get old when they allow the weight of the world to put a curvature in their spine; people stay young when they use that weight as a resistance machine. If you’re looking in the mirror when you get up in the morning and noticing that curvature, maybe it’s time for a little time travel.

Check Out The Other Articles In This Series:
Episode I
Episode II

The Hype of Black Sabbath

2009-08-03T15:17:00.000-07:00

Written By: Khadeeja Coonrod

"Turn off that Devil music!" That had to be one of the most often used sentences among households whenever junior or princess listened to... BLACK SABBATH. They were the ones who set the tone for many bands to follow in their footsteps of being a metal band. Judas Priest would stick out because, like Black Sabbath, they were also an English metal band. They were from Birmingham where Black Sabbath was formed in 1968, a year before Judas Priest came out.

Black Sabbath was one of the first heavy metal bands. They incorporated blues and rock into their music and twisted it until it became this dark force that reminded many of the midevil times when cetain notes were thought to summon Satan. So, while mom and dad were screaming for the volume to be turned down, the Devil was probably somewhere smiling.

The orginal members are: Ozzy Osbourne- lead vocals, Tony Iommi- guitars, Geezer Butler- bass, and Bill Ward- drums and percussion.

For those who don't know, Tony Iommi was the one band member who remained in Black Sabbath over the bands many changing times and Black Sabbath had twenty-two formal members. He wrote most of the music while Ozzy wrote some melodies and Butler wrote some of the lyrics. Tony is a master when it comes to writing and playing riffs. Ozzy has been the unforgetable frontman for Black Sabbath with his crazy on and off-stage antics. We all know about him biting off the head of the bat and most have seen at least one episode of the infamous show, The Osbournes.

Black Sabbath has released: 18 studio albums, 5 live albums, 6 compilation albums, 44 singles, and 10 video albums. The original members came together in 1997 to tour the world together once again. They were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2006.

On May 29, 2009 Ozzy Osbourne sued Tony Iommi over the Black Sabbath trademark. Tony sued Live Nation for selling Black Sabbath merchandise just months prior so it could be Ozzy's backlash. Tony made sure to keep the Black Sabbath brand going and was the force behind most of the band's credibility if you ask me.

Black Sabbath remains legendary in the music world, mostly in rock and metal. Their sound has inspired many bands including: Pantera, Metallica, Slipknot, and Godsmack. Black Sabbath is a leader in metal history.

Sleepy Eyes of Death

2009-08-03T10:57:00.000-07:00

Written By: Chuck Dula

It's November 2, 2006. I am anxiously awaiting a free show featuring the Icelandic quartet, Amiina. As I pacify time and space through the consumption of numerous alcoholic elixirs, I smell the faint stench of a fog machine. Knowing that this could only mean that a great performance is about to ensue, I turn around on my rickety stool to see the four members of Sleepy Eyes of Death setting up an unfathomable amount of keyboards which, I imagine, would be the penultimate wet dream of any musically inclined Octopus. For about 40 minutes SEOD attempt to break sonic barriers, cloaked in a blanket of smoke and succinctly timed lights. My drink remains untouched as I become transfixed by what is occurring on the small stage in front of me. When the final snare drum is struck, I know that I have just witnessed my new favorite Seattle band and I will be spending countless hours telling anyone who will listen about this new sound.

Sleepy Eyes of Death is the brainchild of Andrew and Joel who started the project in 2004 with two keyboards, a guitar, and a drum machine. Keith and Cassidy would join a year later and SEOD would begin focusing on more layers, synths, and live drums. Brandon also gets credited as a band member for doing all of the fog, visuals, and lighting for the live shows. This credit is due because SEODísl live shows are unmatched in Seattle. SEOD is currently unsigned and has been releasing albums under the ëSleep Capsuleí title with the exception of the Dark Signals Remixed digital release which was distributed by Mass Mvmnt.

SEOD's first album, "Street Lights for a Ribcage," is a great introduction to the bands sound and has one of the most powerful electronic songs ever made on it, "Tired Channels." This song uses a combination of ultra-saturated keyboards and a screaming guitar to create an overwhelming wall of sound reminiscent of Mogwai or M83. It gives you the sense of falling through lightning infused clouds in the night at terminal velocity. There are a couple of ambient tracks on this album to satiate your hunger for minimalism.

SEOD's latest album, Dark Signals, is a masterpiece from front to back and was produced by Matt Bayles (founder of Minus the Bear who also produced albums for Isis an Mastadon). For this album, Matt Bayles was able to extract an amazing amount of emotion out of the arpegiated keys and mix them evenly with the live drums and soaring guitars. The album comes to a conclusion with an amazing song titled "Crushed by Stars." Slow, heavy, heart-pounding, triumphant. This song would later be covered by the Seattle 8-bit outfit, Truckasaurus, on Dark Signals Remixed, which is a compilation of different artists doing covers of songs from the Dark Signals album.

Make no mistake, SEOD is coming. Their induction into URB magazineís 100 Bands to watch in 2009 is a testament to their relentless drive to become a staple amongst the electronic shoe gaze community. If you havenít heard them yet check them out. They are not to be missed.