death may be your santa claus

No Sun in the Shadow of the Wizard

2010-05-16T19:14:00.008-04:00

Ronnie James Dio has died.

I was a total metalhead as a kid, and although my tastes have expanded and matured quite a bit since fifth grade, I never really stopped liking it. And Dio was an amazing singer; a tiny little man with a gigantic, operatic voice.

I first became aware of RJD during his first stint in Black Sabbath. Heaven and Hell is a fucking awesome album, and I really dig Mob Rules. Oddly enough, I never cared for his eponymous band, although I did like the Holy Diver record.

Dio got back together with the Mob Rules-era Sabbath lineup as "Heaven and Hell," since they couldn't call themselves "Black Sabbath." The put out a live DVD, which is awesome, and a CD of new material, which is OK (read my mixed review here).

But if you really want to hear him belt his ass off (and hey, who doesn't?) check out Rainbow's "Stargazer." This cut is Eurometal at its finest. The late great Cozy Powell beats the shit out of his drums, Ritchie Blackmore contributes a typically over-the-top guitar solo, and, but of course, backing from the Munich Philharmonic Orchestra. Of course, what gives the track that extra little push over the cliff is Dio's powerful singing, especially in the fade-out. EPIC.

So when the news broke that Dio had passed away today, I went straight for "Stargazer." And when it gets near the end, and Dio is singing about "going home" and "take me back, take me back" (and of course, "My eyes are bleeding"), I got goosebumps.

Farewell, RJD. You were a total badass.

O My Soul

2010-03-17T23:25:00.003-04:00

Alex Chilton died.

My first job was at a Hardee's. I was 17. I was listening to Husker Du and the Replacements and R.E.M. One of the managers had similar tastes in music and we traded tapes. I asked him if he had any Big Star, because their name kept popping up in all the books and magazines I was reading at the time, but I could never find any of their records (turns out I wasn't looking hard enough, but that's a different story).

(Big Star's other singer/guitarist, Chris Bell, was just as talented as Alex. Bell is also dead, but that's another story.)

Anyway, Hardee's Manager loaned me a cassette with #1 Record on one side and Radio City on the other. And they lived up to their reputation. Exceeded it, even.

You can get both those albums on one CD. Worth every penny.

Pilgrims v. Indians

2009-11-29T12:38:00.002-05:00

Holiday. Food. Travel. Family. Friends. Babies. Bourbon. Manger's.

Patton Oswalt on iTunes.

Girlfriend in the bathtub.

Fun? Fun.

One down, three to go.

Department of Corrections

2009-11-04T00:33:00.001-05:00

Actually, mein papa died before I ever started this thing. Just felt the need to clear that up.

Time Marches On

2009-10-29T21:07:00.002-04:00

A lot can happen in a year. Think about what can happen in TWO.

Life can be craptacular, but it's the only thing worth living.

I've been through a lot of changes. Biggest one was a divorce. After that, moving into a new place. Third biggest was probably the new job. After that, I'll say the crash that totaled my faithful Altima, which deserved a much more dignified end.

My dad died, too. Can't remember if I blogged about that. He deserved a much more dignified end, too. But his death was much easier to manage because I had several years and a few close calls to prepare for it.

Delightful

2009-10-15T15:55:00.000-04:00

Hello. Is there anybody in there?

The Ice Storm

2009-01-27T15:17:00.003-05:00

The forecasters predicted a Class-A Winter Killstorm and it seems to have been accurate. Fortunately for me, I work in an industry that doesn't shut down or cancel work in these circumstances. In fact, I usually have to work harder than normal. Such is life.

So this morning as I left for work at 3:30 a.m., I found myself wondering about many, many life decisions and how I ended up in this predicament. I remembered that my neighbor Joe, the same one who left a polite note on my car (addressed to "Jeff") complaining about the noise from a mini-rave that got out of hand a few weeks ago, had asked me if I would help him shovel the driveway. "Sure," I told him, not out of any sense neighborly duty but more to get him off my back. That was before I knew I'd be going in to work during the wee small hours. So I left a note on HIS car this morning, explaining my situation. I hope he understands but I don't really care if he doesn't.

Back to me: Life is full of peaks and valleys. A few recent peaks have turned into valleys. I'm handling them much better than I would have thought I could. Yay me. But I'm still indescribably bummed. Such is life. The shitty weather plays a role, but I can't blame it all on Old Man Winter.

I left work mid-afternoon. I needed to go home and pick up some clothes because I'm staying in a hotel on the company's dime and I have to be at work at 4 a.m. tomorrow. No point in risking life and limb for a job that I like but don't love.

I wonder about all the missed connections, what might have been, what ought to have been, what should have been. I wonder how I ended up like this.

I did the dishes, in the sink. I have a dishwasher but it's wasteful to run it unless it's full. I admire all the plates and cutlery and cookware I didn't used to have. Then I remember why I didn't have them. Somebody called it laziness but it was always convenience. And now I'm inconvenienced.

What to pack? Who cares? It's going to be a boring night, but I know I will be unable to sleep. And then I will be exhausted at work. Also, they're saying the ice could snap power lines, which means I could be without electricity. The hits keep coming.

I need to make something happen.

Happy New Year.

Dearth of Posts

2008-12-22T23:37:00.002-05:00

Yeah, I've been lighting this thing up in 2008, huh? I apologize. Real life fucked Vitamin J right up the old poop chute for much of this year. Things did turn around for me sometime around Labor Day and they got even better a few weeks after that.

I hate to be all vague and whatnot, but some heavy shit is going down and Death May Be Your Santa Claus just isn't the proper venue.

Happy holidays.

Brought to You by the Letter "B"

2008-12-22T23:26:00.006-05:00

Local H, the greatest fucking live band in the world and don't you ever goddam forget it, played in Covington, Ky. on Nov. 28. As they are the greatest fucking live band in the world, they rocked. Oh, how they rocked.

What makes this an even more special event was the fact that they were OPENING for another band (Electric Six, whom I kind of like, but still).

Therefore, Local H only played for about 45 minutes, give or take. Seeing as how this is the only time I saw them in 2008, I'll take what I can get.

Setlist:

Jesus Christ, Did You See the SIZE of That Sperm Whale?

Bag of Hammers

Blur

BMW Man

White Belt Boys

Hands on the Bible

Buffalo Trace

Toxic

Bound for the Floor

Back in the Day

About two songs in, Scott Lucas announced, "This show is brought to you by the letter 'B.'" I was like, "Whatever, dude." But then, as I was dutifully jotting down the setlist, I noticed that, save for the first tune, each song did in fact feature the letter "B" in its title. Hunh. Even "Toxic," which is a cover of a Britney Spears song. Oh, how clever! Why, the drummer's name is Brian St. Clair and Lucas was even sporting a Beatles t-shirt.

Except where did set-opener "...Sperm Whale" fit in the mix?

When I Am King You Will Be First Against the Wall

2008-08-05T22:21:00.005-04:00

Saw Radiohead in Indianapolis Sunday night. They were pretty goddammed fantastic. Although the show was at Deer Cree.. oops, I mean, Verizon Wireless Music Center, which is your standard American outdoor concert venue, which means you have to get there six hours before showtime and stake your turf (either that, or pay the extra $25 for actual seats). Being adults, we got there about an hour before opening act Grizzly Bear took the stage (they're good, but nobody came to see them) and we were about as far back as you could get, but the sound was awesome and Radiohead's light show provided plenty of visual interest.

Amusingly enough, the last time I saw Radiohead was at Deer Creek when they opened for R.E.M. on their Monster tour. That was in September of 1995. Time flies.

I was going to call this post "Packt Like Sardines in a Crushd Tin Box," but there was enough elbow room, all things considerd [sic].

Highlights: "Everything In Its Right Place," "Pyramid Song," "Bangers and Mash," "Karma Police" and "Street Spirit." Also, they played every song from In Rainbows, their latest album, which I think is pretty cool. There are many bands who play two or three token tracks from their latest effort and then play what amounts to the same set they always play.

Setlist:
15 Step
Bodysnatchers
There There
All I Need
Pyramid Song
Nude
Weird Fishes/Arpeggi
The Gloaming
Climbing Up the Walls
Faust Arp
Videotape
Morning Bell
Idioteque
Reckoner
Everything In Its Right Place
Just
How to Disappear Completely
- - - - -
You and Whose Army?
Bangers and Mash
Exit Music (For a Film)
Jigsaw Falling Into Place
Karma Police
- - - - -
House of Cards
National Anthem
Street Spirit (Fade Out)

I Can Easily Pass for 37

2008-07-30T22:20:00.001-04:00

The big four oh. Forty years old. Hello, middle age.

Sigh.

Captain Bligh

2008-06-25T13:40:00.004-04:00

Saw Filter last night. A surprising number of my friends think Filter sucks, lumping them in with other also-rans from the '90s altrock boom (e.g., Lit, Seven Mary Three, Better Than Ezra), but for whatever reason, I love the band. Check out their second album, Title of Record.

And they were pretty good, but like it or not, Filter's commercial heyday is long gone, and playing in a two-thirds empty Coyote's was undoubtedly a humbling experience for Filter frontman Richard Patrick. The fact that the crowd was pretty lame didn't help. You could see the energy level onstage decrease with each passing tune. In fact, after playing "Hey Man, Nice Shot," Patrick blithely told us, "We usually walk offstage and let you guys clap for a few minutes, but we won't fuck around with that tonight (paraphrased)." In other words, "Let's get this over with as quickly as possible."

Set list:

Welcome to the Fold

American Cliche

Soldiers of Misfortune

Dose

The Take

Where Do We Go from Here?

(Can't You) Trip Like I Do

It's Gonna Kill Me

Jurassitol

Hey Man, Nice Shot

Take a Picture

Skinny

Blog? What blog?

2008-06-16T10:36:00.002-04:00

Updates have been nonexistant, I know. Time constraints and personal issues. I plan on describing some things, like getting hit by a car while riding my bike, my Altima getting totalled last October, my new job, my stupid band, the lawsuit I nearly got involved with at my old job, stuff about Groop Dogdrill... Lots of potential topics. Please feel free to make suggestions, what the hell. I do this for myself, but mostly for the practice and to vent.

Talking animals = GOLD

2007-12-20T23:37:00.000-05:00

Like most red-blooded Americans, I hate TV commercials. But thanks to Consumerist, I saw some that made me laugh. For real! You will, too -- if you don't, you don't have a soul.

I like this'n too.

Ming blue?

El Conquistador

2007-11-29T11:38:00.000-05:00

Hello. It's been a while. I have started numerous posts but I never seem to have enough time to make them DMBYSC-worthy. Anyway, I know it's bad blogger form to blog about how you've been ignoring your blog, so here's a baby ocelot from the Louisville Zoo:

Best part? They named him "El Conquistador."

A Special Night for Everyone

2007-09-29T14:20:00.000-04:00

I went to Nashville last Friday and caught Local H live. I have waxed rhapsodic about the magnificence of seeing Local H perform live, so I'll spare you the purple prose, but as always, the band delivered and I was glad I went.

Highlights:
1) No equipment malfunctions, thus no Scott Lucas hissy fits\
2) Three new songs were played; all three are really fucking good (I've heard two of them on the band's MySpace page) and I can't wait until they put out a new album
3) "Buffalo Trace" was played
4) Lucas called out some drunken asshole who passed out on the stage:

Set list:
Them's Fighting Words
Bound for the Floor
Fine and Good
BMW Man
Eddie Vedder
California Songs
Michelle
Hands on the Bible
Buffalo Trace
User
Hey, Rita
All Right (Oh Yeah)
Fritz's Corner
High-Fiving MF
- - - - -
I Like Little Boys
Wolf Like Me (TV on the Radio)
Toxic (Britney Spears)
That's What They All Say/Star-Spangled Banner/Good Night (Cheap Trick)

Ouch

2007-09-19T13:11:00.001-04:00

OMG, The Secret Invasion has begun

2007-09-19T13:01:00.000-04:00

Big Rock Weekend

2007-08-06T23:50:00.000-04:00

Friday, August 3: Road trip to Covington for a show by Interpol. Even though I think their new album has a few dead dead spots, I thought it was a fine show in an interesting venue. And it has to be said: A pleasantly high number of hot hipster chicks were in attendance. It it also has to be said: Carlos D's new frontier dandy look is not half as striking as his Hitler Youth look, mainly because that little douchebag Brandon Flowers beat him to it.

The venue, the Madison Theater, was pretty cool. It was sort of like Louisville's Palace without seats. My pal Shay and I were parked near the sound board. Some guy standing behind me saw me writing down the song titles as best I could and about seven or eight songs into the show asked me if any selections from Interpol's first album had been played. I replied, "Not yet." To which some oaf in a Killers t-shirt (hmmm) turned around and said, "You don't have to stand here if you don't want." Which made absolutely no sense to me or the guy who asked me the question, so we just gave Mr. Killers a who-asked-you-asshole look and he turned around.

But wait, it gets better. The sound techs had several small fans aimed in their direction. Mr. Killers couldn't help touching them and changing them, and he got thrown out, which was, all things considered, pretty fucking hilarious. But at least he didn't have to hear anything from the first Interpol album.

Set list:
Pioneer to the Falls
C'mere
Narc
Slow Hands
Rest My Chemistry
Mammoth
Public Pervert
Pace is the Trick
The Heinrich Maneuver
Evil
Not Even Jail
PDA
- - - - -
NYC
Obstacle 1
Stella Was a Diver
(thanks to Shay for filling in the gaps)

Sunday, August 5: Road trip to downtown Louisville for Queens of the Stone Age at Coyote's, which I had always asumed was a cowboy/biker bar. And it is, but they've been booking rock shows of late (Modest Mouse are scheduled later this month). I was supposed to interview one of the Queens for an article in LEO, but I couldn't make things line up with my schedule (I work a day job), so in the interest of not blowing a deadline, I backed out of the assignment. Which kind of sucked because it meant that comp tickets were not coming anymore, and the admission was $25, which seems a little steep for QOTSA, but whatever -- we got in to Interpol free, so I guess it all evens out. Once agin, Shay was along for the ride, as was our pal Chris. We met at Chris's house in beautiful Jeffersonville, Indiana and had a few adult beverages before we crossed the river for a night of heavy rock.

Now, I dig QOTSA, but I must admit that two of their last three albums have kind of left me underwhelmed. I was especially disappointed by their somewhat patchy third album, Songs for the Deaf, because it came after their start-to-finish brilliant second effort, Rated R. Happily, their newest effort, Era Vulgaris, grew on me after repeated listens, particluarly "I'm Designer," "Make It Wit Chu," "Turnin' on the Screw" and "3's & 7's."

So anyway, I was pretty psyched to see them play live -- especially material from Rated R. I figured "Feel Good Hit of the Summer" and "Lost Art of Keeping a Secret" were both guaranteed, but I was hoping maybe they'd throw in "Auto Pilot" or "Monsters in the Parasol" as well.

The joke was on me: QOTSA completely ignored Rated R. Assholes. It's like Josh Homme read my mind and said, "Let's fuck with this jackass and skip Rated R tonight, boys."

Whatever. It was still a decent show -- they played a lot of stuff from the new disc -- but still a letdown.

This never wopuld have happened if Nick Oliveri was still in the band.

Set list:
Regular John
Do It Again
First It Giveth
Tangled Up in Plaid
3's & 7's
Avon
Into the Hollow
Misfit Love
Suture Up Your Future
Burn the Witch
Turnin' on the Screw
The Fun Machine Took a Shit and Died
Little Sister
Sick, Sick, Sick
Go with the Flow
- - - - -
No One Knows
Song for the Dead

Don't Stand So Close to Me, Or: Packed Like Lemmings into Churchill Downs

2007-07-15T18:16:00.000-04:00

The Police performed in Louisville last night. I went. Fantastic weather, fantastic venue (Churchill Downs), fantastic sound, fantastic show.

Set list:
Message in a Bottle
Synchronicity II
Walking on the Moon
Voices Inside My Head/When the World Is Running Down
Don't Stand So Close to Me
Driven to Tears
Truth Hits Everybody
The Bed's Too Big Without You
Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic
Wrapped Around Your Finger
De Do Do Do De Da Da Da
Invisible Sun
Walking in Your Foootsteps
Can't Stand Losing You/Regatta de Blanc/Can't Stand Losing You
Roxanne
- - - - -
King of Pain
So Lonely
- - - - -
Every Breath You Take
- - - - -
Next to You

Tool Time

2007-06-18T15:09:00.000-04:00

Saw Tool in Evansville last night. A damn fine show.

Set list:
Jambi
Stinkfist
46 & 2
Schism
Lost Keys (Blame Hofmann)
Rosetta Stoned
Flood
Wings for Marie Part 1
10,000 Days (Wings for Marie Part2)
Lateralus
Vicarious

Lots of extended material. During "Lateralus," members of opening act Melt Banana joined Tool for an instrumental freakout.

Slight problems: Maynard James Keenan's vocals were low in the mix, but for all I know, that may have been intentional -- he's not your standard metal band frontman. Also, this being Evansville, there were plenty of rednecks, hillbillies and other assorted white trash in the audience. My favorite was the one who started moshing during the slow, understated part of "Wings for Marie," which is a song about the death of Keenan's mother.

The Only Thing I'm Neutral On

2007-06-14T00:55:00.000-04:00

What American accent do you have? (Best version so far)

Midland

("Midland" is not necessarily the same thing as "Midwest") The default, lowest-common-denominator American accent that newscasters try to imitate. Since it's a neutral accent, just because you have a Midland accent doesn't mean you're from the Midland.

Click Here to Take This Quiz
Brought to you by YouThink.com quizzes and personality tests.

Don't Stop Believin'

2007-06-11T21:50:00.000-04:00

I was wrong about The Sopranos.

...or WAS I?

The show ended on a typically open-ended, ambiguous note, par for the course, as anyone who watches the show should know. Of course the interwebs were ablaze with numerous postings, articles and suchlike. Many of these armchair producers were whining and crying that they didn't get a "real ending," that it "denied them closure." Fuck them. If they want neat, pat endings, they should stick with Entourage. Real life doesn't end in a nice, neat bundle. Threads dangle, sometimes forever. I realize we watch fiction precisely because it's the rare place where everything can come to a ciomplete ending, but I think these folks would have been even more disappointed if David Chase had brought every single plot element back in for a contrived ending.

I was just happy that Phil Leotardo got shot, and then had his head run over by an SUV. That was all the closure I needed.

You Don't Need a Gynecologist to Know Which Way the Wind Blows

2007-06-09T12:36:00.000-04:00

The Sopranos ends tomorrow night.

I don't know if The Sopranos is the best TV show ever, but it is certainly ONE of the best shows ever. When the show debuted way back when, it was accompanied by a wave of hype which, frankly, turned me off, and coupled with the fact that at the time we didn't have HBO, I didn't watch the first season as it aired. But HBO reran the series and my curiosity got the best of me so I had a friend with digital cable tape the first season for me (thanks again, Jimmie!) and I was hooked. I'm not made of stone, people.

In fact, Vitamin Jen and I liked it so much, we upgraded to digital cable just so we could watch The Sopranos as each episode aired. And despite the fact that the show's creators got a little arrogant, taking upwards of 18 months off between seasons, I am and always will be a fan of the show.

Meaning that when he final episode airs tomorrow at 9 p.m., well, since I'lll probably be slugging down some bourbon, or at least a Woodpecker, all through the broadcast, there may be tears when those final credits roll.

Here's my speculation as to what's gonna go down:

Due to the show's overall tone and based on previous story arcs, I am among those who thinks that Tony Soprano will be killed in the final episode. My theory is that Paulie Walnuts has been working with Phil Leotardo on the sly and that he will be the one who plugs Big T. Remember that Paulie was kissing up to Johnny Sack several seasons ago, so we know that he has considered jumping ship before, and in last week's episode, Sil and Bobby told Paulie they were gonna whack Phil at Phil's goomar's house, and then Phil magically never shows up and the goomar's father got whacked instead. Phil's absence was explained as Phil having left town immediately after ordering the hits on Tony, Sil and Bobby, but this was just speculation on Tony and Sil's part. And in that vein, when we saw Phil's lieutenant Butchie discussing the three killings (Tony, Sil and Bobby), one of the crew asked if they were gonna whack Paulie. Butchie said no -- protecting their inside man? One final tidbit: It has been widely reported, since the series began, that Tony Sirico, the actor who plays Paulie Walnuts, agreed to take the role on the condition that his character never "turn rat," and I've seen these anecdoyes circualting again in press accounts of the show's finale. I think that's a big ol' red herrring. I think when he said "turn rat," Sirico just meant that his character would never go to the Feds -- I think it's entirely reasonable that Paulie would join a new crew if he thought it was in his best interests.

Based on all of the above, that's what I think is going to go down. But then, predicting what's going to happen on The Sopranos is not an easy thing to do, which is one of the reasons why the show is so beloved by its fans. And why it will be missed.

Shut Your Cakehole, Caruso

2007-05-31T16:04:00.000-04:00

Somewhere, there’s a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow missing a very solemn, very fugly leprechaun dressed in black.

If there is a more ludicrous television characterization than that of Lieutenant Horatio Caine as played by David Caruso on CSI: Miami, I haven’t seen it. For those of you who don’t watch the show, Caruso stars as the ringleader of a squad of crime scene investigators who work in and around Miami. Aside from the obvious gaffes – like, which hack writer thought the name “Horatio” would inspire anything besides eye-rolling and/or snickers? -- CSI: Miami deserves special praise for using so many formulaic ticks and gestures to flesh out Caine’s persona in lieu of any actual character development.

Caruso’s Caine is such a smug, obnoxious prick that I can’t help but wonder if Caruso is portraying him that way deliberately. He’s certainly nailed down a few gestures and mannerisms that just annoy the living shit out of me – so much so that I get a masochistic thrill out of watching the show just so I can see how many times in any given episode that, for example, Caruso puts his hands on his hips, turns his head so he’s not directly looking at any other actor and then delivers his portentous pronouncements as if he’s some brilliant, infallible, inscrutable cross between Sherlock Holmes, Mr. Spock and Socrates. If you’ve ever seen one of these instances of TV magic and not felt an immediate urge to bludgeon Caruso with a heavy object, than you must be a robot or something.

And as CSI: Miami prepares to launch yet another season next fall, there are literally hundreds of scenes of Caine putting on those fucking sunglasses while delivering a supposedly witty bon mot with the same exact vocal inflections. I’ve seen more varied and nuanced performances in old Clutch Cargo cartoons. Why, somebody should make a clip that strings a bunch of ‘em together, so you can see what I’m talking about.

Oh wait, somebody did:

I like the way the person who edited this video left in Roger Daltrey’s scream from “Won’t Get Fooled Again,” CSI: Miami’s theme song – it helps underscore Lt. Caine’s sheer ridiculousness.

And as for those show-opening witticisms, I liked them a hell of a lot better when Jerry Orbach as Detective Lenny Briscoe on Law & Order did it – he came off as a regular guy with a realistically cynical perspective on his job, not a sanctimonious douchebag. Caruso should check Orbach’s performances out on one of the innumerable L&O marathons running on TNT or USA – he might learn how to change up his line delivery.

Parents: Watch Your Fucking Children

2007-05-17T00:14:00.000-04:00

She got served. Serves her ass right.

Next time, bitch better BRING IT.

Those Who Sneer Will Fade and Die

2007-04-26T17:33:00.000-04:00

One summer day 20+ odd years ago, I bought Ultravox’s 1981 LP Rage in Eden at the Book Broker for $2. I was just barely cognizant of Ultravox because I had seen portions of their “Vienna” video on USA’s Night Flight, and the reason I remembered them at all was more because I thought their name was cool rather than “Vienna” making much of an impact on me. But when I glimpsed Rage in Eden’s elegant Peter Saville-designed sleeve* and I put it together that this was indeed that Ultravox, I knew I had to purchase it. So I did.

And best of all, I wasn’t disappointed after I pedaled home, fired up the stereo and put on the headphones. Rage in Eden showed that synthesizer-driven new wave music needn’t necessarily be synonymous with shitty bands and singing haircuts (e.g., A Flock of Seagulls, the Human League, Modern English). And even though I can understand why some people might find Midge Ure’s vocal stylings a tad bombastic and overblown, I really like the way he sings on this album. He belts it out like nobody’s business (“We Stand Alone,” “The Thin Wall”), but he can also dial it down a notch for more subtle shadings (e.g., “Your Name (Has Slipped My Mind Again),” the title tune). My favorite cut from Rage in Eden is easily “The Thin Wall,” a bouncy little number with vaguely sardonic lyrics (“They shuffle with a bovine grace and glide in syncopation”) and mountains of symphonic synthesizers.

So from that day on, I was heavily into Ultravox. About a year later, I got my first job (at Hardee’s (shut up)) and with my very first paycheck, I purchased brand-new copies of Vienna and Lament at the Disc Jockey in Eastland Mall. Vienna came out before Rage in Eden and was Ure’s first with the band, while 1984’s Lament would prove to be the “classic” line-ups final release, as drummer Warren Cann split after its release (the remaining three members – Ure, Chris Cross and Billy Currie – released an album called U-Vox in 1986 but I have never heard it).

Both Vienna and Lament are great records. The former features the epic “Vienna,” of course, as well as more straightforward, rocking numbers like “Passing Strangers” and “New Europeans,” plus stylistic holdovers from their previous incarnation as a more glam/Krautrock outfit with the spoken-word character study “Mr. X” and the sweeping, soaring, cinematic instrumental “Astradyne.”

Lament is a slightly different kettle of fish. The best songs are all frontloaded on Side 1, making Side 2 seem a little underserved, so I took the liberty of rearranging the album’s running order and dubbing a cassette version for myself. Purists will be aghast that I tampered with an artist’s original vision, but I really think my version flows better than the official sequence.

Original:
Side 1
"White China"
"One Small Day"
"Dancing with Tears in My Eyes"
"Lament"
Side 2
"Man of Two Worlds"
"Heart of the Country"
"When the Time Comes"
"A Friend I Call Desire"

DMBYSC Special Mix:
Side 1
"White China"
"Man of Two Worlds"
"Dancing with Tears in My Eyes"
"When the Time Comes"
Side 2
"One Small Day"
"Heart of the Country"
"A Friend I Call Desire"
"Lament"

Of course, the CD version of Lament features numerous extended remixes, two b-sides and two instrumental versions, but I didn't have those on vinyl. Feel free to dig out your own copies of Lament and listen to both running orders and let me know what you think.

*In a recent Q/Mojo special edition, Peter Saville rather unprofessionally mentioned that the work he did for Ultravox (and there was quite a bit of it) was phoned in, but I’ll be damned if they’re still not cool-looking album sleeves.

Hail Hydra, Immortal Hydra

2007-04-13T17:30:00.000-04:00

Way back in 1979-80 – can’t remember the exact year -- my dad had a WGBF bumper sticker on his car. He was driving home from work one night when the “WGBF Prize Fan” spotted the sticker pulled him over.

(How a radio station vehicle effects such a traffic stop is unknown to me, but that’s irrelevant to this anecdote.)

The prize van’s pilot dumped a few t-shirts, a Frisbee and a few more bumper stickers on Vitamin J Sr., but best of all, they gave him a “six-pack” of vinyl LPs. So dad came home that night with an armload of promo stuff. I was already heavily into the music by that point, so I was most intrigued to see what records the old man had scored.

Half of them were so memorable that I cannot for the life of me recall what they were, although I do remember that I was dismayed that they all had little notches and holes punched in the sleeves – as I would later discover, this is the mark of the promotional release.

The three that I do remember included some band called Oak, Permanent Waves by Rush and Hydra by Toto. It wasn’t until much later in my life that I realized that all of the records were by artists that weren’t exactly in heavy rotation on WGBF’s airwaves, and that the station’s largesse wasn’t motivated so much by spreading the wealth as it was getting rid of records they weren’t going to play and were therefore just cluttering up the offices.

Regardless of motives, I was pretty impressed by the fact that a little bumper sticker had enabled someone to score six albums at one pop. I was a little less impressed when dad announced that he already knew a few people at work who would give him a few bucks for the records, as I kind of had assumed he’d let me keep them all. Worst of all, Permanent Waves went out the door the next day, so I eventually had to buy my own copy after I got heavily into Rush in the eighth grade.

But there apparently weren’t any Toto fans where my dad worked, and I was able to hang on to Hydra. The album was the follow-up to their epononymous debut record, which contained the hit “Hold the Line,” so I knew who Toto were, vaguely, and better still, Hydra’s first single, “99,” was in the Top 40, so I had heard it a few times. “99” is a slow, introspective ballad with lots of keyboards. I used to think that it was semi-orchestrated as well, but what I originally thought was a horn section turned out to be synthesizers meant to sound like horns.

Anyhow, “99” excepted, I didn’t know what to expect when I first listened to Hydra, but I dropped the needle and let the magic unfold.

I almost always read the liner notes before I listen to any album, and although the lyrics were included in Hydra’s packaging, mysteriously, only the opening phrase from each of “Hydra’s” verses are presented in brackets for some reason, i.e., [[There was a man]]; [There was a lady]]; [[There was a dragon lord]]. I’ve always wondered why the full lyrics weren’t incorporated, but it made the song seem more enigmatic than its companions.

The song fades in on an ominous orghan chord and then just as quickly fades out on a heavy sound that always reminded me of some big sea creature plopping down out in the depths of the ocean – Davy Jones’s locker made audible. There’s some barely audible humming and other assorted studio tomfoolery before the song properly gets underway...

“Hydra” the song tells a story that any middle school-aged geek would find tantalizing, something about the abovementioned dragon lord, throats getting cut, freedom versus love, all the important stuff. Better yet, its music kicks ass. Although the tune is credited as a group compositin, it’s quite obviously maing songwriter David Paich’s baby. Paich plays keyboards, so the song has tons of ‘em – organ, piano, synthesizers – and they’re all used to great effect.

Next track is “St. George and the Dragon,” and at this point, it seems as if Toto has some kind of mythological creature-themed concept album going here. “St. George” is definitely a companion pice to “Hydra,” although it’s much more upbeat.

Next is “99,” which is a good piece of solid adult contemporary pop craftsmanship with faux-jazz flourishes during its extended outro. The wisdom of addressing a lover as “99” gioves the song a vaguely SF aura, and it turns out Paich was inspired by the movie THX-119. It would have been cooler if he had written it in tribute to Agent 99 from Get Smart. Barbara Feldon was pretty cute back in the day.

Back to Hydra. Side 1 concludes with “Lorraine,” which uses the soft verse, loud chorus dynamic that would be later used to great effect by such acts as Husker Du, the Pixies and Nirvana, none of whom would be caught dead listening to a Toto record. This is not to say that “Lorraine” sounds like Nirvana – far from it. They just share a basic structural similarity, especially if Nirvana had used lots of piano and synthesizers and fretless bass.

Side 2 is the less accessible half of Hydra but it’s still pretty enjoyable. “All Us Boys” is yet another entry in that canon of songs about male bonding, and as a seventh grader, I assumed that as soon as I got my driver’s license, I too would find a posse of rowdy hooligans with which to drink, smoke and carouse. The song is not quite as balls-out as it perhaps it should be, given the subject matter, but as with all the tracks on the album, it is impeccably crafted.

Now, impeccable craftsmanship goes against everything that rock ‘n’ roll is supposed to stand for, but this is Toto, which, it should be noted, was comprised of six seasoned veterans of the Los Angeles studio musician circuit. For example, most of the band played on Boz Scaggs’s big hit records from the ‘70s, and nothing defines MOR slick lite rock like Boz Scaggs. Hell, Paich co wrote “Lowdown” and “Lido Shuffle,” two tracks for which I have more of these warm fuzzy childhood memories. Regardless, the band’s pedigree amply illustrates the fact that they could play the living shit out of their instruments, particularly Lukather and bassist David Hungate.

So anyway, after “All Us Boys” comes “Mama,” which serves as a showcase for singer Bobby Kimball’s vocal chops. Although Kimball was ostensibly Toto’s lead vocalist, three other band members take turns at the microphone: Guitarist Steve Lukather sings “99,” keyboardist Steve Porcaro sings “A Secret Love,” and Paich sings “Hydra,” “Lorraine” and “All Us Boys.” Regrettably, it kind of proves Toto’s critics right by saying that I assumed all of the above-listed tunes were sung by Paich because the three Toto guys who aren’t Kimball all have similar phrasing and vocal tones, i.e., they sound alike, which is probably why Toto was always denigrated as being bland and nondescript.

Next is “White Sister,” which is sort of a companion piece to “Mama” – more woman-done-me wrong brought to life by Kimball’s over-the-top wailing (“over-the-top” is not used pejoratively here). The album wraps up with “A Secret Love,” which serves almost as an aural after-dinner mint or something; it’s slight and airy, but deliberately so.

For somebody who has railed against the evils of Chuck Klosterman and the pointless self-referential anecdote, I realize that this entry could have been a whole lot more succinct had I eliminated the whole prize van build-up and written a straight album review, but I felt the need to couch my appreciation for this slice of classic rock heaven with a qualifying preface, i.e., “I was in grade school so I didn’t know that Toto were terminally uncool.” And even though I like to think that I never apologize or make excuses for my tastes, I couldn’t help myself for some reason. Because, well, it’s Toto.

But still. There’s something beautiful and magical about that time in your life before your critical facilities are fully formed, before your adult sensibilities are in place, when your tastes are at their purest, most unfiltered and you’re not too cool to like something.

I’ve written before about my teen years and how I rejected most of the music I liked pre-high school because I thought I was above the pleasures of classic rock and heavy metal, in some sort of adolescent attempt to “put away childish things.” This was before I realized that replacing Cheap Trick and KISS with the Buzzcocks and Husker Du only makes you look cooler to your fellow rock snobs (which is not to say that I never really liked the Buzzcocks or Husker Du -- I'm just using them as examples). In the real world, almost nobody cares what kind of music you listen to. And besides, just as one can appreciate and enjoy both White Castle and filet mignon, so too can one enjoy both the Cars and Van der Graaf Generator.

If you like it, it’s good. That’s really all that matters. And by that definition, Hydra is a great record.

Um, yeah, sorry that wasn’t exactly earth-shattering in its profundity…

Moment of Silence (Wide Open Beavers Edition)

2007-04-12T00:33:00.000-04:00

Kurt Vonnegut dies at 84.

I read Cat's Cradle when I was 14. I stayed home sick from school one day when I was a sophomore and read Mother Night all the way through. Saw him dedicate a library at University of Evansville in 1987 (or was it 1986?). Heck, on this here very blog I list Breakfast of Champions in my "Favorite Books" section. In other words, Vonnegut's books made a big impact on me (and about 12 million other people).

Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.

So it goes.

House of Grind

2007-04-10T16:53:00.000-04:00

Saw Grindhouse this weekend. I’ve seen more movies in a movie theater in the past six months than I did in the past three years. Earplugs help tremendously – since most movies are shown with the sound pretty loud, you can hear all the dialogue and ‘splosions yet all the inbreds chatting with their companions and eating popcorn with their mouths wide open seem to vanish. I’m kicking myself that I didn’t think of using them sooner.

Well, anyway, I saw Grindhouse Saturday night and I’ve been processing it ever since. No, it’s not a deep movie by any stretch of the imagination. The only thing deep about it is the dent your ass will leave in your seat thanks to the flick’s 191-minute running time. But the most fascinating thing I found about the whole experience was that I really enjoyed one segment, hated the second, but I can’t stop sulking about the one that sucked.

But actually, the best parts of the whole shebang were the much-ballyhooed trailers inserted before the main features. The trailers worked so well because they all played into the grindhouse aesthetic without having to, you know, construct actual movies around their concepts. My guess is that were, say, Rob Zombie to actually film Werewolf Women of the SS, complete with Nicolas Cage as Fu Manchu, it would be a piece of shit. (Speaking of Rob Zombie: If he ever divorces Sherry Moon Zombie, she’ll never work in movies again – she was in the Werewolf Women trailer for about 17 seconds and she was still outperformed by the props, the costumes and the titles.)

As for the main events…

Planet Terror: A success. The story: Chemical weapons are unleashed on a town in Texas. Most people become mutant zombies; those who are immune band together to battle for humanity’s salvation, or something like that. Lots of shit blows up, and Rose McGowan gets a prosthetic leg.

Robert Rodriguez’s liabilities as a filmmaker became assets in this case. The disjointed narrative was still coherent enough, the violence was suitably over-the-top, the dialogue was the perfect blend of knowing satire and pure Velveeta, the casting was damn near flawless, and of course, the whole machine gun leg thing was pretty cool. The sight of badass El Wray (Freddy Rodriguez) leading the survivors of a mutant attack down the road while riding a child’s toy motorbike was memorable, to say the least, as was Quentin Tarantino’s melting penis. And Fergie gets killed!

Is it stupid? Deliberately so, but it’s fun, too. Every movie can’t be Children of Men, you know.

Rodriguez also made Machete, a fake trailer starring Danny Trejo as a Mexican hired for an assassination who is double-crossed by his employers. Tagline: “They fucked with the wrong Mexican!” Machete was shown at the top of Grindhouse and serves as the perfect introduction. Sadly, Rodriguez doesn’t quite get the joke – apparently he’s making Machete as a straight-to-DVD feature. Why can’t people leave well enough alone?

Which leads us to Planet Tarantino, a.k.a. Death Proof. Quentin Tarantino’s shotgun wedding of road movies and slasher films comes off as My Dinner with Andre clumsily interspersed with bits and pieces of Death Race 2000. If you haven’t already guessed, this is the one that sucked.

Here’s the nutshell narrative: A trio of sexy, sassy women drive to a bar to celebrate a birthday or something, they encounter a mysterious fellow named Stuntman Mike, who ends up driving his death-proof car into theirs, killing them. Then a second gang of sexy, sassy women drive around talking before Stuntman Mike rears his ugly head, ramming their car before the women turn the tables on Mike, eventually tracking him down, running him off the road and beating him up. The End. Oh yeah, spoiler alert!

Seemingly unaware that movies are a visual medium, the mighty QT fills Death Proof with multiple interminable scenes of various hot chicks talking: driving and talking, standing around and talking, sitting around and talking. What are they talking about? Nothing much at all, of course – viewers are supposed to be so dazzled by Tarantino’s flair for scripting naturalistic dialogue and witty banter that the actual content is irrelevant. Tarantino writes dialog like a jazz cat lays down a heavy groove, motherfucker, and if you can’t hang with QT’s scene, then just shut your motherfucking pie hole and go watch The Queen or else I’ll break my motherfucking foot off in your vajay-jay, bitch.

Or so he thinks. The repartee is actually so clunky and artificial that descriptors like “ham-fisted” and “leaden” don’t even begin to scratch the surface. And there is SO FUCKING MUCH of it. These broads never shut up. Again, it’s a movie: show, don’t tell. Everything else is padding, plain and simple.

Furthermore, numerous plot threads are introduced, built up with extensive dialogue, and then dropped, e.g., Jungle Julia text messaging the dude, the two fratboys trying to get the girls drunk enough to date rape, etc. That's just sloppy writing.

What’s worse is the casting. Sydney Poitier’s Jungle Julia is an unlikable bitch. Jordan Ladd plays… some blonde chick wearing a Tura Satana t-shirt that was put there simply to impress the movie geeks (yeah, I caught it, but I’m omnipotent like that). Stuntwoman Zoë Bell plays… stuntwoman Zoë Bell, and let’s just say that as an actress, she’s a fine stuntwoman.

Worst of all, Tracey Thom as Kim gives a performance that would make Wanda Sykes blush, as it’s full of all the worst stereotypical “sassy black chick” mannerisms and inflections you can think of. It’s like Thom thought she was in an episode of The Parkers, not a Hollywood film, and in fact, it’s actually offensive; it’s such a broad, cartoonish characterization that Tarantino might as well have cast a white woman and put her in blackface.

(Speaking of crap acting, Tarantino himself couldn’t act wet if he fell out of a boat, but naturally, he has “cameos” in both Death Proof and Planet Terror, just like he does in every other damn movie he’s ever made -- remember the meme that was running around that went “He’s an actor, but he really wants to direct?” Tarnatino’s a director, but he really wants to act.)

Elsewhere, Mary Elizabeth Winstead plays Lee, a vapid actress who is too girly to keep up with the main trio of cool chicks, who drop references to old movies and muscle cars and the difference between Aussies and Kiwis while Lee talks about an ex-boyfriend who liked to watch her urinate (that’s Tarantino being edgy). Lee was obviously written as comic relief, as someone for the audience to zero in on and scorn: “What a stupid bitch! She’s never seen Vanishing Point!” (All the little Tarantino acolytes in the audience have most likely never seen Vanishing Point either, but they wouldn’t dare admit that QT dropped a reference that they weren’t intimately familiar with.) But Lee comes off as perhaps the most sympathetic and certainly the most realistic character in the whole segemnt. Go figure.

Meanwhile, of course, this flick is allegedly about crazy Stuntman Mike and his ultra mega badass death proof car (it’s called Death Proof, after all), so you would think there might be lots of footage of the car speeding down wide open highways, peeling tires and the titular vehicle demonstrating is very death-proofness, but apparently Tarantino thought the gals yammering away about their boyfriends and, of course, Vanishing Point, was way more interesting.

The ultimate punchline is that Grindhouse debuted at a modest #4, well below the expected box office totals it was assumed it would garner. Hopefully this will inspire studios to reign in Tarantino's worst tendencies, which are on ample display in Death Proof.

Set Fire to the Arcade Fire

2007-03-20T14:27:00.000-04:00

Don’t get me wrong; I like the Arcade Fire just fine. It’s just that in the media blitz that accompanied the release of their latest album, I’ve been seeing a lot of publicity stills of the band in the newspapers, magazines and online publications of which I am so fond. And, in addition to the Arcade Fire’s dress code, which can be best described as “Mennonite pallbearer,” I’ve noticed something.

Look at the red-headed guy. The one with the slack jaw. The one who always has to be doing something slightly and ever so self-consciously different from his more somber bandmates. His name is Richard Reed Parry (Three names! How very bookish and intellectual!). Li’l Ricky seems to think he looks adorable and quirky when he poses this way, but he just looks like an inbred geek. Sure, he’s in the Arcade Fire, but that makes it even more annoying, if that’s possible.

Like in the picture above. It’s as if the photographer said, “OK, everybody look at the camera – except you, Howdy Doody. I want you to stare distractedly into the middle distance so that everybody who sees this photo will know what a special little snowflake you are.”

Every time I see one of these images, I want to beat this fucktard with a crowbar until blood is coming out of his ears – and even then, I bet he’d still have that doofus expression on his face.

Of course, if Ricky really is retarded or something, I’ll feel bad.

Great News

2007-03-13T15:29:00.000-04:00

An Apple store is coming to Louisville, maybe perhaps possibly.

I hate to sound like one of those Apple snobs -- you know, 'cause I'm so punk rock, etc. -- but I love my Mac mini and everything associated with it. I've had it for a year and it hasn't given me any problems. Plus, it makes putting music on my iPod quite painless.

'90s Revival Starts Here

2007-02-22T16:37:00.000-05:00

If it isn’t already underway, that is.

I was listening to Nine Inch Nails’s Broken EP today in my car. Before that, Dirt by Alice in Chains. Before that, Suede’s first album. Before that, Loveless by My Bloody Valentine. I did this totally by accident, but then I realized that all these albums came out around the same time (1991-1993). Interesting.

So I started thinking about what music came out way back then. Lots of good shit, actually.

Such as:

Nirvana Nevermind and In Utero
Matthew Sweet Girlfriend
Soundgarden Badmotorfinger
XTC Nonsuch
Sugar Copper Blue
k.d. lang Ingénue
Ride Going Blank Again
Ministry Psalm 69
The Church Priest=Aura
Lush Spooky
Blur Leisure
St. Etienne Foxbase Alpha
Julian Cope Peggy Suicide
Massive Attack Blue Lines
Fugazi Steady Diet of Nothing
P.J. Harvey Dry and Rid of Me
Dr. Dre The Chronic
Tool Opiate
Morrissey Your Arsenal
Type O Negative Bloody Kisses
Smashing Pumpkins Siamese Dream
Teenage Fanclub Bandwagonesque
Urge Overkill Saturation

Of course, I imagine I could pick any random year and find 10-20 CDs that were pretty cool, but still.

And this is not to say that 1992 was a musical paradise: that was also the year that Eric Clapton put out that utterly maudlin piece of shit “Tears in Heaven” from his stripped-down Unplugged album (if, by “stripped-down” you mean three guitars, a keyboard player, a bassist, a drummer AND a percussionist plus a trio of backing vocalists – mighty gutsy of you there, Slowhand).

Where was I?

What’s funnier is that from what I recall, I was always unhappy and/or pissed off back then, and yet I’m loving this little musical trip down memory lane.

Stuff Maxim in the Blender

2007-02-15T12:46:00.000-05:00

Dennis Publishing may be putting its American titles up for sale.

I gotta give it up for Felix Dennis: He managed to build a successful magazine that catered to a demographic not known for being the most voracious of readers (of course, all the softcore porn didn’t hurt). Still, Maxim is enjoyable, mindless disposable fluff – something to read on airplanes or at the gym. Or at least it was: I haven’t read it since my “research” subscription expired six years ago (thanks, Bashar).

Maxim’s retarded little brother Stuff, on the other hand, is for guys who find the parent periodical too intellectually challenging, while Blender was originally meant to be an American version of the British music magazines I love so much (Q, Uncut) but fell short of the mark, IMHO.

If I had a few million dollars lying around, I might buy Blender. Any investors who want to bankroll my pipe dreams, contact me via this blog.

Reign in Blood

2007-02-03T17:17:00.000-05:00

You are The Devil

Materiality. Material Force. Material temptation; sometimes obsession

The Devil is often a great card for business success; hard work and ambition.

Perhaps the most misunderstood of all the major arcana, the Devil is not really "Satan" at all, but Pan the half-goat nature god and/or Dionysius. These are gods of pleasure and abandon, of wild behavior and unbridled desires. This is a card about ambitions; it is also synonymous with temptation and addiction. On the flip side, however, the card can be a warning to someone who is too restrained, someone who never allows themselves to get passionate or messy or wild - or ambitious. This, too, is a form of enslavement. As a person, the Devil can stand for a man of money or erotic power, aggressive, controlling, or just persuasive. This is not to say a bad man, but certainly a powerful man who is hard to resist. The important thing is to remember that any chain is freely worn. In most cases, you are enslaved only because you allow it.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Now You Have a Reason to Call Me "Dick"

2007-01-29T14:31:00.000-05:00

I am:

Philip K. Dick

The brilliant yet trashy master of the reality warp always left you unsure of what was real, but never forgot compassion.

Which science fiction writer are you?

Put On Your "Fugee" Face

2007-01-26T16:26:00.000-05:00

Saw Children of Men the other day (in a theater!). I liked it.

It’s set in the nearish future. For unknown reasons, there have been no births in 18 years and the human race appears to be headed into extinction. Furthermore, wars and terrorist attacks have ravaged much of the planet, and England has become a police state where immigrants (called "fugees," just like Lauren Hill's old group) are rounded up and put into camps for deportation, or made to live in ghettos. A former radical named Theo (Clive Owen) is drawn into a shady revolutionary organization that may have the key to humanity’s future.

Again, I really enjoyed the movie, especially the soundtrack and for the kittens (aww), but I’m also always appreciative of movies that are willingly downbeat – it’s a nice respite from the standard cookie-cutter Hollywood flicks with their grafted-on happy endings.

But since I am not a person who likes children all that much – I pretty much hate them, actually – I didn’t find the movie’s bleak, oppressive milieu nearly as bleak and oppressive as I was supposed to.

Blasts from the Past

2007-01-23T00:20:00.000-05:00

Why are the negative reviews always the ones that turn out the best?

STAIND
The Singles: 1996-2006
(Flip/Atlantic)

There’s a thin line between moody introspection and narcissistic self-pity, and for such a burly, scary-looking guy, Staind’s frontman Aaron Lewis is quite a whiny douchebag. From a lyrical perspective, he makes Morrissey look like David Lee Roth. But I guess if I owed my career to Fred Durst, I’d be depressed, too.

It’s not that Staind are the worst band ever; when they rock out, they’re a passable metal act. But the group’s turgid, monochromatic balladry – that is, the bulk of this compilation -- is music for bedwetters.

Closing the disc with covers of tunes by three vastly superior bands (Pink Floyd, Alice in Chains, Tool) was a huge mistake on two levels. First, it spotlights how much of Staind’s sound was swiped from Tool and Alice in Chains. Second, it underscores the mediocrity of Staind’s own material.
- - - - -
SHERYL CROW
The Very Best of Sheryl Crow
(A&M)

For a former Wacko Jacko backing vocalist, Sheryl Crow has done pretty well for herself. Her signature blend of roots rock, folk, pop and country made her a star and allowed her to rack up hit after MOR hit in a decade-long career, plus she’s kept various former members of cult acts like David + David and Wire Train rolling in fat royalty checks and otherwise gainfully employed. Musically, Crow’s material has enough grit to allow soccer moms to feel like they’re rocking out when they buy her discs, while her compositional skills assure a solid level of quality and craft goes into every track. The consummate pro, in other words, and The Very Best of Sheryl Crow is a fine encapsulation of her career thus far. All the big hits are here, but unfortunately, so is her execrable duet with Kid Rock (“Picture”), a country tune that’s an unintentional parody of country music, but I guess that’s why God put skip buttons on CD players.
- - - - -
This is something I did that previewed a then-upcoming event. I thought it was pretty funny. Took me less than five minutes.

I always thought the Transformers were a cheap-ass Shogun Warriors rip-off, but the joke’s on Raydeen, Gaiking and Dangard Ace, because next year, a live-action Transformers movie hits the big screen. But riddle me this: Did you know that the song "You've Got the Touch," as performed by Mark Wahlberg in Boogie Nights, is originally from the animated 1984 Transformers movie?

Regardless, if you live and die for all things Transformers, you won’t want to miss – I shit you not – BotCon. The convention allows fans to talk shop with designers, take drawing classes, preview new figures, and most importantly, buy, sell and trade the toys around which their lives are based.

The fun runs Sep. 30-Oct 1 at the Lexington Convention Center: Bluegrass Ballroom (430 W Vine St, Lexington, Ky. – ask mom to drive you). Tickets are $9 for adults, $5 for kids (under 4: free).

Listmania

2007-01-02T18:17:00.000-05:00

Year-end "Best Of!" You knew this was coming. Eventually.

The first five albums listed below are what I submitted to LEO.

The stuff after is what I submitted to the Idolator “Jackin’ Pop” poll. Thankfully, I didn’t have to write capsule descriptions for this poll.

I always miss a few CDs – I am but one man with a mere 24 hours in each day, just like you mortals -- and this year was no exception: Had I heard the Knife’s “We Share Our Mother's Health” before last week, it would’ve made my “Best Singles” list for certain. And so on.

Thus:

BELLE & SEBASTIAN The Life Pursuit (Matador): A brilliantly consistent disc from a brilliantly consistent band, Pursuit added traces of glam (“White Collar Boy”), boogie rock (“The Blues Are Still Blue”) and psychedelic soul (“Song for Sunshine”) to their already impressive palette. They’re great live, too.

WOLFMOTHER (Interscope): This Aussie power trio takes damn near everything that was cool about ‘70s hard rock – power chords, heavy organ fills, white afros -- and regurgitates it for the here and now.

ARCTIC MONKEYS Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not (Domino): Young, loud and snotty. Hooks aplenty. Debut of the year. Et cetera.

GOLDFRAPP Supernature (Mute) Justin Timberlake said he was bringing sexy back this year. Too bad that Allison Goldfrapp beat him to the punch: she’s 10 times sexier than that pantywaist, as “Lovely 2 C U” and “Number 1” demonstrate. Plus she could kill him with her bare hands. She wins.

TOOL 10,000 Days (Volcano): Critics who don’t really listen to much metal will genuflect over Mastodon’s Blood Mountain this year, but Tool’s record is a much more varied, coherent and ultimately, much more satisfying listen. Deal with it.

Then:

Local H, ’99-’00 Demos (G&P)

Raconteurs Broken Boy Soldiers (V2)

Your Black Star Sound from the Ground (Wonkavision)

Cold War Kids Robbers & Cowards (Downtown)

Scott Walker The Drift (4AD)

Singles:

“Crazy” Gnarls Barkley

“Steady, As She Goes” Raconteurs

“Shoot the Runner” Kasabian

“Lloyd, I’m Ready to Be Heartbroken” Camera Obscura

“Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt” We Are Scientists

“So Far We Are” French Kicks

“Wolf Like Me” TV on the Radio

“Redneck” Lamb of God

“The First Vietnamese War” Black Angels

“Throw It All Away” Zero 7

Reissues:

Pulp This Is Hardcore (Island)

Cheap Trick Dream Police (Epic Legacy)

The Clash The Singles Box (Epic Legacy)

T. Rex Tanx (Rhino)

Depeche Mode Violator (Mute)

Moments of Silence

2006-12-31T15:11:00.000-05:00

James Brown, Gerald Ford and, er, Saddam Hussein.

Moment of Silence

2006-12-18T18:24:00.000-05:00

Joe Barbera died.

I used to bore my Evansville Saturday lunch cronies with countless tirades about how Hanna-Barbera ruined TV cartoons. Out of respect for the dead -- and out of respect for his truly awesome "Tom & Jerry" shorts for MGM -- I'll refrain from besmirching him just yet.

Mallard Fillmore Finally Funny, Albeit Accidentally

2006-12-18T13:33:00.000-05:00

Bruce Tinsley, the mastermind behind the brutally unfunny "comic" strip Mallard Fillmore, was picked up for DUI a few weeks ago. The blogs were all over it, of course.

The strip's fans say that those who dislike Mallard's antics hate the strip's politics, and while that certainly plays a role in my own personal irritation with it, my main gripe is that IT JUST ISN'T FUNNY. Needless to say, Tinsley's arrest was the first time he ever made me laugh.

In fact, the funniest Mallard Fillmore was a parody strip done for America: The Book:

That is, until now. This strip ran a couple of days after Tinsley was arrested:

Man, you can just taste the frothy irony mixed with deep, rich schadenfreude. Cheers, Bruce!

A Moment of Silence

2006-12-14T18:21:00.000-05:00

Associated Press says that Ahmet Ertegun has died.

Dude signed Led Zeppelin. Respect.

Indeed

2006-12-14T11:18:00.000-05:00

Bush has created a comprehensive catastrophe across the Middle East

This op-ed piece from The Guardian sums it all up nicely.

Borat 1 Douchebags 0

2006-12-12T10:43:00.000-05:00

From The Associated Press:

LOS ANGELES (AP) -- A judge rejected a request by two fraternity brothers to block the DVD release of the hit spoof movie Borat.

...The South Carolina fraternity brothers sued Nov. 9, claiming they were tricked into making racist and sexist remarks to British comedian Sacha Baron Cohen in Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan.

...The fraternity brothers claim the filmmakers got them drunk before getting them to sign release forms agreeing to appear in the film. Their names do not appear in the lawsuit. The film “made plaintiffs the objects of ridicule, humiliation, mental anguish, and emotional and physical distress,” the lawsuit claims.

Superhero Footwear

2006-12-05T15:54:00.000-05:00

Man, I love me some Iron Fist, especially the version that had his own book back in the late '70s. You know, the one collected in The Essential Iron Fist.

But I always thought the yellow ballet slippers he wore looked a little, well... faggy.

Well, it looks like Marvel did a redesign, and while the yellow split-toe combat boots are an improvement, they're not much of one.

Go team comics!

Blood and Thunder

2006-11-22T22:37:00.000-05:00

Harlan Ellison is suing Fantagraphics.

The lawsuit came down in late September. I just found out about it a week ago when I visited the Comics Journal web site. Ellison’s suit alleges that Fantagraphics defamed him in the upcoming book Comics As Art: We Told You So and that they violated a California “rights of fair trade” law by, in a nutshell, printing Ellison’s name on the cover of The Comics Journal Library 6: The Writers without using the little ® symbol (Ellison has trademarked his name), and that they committed libel by referring to Ellison as a "famous comics dilettante" on the cover of same (see for yourself).

Where to begin?

I like Harlan Ellison’s writing quite a bit. The school library at good old Dexter Elementary had a paperback copy of Ellison’s I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream, which I read for the first time when I was in the sixth grade. I didn’t understand some of the material, but I kept at it through the years -- Bosse had several Ellison titles in its library, and the Evansville public library system had even more – and eventually I caught up. Ellison is a science fiction writer whose output consists of primarily short stories and critical essays. Often times, the introductions he pens for his story collections are more entertaining than the stories themselves. Personally, I think the stuff he produced in the ‘60s and ‘70s is his most rewarding and that arguably the quality and most assuredly the quantity of Ellison stories has tapered off since then.

Ellison is also (in)famous for his strongly held beliefs and opinions, and his willingness to share them. He is also known for kicking ass (figuratively and literally) and taking names, and he is known for more than a few feuds with any number of folks who have deservedly or not incurred his wrath. Throughout much of his career, Ellison gives lectures and speeches, and although I have never attended one myself, they are legendary for their sheer entertainment value, but also because Ellison is only too happy to rehash stories of conflicts he’s had with various writers, fans, ex-wives, actors, movie studios, whathaveyou. Consequently, over the course of his career, he has developed a reputation for being a cantankerous fellow who does not shy away from a fight when he believes he has been wronged. This makes him a highly divisive figure in the inbred SF community. Many people love Ellison unconditionally; many people loathe him.

I also like Fantagraphics quite a bit. As comics publishers, they are unequalled, as they have given the world such titles as Hate, Eightball, Love & Rockets and The Acme Novelty Library. More significantly, and more germane to this whole kerfuffle, is that Fantagraphics also publishes The Comics Journal, which is the only serious source for comics industry news and information. The Journal, not unlike Ellison, takes an uncompromising stance: when they like something, they will praise it accordingly, and when they dislike something, which has been known to happen from time to time, they will not hesitate to excoriate it.

In other words, Ellison and Fantagraphics (which, accurately or not, has become synonymous with Gary Groth and vice versa) are peas in a pod, whether or not they care to admit it.

Problem is, Ellison and Fantagraphics kind of sort of have a long history of mutual loathing and distrust after the Fleischer lawsuit. You can read about that whole debacle here, but in a nutshell: Ellison and Groth were at one time friends; Ellison gave an interview in the Journal wherein he called comics scribe Michael Fleischer “bugfuck” – in a complementary manner. Fleischer didn’t like it and sued. Fleischer lost, but in the years leading up to the suit, Groth, Thompson and the Journal appeared to goad Fleischer in print, which cause the defense lawyers several unwanted headaches, which led to the deterioration of Groth and Ellison’s friendship.

So the current suit. I am not a lawyer, but I have read a few court filings in my day, and most of them are written in wordy legalese (“Wherefore on the eighteenth day of April of the year 2004, claimant alleges the defendant did commit a blatant act of libel, thereby irrevocably harming plaintiff’s good standing et cetera.” Ellison’s complaint is far from dry. It’s downright breezy and amusing. In fact, it reads as if he himself wrote it and then had his lawyers sign off on it. Don’t know if this is standard or not, but I would let the attorneys draft my court documents just to err on the side of caution.

I understand you have to make your case, but I feel Ellison is just a little too glib and self-congratulatory in his introduction (“countless awards?” Like if you asked him he couldn’t tell you exactly how many Hugos he has won).

Elsewhere, Ellison practically libels Groth and Thompson in his complaint. He makes them sound like a gay couple that print comics as a front for some nefarious criminal enterprise – running drugs and funneling the profits to al Qaida, perhaps.

Now, whoever came up with the “famous comics dilettante” descriptor on the cover of The Writers had to have known that it would not go unnoticed. They were poking the bear, in other words, and now the bear is all riled up, baring his claws and fangs. Furthermore, every other writer listed on the cover of The Writers is credited with comics titles the wrote. As far as I know, Ellison was never the regular scripter on any comics series (That Dream Corridor thing doesn't count, as those were adaptations of already published stories), but would it have killed Groth to take the high road and just credit Ellison as "author" or something innocuous?

Regardless, Groth and Thompson have been much more circumspect about this lawsuit than they were during the Fleischer suit, but message boards all across the interwebs have been humming with speculation and analysis from anybody with internet connectivity. Obviously, The Journal’s message boards are pro-Fantagraphics. Elsewhere, some people are hoping that Ellison’s suit puts Fantagraphics out of business.

A guy named Kevin Greenlee – who says he actually is a real, live attorney, BTW -- weighed in on Heidi MacDonald's Beat blog, pointing out that while Ellison may very well have been pleased with the terms of his settlement with AOL, the fact that he did indeed settle and not go to court means that, in strictly legal terms, he really shouldn’t classify that suit’s outcome as a win.

Unsurprisingly, this sent Ellison into a rage, prompting him to respond by belittling Greenlee while completely, and perhaps deliberately, missing the point of Greenlee’s entirely lucid observations. Not wanting to miss any chance to suck Ellison’s cock (I speak figuratively here), fanboy-made-good Peter David chimed in with his own two cents, also completely missing the point in Greenlee’s observations in a nauseating display of sycophantic buffoonery. You can read the whole exchange here, but I’ll boil down the gist of David’s posts if you don’t have the time (or stomach) to read them in all their purple prolixity: “My close friend Harlan won that AOL suit, even though he settled it, because HE SAYS HE WON IT, so shut up! Love, PAD. PS: I am a close friend of Harlan Ellison.”

A more accurate way to describe Ellison’s AOL adventure would be to say he didn’t lose, which allows him to save face. Because no matter how loudly and/or frequently he proclaims that he won that suit, he did not.

Anecdote: Ray Bradbury spoke in Evansville eight or nine years ago. I attended, as did a friend of mine who ran into his English professor from college. They talked about SF and its place in serious literature. The professor was effusive in his praise for Bradbury. My friend asked about other SF writers. When he mentioned Ellison, the professor said, “Never heard of him.” I mention this because as much as I enjoy Ellison’s work, he does seem to think he’s more famous and renowned than he actually is. Sure, all the sci-fi nerds and comic book geeks know who Harlan is, as do some TV folk, but a household name he isn’t. This is not to say that his suit is meritless, or to take away from his successes, but it points out the egos involved.

And Ellison is no spring chicken -- he's 72, and 10 years ago, he had a heart attack. I'm sure that all the stress and aggravation Fantagraphics caused him is nothing compared to the stress and aggravation litigation will cause, but it's his life. I've read quotes from Ellison in which he states that pursuing legal action is indeed costly and time-consuming, and his time could be better spent elsewhere, but there ya go.

(He's also currently suing Paramount over characters in a Star Trek tie-in novel. So it goes.)

My own humble opinion is that this Ellison/Groth pissing match has gone on long enough, and to varying degrees, all camps have demonstrated that they are, or at least have been, assholes.

Jagshemesh

2006-11-19T23:47:00.000-05:00

Once again I violated my "no movies in the theater" maxim. The victim: Borat: Cultural Learnings Whatever I Don't Care.

Verdict: I loved it. On paper, it sounded like, well, a seven-minute segment on a cable TV comedy show stretched to 90 minutes. Usually, this is a recipe for disaster (see: any movie built around any SNL recuriing character from the past 20 years). (Yes, this includes Wayne's World.) But, I'm a fan of Da Ali G Show and since every entertainment information outlet seemed hellbent on spoiling every last bit in the movie, and also with the rash of lawsuits and complaining in the press that some of the movie's unwitting participants are involved with, I figured I'd better check it out before media saturation totally ruined it for me.

Borat was that rarity: a comedy that made me laugh. I recommend. If the DVD has enough extras and deleted scenes, I'll probably buy it.

Ominous anecdote: We were originally going to catch an early Sunday matinee at the Baxter. When we arrived, we saw three fire trucks in front of the theater. There was a fire and the Baxter was closed for the day. An omen? I bravely, heroically decided to catch an evening matinee at Stonybrook, which did not have any fires that day. Success.

Happily Mistaken

2006-11-10T15:42:00.000-05:00

Whaddaya know? My Election Day prediction turned out to be inaccurate. Yarmuth beat Northup, or as some wags have it, “Ding dong, the witch is dead.”

(Disclosure: I freelance for LEO, the paper that Yarmuth founded. I even met the guy once or twice. He doesn’t remember me.)

Whether Yarmuth’s election will bring a Golden Age to Kentucky’s Third District or not remains to be seen.

Good Riddance

2006-11-06T14:59:00.000-05:00

Got an e-mail from a publicist. Let's read, shall we?

AFTER 13 YEARS TOGETHER, THE STRING CHEESE INCIDENT ANNOUNCES AN END.

The String Cheese Incident posted an announcement on their website on Friday, November 3, 2006. The post reads:

After summer 2007, Billy Nershi is leaving The String Cheese Incident to pursue other musical projects. There will be only a limited number of Incidents between now and then. Current plans include Thanksgiving in Atlanta, a New Years Eve blowout in San Francisco, Winter Carnival in Colorado, and a return to Red Rocks. Presently, there are no plans for The String Cheese Incident beyond summer of 2007.

The band would like to extend a heartfelt thank you to our friends and fans for all your support.

As you may recall, I don't like jam bands very much, so this news means nothing to me.

Rock the Vote

2006-11-02T11:38:00.000-05:00

Keith Olbermann laid into Bush yet again. Well worth a read.

Here in Louisville, Republican Third District Rep. Anne Northup, who has been in office since 1917 (approximately), is facing her strongest opponent in ages in Democrat John Yarmuth -- or is that John Yarmuth! -- the guy who founded and used to own LEO. Sadly, I don't think Yarmuth is going to pull off an upset, because while Anne is generally useless, she's really good at winning elections.

Also, while this is Louisville, Louisville is still in Kentucky, so us local godless pinko faggot commie liberal Democrats should never be surprised that there are always plenty of willfully, proudly ignorant hillbillies around here who will gleefully vote against their own best interests so long as a candidate espouses vague platitudes about standing for family values, defending marriage, etc.

Could Be Cool...

2006-10-26T14:37:00.000-04:00

...but then, Dehumanizer wasn't -- maybe because Bill Ward didn't play drums on that one?

LOS ANGELES (AP) -- The Black Sabbath boys are back, as the new band Heaven and Hell. Guitarist Tony Iommi, bassist Geezer Butler, drummer Bill Ward and singer Ronnie James Dio—former members of British metal supergroup Black Sabbath—are forming the band named after their 1980 hit, according to their publicist. They plan to launch an international tour next year.

“The fans have been wanting to see this for years and years. Now was just the time,” publicist Maureen O’Connor said Wednesday.

Original Sabbath vocalist Ozzy Osbourne said in a statement that he wished Iommi and Dio well, and he made it clear there was still only one Black Sabbath.

“Tony Iommi and Ronnie Dio are working on a project together which has nothing to do with Black Sabbath. There is only one Black Sabbath,” Osbourne said in the statement released by publicist Lathum Nelson.

“Ozzy, Tony, Geezer and Bill will be touring late next year along with a new Black Sabbath album,” Nelson said. “However, Ozzy wishes Tony and Ronnie much success in their project together.”

Since its formation in 1969, Black Sabbath has undergone numerous member changes and reunions.

Dio, who replaced Osbourne as part of the band’s early ‘80s lineup, has been recording new songs with Iommi in England, O’Connor said.

Tower Collapses

2006-10-14T11:11:00.000-04:00

Tower Records is going out of business.

This is not news in the strictest sense of the word because it was announced October 6, but I think the situation merits an editorial in the inimitable DMBYSC manner you know and love.

So, Tower is closing its stores. For many years, Tower has been a destination store for music nerds like me. I've visited Tower stores in New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, Philadelphia, Washington DC, New Orleans, Dallas and, most frequently, Nashville. Yes, I've led a rich and full life. "Liberty Bell? Fuck that shit, let's go to Tower and check out the imports."

Jen and I were in Nashville Oct. 6-8 visiting Tony and Sarah. We were driving around when we saw some fool wearing a sandwich board that read, "Tower Records/Store Closing/Up to 30% Off All Merchandise," along with some miniscule fine print. So off we went to check out the store and see if there were any great deals to be had. There weren't, because practically everything, including CDs, was a mere 10% off. I ended up buying a Madness comp because a) I'd seen that Maxwell House commercial that uses "Our House" and I had the song stuck in my head and b) it was stickered at $9.99, which was incredibly cheap for Tower, and with 10% off, I got it for under $10 (just barely, but still).

And that's what killed Tower, I think. I'm so used to seeing new CDs priced in the $8.99-$13.99 range that whenever I dropped into a Tower store over the last few years there was always a moment of sticker shock when I'd see all the new CDs "on sale" for $15.99 or whatever. I'm all for supporting independent music stores and the like, but I'm also all for supporting myself, so if I can find something cheaper at Target, Best Buy or online, I'll buy it there. It's a no-brainer.

Many of the articles and obituaries that have flooded the interwebs since the big announcement have focused on the sales clerks and their deep musical knowledge, painting pictures of helpful Tower employees roaming the store, striking up conversations with shoppers, making recommendations and turning them on to artists they might not have otherwise discovered, which never happened to me -- all the Towers I visited were populated with snotty hipster douchebag assholes straight out of central casting who would sulk behind the counter as if chained there, dressed in their too-tight "vintage" t-shirts purchased pre-distressed at Urban Outfitters, just so painfully mortified that they had to mingle with people who might actually listen to something other than Deerhoof or Panic! At The Disco or whoever Pitchfork told them was hip that month. Consequently, I mainly bought magazines and toys -- yes, toys -- from Tower and I bought my music online (or I got review copies straight from the publicist, hee hee).

But still. I feel depressed that Tower has bitten the dust. This is an instance where the phrase "the end of an era" genuinely applies.

Listen Up

2006-10-13T10:24:00.000-04:00

Oh, sweet music. Here's what I'm listening to "professionally."

Mastodon Blood Mountain: Awesome music, retarded lyrics about abominable snowmen, dragons and tree people. Plus, it’s a concept album. Thankfully, the lyrics are mostly unintelligible, but it’s hard to take a band seriously when they geek out so hard. Review should run in LEO soon.

Pinebender Working Nine to Wolf: These guys sound like Low, if Low played metal. Dense slabs of rock that crawl along at a pace best described as glacial. I love it. I have no idea what the title means.

Planes Mistaken for Stars Mercy: Their name makes them sound like emo douchebags, but they aren’t. Kinda metal, kinda hardcore, but not metalcore. Hard to describe, but I’m gonna try (in LEO, so I can get paid).

I seem to have been pigeonholed as "the metal guy." There are a lot worse things to be pegged as, but naturally I consider myself to be a multifaceted jewel and shit; I can appreciate (or dismiss with authority) music of all kinds.

Rock and Roll Hell

2006-10-02T10:36:00.000-04:00

Kiss guitarist turned down by Supreme Court

WASHINGTON (AP) -- Ex-Kiss guitarist Vinnie Vincent lost a Supreme Court appeal Monday in a dispute over royalties with his former bandmates.

Justices declined to consider lower court rulings dismissing Vincent's claim that he is owed royalties for his contributions to the heavy metal band's 1983 album Lick It Up.

Vincent, whose real name is Vincent Cusano, played with Kiss from 1982 to 1984, co-writing "I Love it Loud," "Lick it Up" and other songs.

The case is Cusano v. Klein, 05-1492.

(Copyright 2006 by The Associated Press. All Rights Reserved.)

"Klein" would be Gene Klein (nee Chaim Witz), a.k.a. Gene Simmons, FYI.

From what I've read on the interwebs -- which are, of course, the most trustworthy and accurate source of information anywhere, ever -- Vinnie Vincent is a real pain in the ass. He also should have read his contract with Kiss a little more closely. Simmons would sooner cut off his own dick than enter a business deal that doesn't favor Simmons.

Squeeze Harder, Ben

2006-09-29T15:29:00.000-04:00

More hijinks with Stan Lee, this time with the Thing:

...although I have to admit, seeing the Thing's hand wrapped around Stan's throat almost made up for it.

Here's something to cleanse the mental palate:

Ah, that's better.

The "Race War" is Over

2006-09-29T10:54:00.000-04:00

The ethnic experiment is quickly over on Survivor as race-based tribes are eliminated

By DAVID BAUDER / AP Television Writer

NEW YORK (AP) -- All the hubbub about the Survivor ethnic experiment turned out to be pretty worthless. Why? Because after only two episodes, producers merged the black, white, Asian and Latino tribes into two mixed-race gangs on the CBS reality show Thursday night. No explanation was given for the quick abandonment of segregation; it seemed to pass by so quickly as to mean nothing.
Jesus H. Christ. If any of these entertainment "journalists" had ever bothered to watch more than a token (no pun) episode of Survivor, they would have known that four tribes of five members will be merged into two tribes of eight three episodes into the season. It's basic math -- the contest couldn't sustain itself otherwise (or, more accurately, one or more teams would be so comically overmatched that it would be unfair).

So the show didn't "abandon" the tribes-divided-by-ethnicity concept due to negative publicity, as rocket scientist/brain surgeon David Bauder seems to be implying; they "abandoned" it because they were always going to abandon it.

Frankly, I never understood all the hubbub the concept generated, other than the predictable hand-wringing from uptight namby-pamby East Coast media douche bags. It's not as if the contestants were kidnapped at gunpoint and forced to participate. Also, one of teh main criticisms of Survivor -- and reality shows in general -- is that the players all tend to be lily white. Well, now they've got a show where Caucasians aren't the majority, and all they do is bitch.

Kicking It

2006-09-26T16:48:00.000-04:00

Took a little road trip to Nashville to see French Kicks live and in concert. They were really good, except for the fact that the lead singer couldn't quite hit the high notes that he pulls off with ease on CD. But hey, that's live music for you.

We noticed several older ladies -- like, 70 and up -- at the venue and wondered what the hell was going on, as the senior set is not known for frequenting weeknight shows in smoky rock clubs, but it turned out that one of the ladies was the singer's grandmother. Even a cold, unfeeling robot like me found that tidbit to be almost impossibly adorable.

In other family news, the girl running the merch booth was a cousin and she cut me a deal on all three of the French Kicks discs. Thanks, girlie!

The opening band, the Little Ones, were not nearly as atrocious as I feared they might be -- honestly, I kinda liked them, especially their keyboard sound -- but with their name and their fusion of indie rock with '60s pop, they run the risk of regular ass kickings.

On the way home, we saw an 18-wheeler parked on the shoulder with its cab fully engulfed in flames. It made a striking post-apocalyptic image, but regrettably, I did not have a camera with me to record the inferno for posterity.

This Just In: Preznit Still Full of Shit

2006-09-26T11:57:00.000-04:00

WASHINGTON (AP) -- President Bush says it is naive and a mistake to think that the war with Iraq has worsened terrorism, as a national intelligence estimate concluded.

Seriously, what is Bush's fucking problem? He's either 1) a lying scumbag or 2) completely delusional.

Actually, he's probably 3) both.

House of Stupid Ideas

2006-09-20T16:45:00.000-04:00

Even though it's a tradition as old as the proverbial hills, I have never been a fan of comic book creators making cameos, or worse yet, extended appearances, in their books. It's a self-absorbed, cutesy-poo move which only serves to interrupt the story and demean the medium.

Plus, more often than not, the creators tend to glamorize themselves up way too much. Anybody remember the lean, trim physique and thick, luxuriant (and clean) head of hair John Byrne always gave himself when he threw together one of his "wacky" Fantastic Four covers? Apparently, there were no mirrors in the Byrne household during his run on FF.

My "favorite" example comes from an old Iron Fist story wherein Danny Rand happens upon a softball game in Central Park and Chris Claremont invites him to play. "Hey man, I'm Chris," Claremont smarms. The issue would have been the Best Comic Ever if only Rand had activated the power of the Iron Fist and punched Claremont in his shaggy face. Batter up, mother fucker.

Anyhoo, no comics pro was ever more fascinated with himself than Stan "The Man" Lee, and Marvel is releasing an entire series of comics wherein Stan bumps into various characters from the Marvel Universe.

From the press release:

In the second of a series of specials celebrating Stan Lee’s 65th year of working at Marvel, “The Man” gets to meet the Master of the Mystic Arts: Dr. Strange. In Stan Lee Meets Dr. Strange, Lee pens a tale with art by Alan Davis where Stan journeys to Greenwich Village to catch up with his old pal Dr. Strange... Filled with more high-profile creators than you can shake a Wand of Watoomb at, Stan Lee Meets Dr. Strange is fun-filled celebratory romp through the Marvel Universe for fans of Marvel, both yesterday and today.

Maybe Stan can explain to Dr. Strange, not to mention the Hoary Hosts of Hoggath, why a guy who makes a million bucks a year wears such lousy hairpieces?

Fizzling Out

2006-09-14T16:42:00.000-04:00

Rock Star: Supernova wrapped up last night. Lukas the humunculus won. Unsurprising, seeing how Tommy Lee and especially Dave Navarro practically fellated this singing haircut every episode.

Lukas's ascention is also unsurprising, seeing how Gilby Clarke criticized Dilana’s lyric-writing skills as “literal and unimaginative” while praising Lukas. Here’s the chorus from Lukas’s cretinous original tune, “Head Spin” -- “I don’t know why you make my head spin/Why, why?/No one’s perfect.” Yeah, Gilby, Lukas is a regular Bob Dylan.

If you can’t tell, I’m disappointed by the outcome. Of the final four contestants -- Lukas, Dilana, Magni and Toby – the only one I actively loathed was Lukas. I realize that musical tastes are completely subjective, and what sounds good to one pair of ears sounds bad to another pair, but Lukas is a special kind of no-talent, a wee little poseur whose “originality” came entirely from the sale rack at Hot Topic.

And his singing? Nigger, please. As Jason Newsted regularly pointed out during the season’s run, Lukas’s vocals were always strangulated and forced, and not in a good way. Lukas can pull off a passable Thom Yorke imitation – like when he sang “Creep” 80 times on the show -- but when left to his own devices, he bellows like a walrus, thinking he’s conveying emotion when he's merely conveying increased volume. Plus, he suffers from Alanis Morrissette Syndrome, wherein a singer adds extra vowels to words, puts emphasis on wrong syllables and otherwise tries to be “quirky” and “original” but just comes off as mannered and trite.

My theory is that Tommy Lee figured he’d get more pussy on the road if he had a guy that was uglier than him singing for the band. Welcome aboard, Lukas.

Of course, what did Lukas really win? The original material Supernova trotted out during the show’s run was uniformly bland and forgettable (in that regard, Lukas is a perfect fit), so if he’s expecting fat royalty checks from Supernova’s multiplatinum album sales, he’s going to be very disappointed when the record drops. And also, it’s highly unlikely that Lee is going to give up his day job in Motley Crue for Supernova. Ditto for Jason Newsted with Voivod. Ditto Gilby with… whatever the hell it is he was doing before this show came on the air. Which means that Lukas's future doesn’t lie with Supernova.

Best of all, Lukas will forever be known as somebody who won a job on a reality show, which means any claims he ever might have had for artistic cred are over, and legitimate musicians will avoid him like the plague once this Supernova business is finished.

Except they won’t be called Supernova:

Court rules that television’s ‘Rock Star’ band can’t use the name Supernova
By SANDY COHEN / AP Entertainment Writer
LOS ANGELES (AP) -- The band from the reality TV show “Rock Star: Supernova” cannot call itself Supernova when it takes its act on the road, a judge has ruled. A Southern California rock band that has called itself Supernova since 1991 and recorded three albums under the name sued CBS, the show’s participants and Mark Burnett Productions in June claiming unfair competition and trademark infringement.

Klosterfuck, Or: If This Is the Voice of My Generation, I'd Rather Be Deaf

2006-09-08T00:57:00.000-04:00

The essays are very solipsistic and self-absorbed, I'm totally conscious of that. To me, book writing is fun, and I basically just write about things that are entertaining to myself.
--Chuck Klosterman

Another thing that interests me about the Eagles is that I hate them.
--Robert Christgau

Something that interests me about Chuck “Voice of His Generation” Klosterman is that I hate him.

As befitting any celebrity of Chuck's meager stature, a backlash is already well underway -- has been for a year or two, in fact -- and should hit maximum velocity once the reviews for Klosterman's latest book* start trickling in, but here at Death May Be Your Santa Claus, the Klosterman animosity has been festering for a good long while. Because, fucking hell, I hate Chuck Klosterman.

I've never met the guy, of course, but I still hate him, because Klosterman embodies a school of writing that permeates what passes for journalism these days, wherein every article, story and sidebar is nothing more than a glorified diary entry in which the author, instead of describing the ostensible subject, writes about how the ostensible subject relates to the author and how the author personally reacted to the subject and, if the reader is lucky, what the author had for lunch that afternoon. Frequently, if the subject is a famous person, the writer will try to make the reader believe that during the course of writing his piece, the writer and his subject became close buds because the writer is just that cool. And if the subject is female, the writer will try to make the reader believe that he was this close to fucking said female subject because the writer is just that much of a stud.

In other words, nearly every article written by writers of this ilk is not about Ostensible Subject; it is about The Writer Writing About Ostensible Subject. This is also known as taking the easy way out, or phoning it in, or half-assing it, because it takes more skill, preparation and integrity to do the job correctly.

In all fairness, Klosterchuck isn't the only guy making a living with this schtick. Other notable "writers" who are more gifted at self-promotion than they are with, you know, writing, include smug assclowns like Joel Stein and A.J. Jacobs, but thankfully, no one is characterizing Stein or Jacobs as the voice of their generation (so far). Unlike Big Chuck.

It's a certainty that Chuck (and Stein, and Jacobs, and Chuck's colleague at Esquire, Scott Raab) had some English instructor somewhere tell them, "Write what you know." The problem with this platitude is that it used to be understood that the writer would then go out and learn a few things (i.e., get some actual real world life experience) so that he would then have interesting things about which to write.

This is why Klosterman and his ilk fill up innumerable lines of copy describing episodes of Saved by the Bell and/or their painfully vanilla sex lives -- when the totality of your life experiences can be summed up with "watching TV" and "going to college," the well runs dry pretty quickly. Yet these cretins have built lucrative careers chronicling their pampered, sheltered upbringings and the consequent gigantic sense of entitlement they instilled in them. God bless America.

Now, I'm not down on Klosterchuck because of his success... although, actually, I am, because in all sincerity, damn near anybody (and by "anybody," I mean "me") could do what Chuck does, but somehow, he and/or his agent has convinced quite a few folks that Chuck's bullshit observations are weighty and significant. Except if I was cashing a hefty book advance, I'd keep the self-aggrandizing digressions and general navel-gazing to a minimum and put some real fucking content into my writing, but then, my work ethic is a little sturdier than Klosterman's. Jealous? You bet your ass I am.

(Having said that, I do have to admire the fucker for managing to sucker major media concerns into paying him to crank out the dreck that he cranks out. Stick it to the man!)

Also, I'm not hating on the Big K merely because he frequently writes in the first person (I'm writing this on a fucking blog, for Pete's sake). I'm down on Chuck because when you parse any of his four -- yeah, FOUR -- memoirs, or his column in Esquire, or if you catch him speaking in his nasally, whiny voice in Metal: A Headbanger's Journey, it doesn't take very long at all before you realize Klosterman rarely, if ever, has anything meaningful or insightful, or even witty, to say. Don't believe me? Read this excerpt.

(Note to Chuck: The reason she didn't love you wasn't because you're not John Cusack; she didn't love you because, well, you're Chuck Klosterman.)

Furthermore, I'm down on Chuck because when he drops his Chronicler of Our Times/Voice of a Generation act and writes a straightforward article and can manage to not wander off into his trademark brand of tedious self-examination, he's actually pretty good. A few years ago, he wrote a story about classic rock cruises in Spin ("Ship of Dreams") that was downright touching in spots. "Irony Maidens" was another nice piece, as was this Q&A, in which he managed to make the Bravery -- or at least, their singer -- seem like decent human beings.

But those days appear to be a tiny speck in the rear-view mirror of Klosterman's career trajectory. A recent example of Chuck's vapidity is the essay he cranked out for the Criterion release of Dazed and Confused, which reads as if it was written 20 minutes before it was due while Klosterfuck was sitting on the toilet.

There are many drinking games one can play while watching Dazed and Confused: Take a swig when someone says "man," take a shot each time Wiley Wiggins touches his nose, etc. Here's a literary drinking game: Read Chuck's essay in the DVD booklet and swallow a mouthful of your favorite alcoholic beverage whenever Chuck refers to himself in the first person. If you live to see the next day, you have the constitution of a Merchant Marine, because while the subject of Chuck's essay is supposed to be Dazed and Confused, it's actually all about Chuck and how it took him a year to see the movie and how he's always stoned when he watches it and how Chuck interviewed Richard Linklater once and they talked about how cool Chuck is and blah blah blah. In other words, shut up, Klosterman.

When you read a critical assessment of a CD, movie, book, if the writer has done his or her job, at the end of the review, you will say to yourself, "I should listen to that CD" or "I should see that movie" (if it's a positive write-up). When one reads Chuck Klosterman, one doesn't think, "I really ought to see this movie." One thinks: "Gee, I sure would like to hit that fucking douche bag Chuck Klosterman in the head with a crowbar."

*Klosterman's new book is called Chuck Klosterman IV: A Decade of Curious People and Dangerous Ideas. The title by itself is offensive because 1) ironically or not, Klosterman is comparing his ouevre to that of Led Zeppelin, which would be analogous to and nonsensical as, say, Creed comparing themselves to Martin Scorsese, and 2) because Chuck Klosterman has never had an idea in his life, let alone any dangerous ones.

Crikey!

2006-09-04T02:08:00.000-04:00

"Crocodile Hunter" Steve Irwin has died from a stingray attack.

What a way to go. Not.

But you know that's probably the way he would have wanted to die, so cheers and godspeed.

The Song Remains the Same

2006-09-04T00:41:00.000-04:00

I have every Led Zeppelin song on CD. Unfortunately, I have the box set that came out in 1990, which was basically a four-disc greatest hits compilation, and its 1993 follow up, which contained all the songs that weren't on the first set. This means that if I want to listen to, say, Houses of the Holy, I either have to shuffle through all six discs looking for the eight cuts that originally made up that album, or I start shuffling through the six discs and then realize it's too much work and I quit.

This is probelamtic for a Rock Snob such as myself because Zep's albums were meant to be listened to as such -- they're one of the few bands whose albums were albums and not two or three great songs with seven or eight tracks of filler spread out over an LP.

Since I got the Mac and since it came with iTunes installed, I knew I could rip all the tracks and then listen to the albums in their intended sequence again. And since I have no life, I decided to start that process this afternoon. I'll probably burn two albums to one CD for economy's sake, but this project was long overdue.

Blasts from the Past

2006-08-24T00:50:00.000-04:00

I was watching Rock Star: Supernova tonight and seeing Jason Newsted prostituting himself on a reality TV show, no matter how enjoyable, I started thinking about how I used to really dig Metallica back when they, you know, still played metal. Here's a pair of CD reviews I did for various Metallica releases. Sadly, I never got to write about the good ones.

From January '98:

Metallica - Reload
(Elektra)

The "alternafication" of Metallica, part 2. Reload is a continuation of last year's Load; this album consists of newly finished basic tracks that were recorded for the previous album. Load created a big stink among Metallica's fearsomely devoted fan base because, besides the fact that James Hetfield and crew explored new musical avenues, ALL FOUR MEMBERS GOT SHORT HAIRCUTS -- heresy! Whatever tonsorial flourishes the Metalliboys feature, it's the music that matters, and while Load was hardly a radical departure, it did mark the first true shift from the trademarked brand of Metallica power thrash. So nobody should be surprised that, cover art and all, Reload is more of the same.

Reload commences with "Fuel," a burly rocker that features cool harmony vocals and a riff that swaggers not unlike vintage Aerosmith. "Bad Seed" opens with a guitar line that sounds like an Alice In Chains outtake. "Low Man's Lyric" has a hurdy-gurdy solo. First single "The Memory Remains" contains a creepy deathbed guest vocal from Rolling Stones hanger-on Marianne Faithfull, and "Devil's Dance" sounds like "Son of Sad But True." And speaking of unwarranted sequels, Reload also has "The Unforgiven II," an extension of one of Metallica's lamer songs. Which is not to say that Reload isn't any good. Besides the weak spots, the album displays Metallica's newfound fascination with intriguing melodic ideas ("Where The Wild Things Are," "The Memory Remains"), and there's still plenty of crunchy, ultra-hetero guitar tomfoolery to satisfy those fans who didn't abandon the band after Load ("Attitude," "Slither").

Tampering with a proven formula is a risky proposition, but for artists to grow, boundaries must be redefined and envelopes pushed. I suppose that Metallica's "new direction" is admirable, but I kind of miss the seven-minute slabs of testosterone that they were grinding out in the '80s. "Master Of Puppets," "Creeping Death" and their ilk are awesome songs. Too bad Metallica have apparently ditched their Eurometal roots in favor of this likable but lukewarm new style. If it ain't broke, don't fix it.

From January '99:

Metallica - Garage Inc.
(Elektra)

Considering that Metallica's last album, 1997's Reload, was basically a bunch of songs that weren't good enough to make it onto 1995's Load, is it any surprise that the band has gone back to their long-haired roots and recorded a fresh batch of obscure and semi-obscure metal and punk cover tunes? Is this merely a respite between "real" albums, or a creative dead end? Six of one, half-dozen of the other.

Whatever the reasons behind Garage Inc., the band knows its riffology and respects its humble origins -- back when Megadeth founder Dave Mustaine was Metallica's lead guitarist, they were practically a Diamond Head tribute band. This being Metallica, Garage Inc. is a two-disc set encompassing nearly every cover song the band has committed to tape during its 16-year history. The first disc is the new old stuff (Garage Days Re-Re-Revisited?), and it contains a surprising range of sources. From Thin Lizzy ("Whiskey in the Jar") to Blue Öyster Cult ("Astronomy") to, er, Skynyrd ("Tuesday's Gone"), the band acknowledges a fondness, if not a debt, to classic rock stylings.

But those influences and tendencies, though not exactly overt, were never really in question. It's the other selections that elevate Garage Inc. from a mere housecleaning stopgap to an interesting insight into the brains of the Metallicats. For example, who would've thunk that James Hetfield dug Nick Cave? Not me, but Hetfield and crew slide into Cave's "Loverman" as if they were raised on a creative diet of Delta blues and Henry Miller instead of uncelebrated Eurometal bands and H.P. Lovecraft. And the band's straight reading of Bob Seger's AOR staple "Turn the Page" adds touches of, gulp, pathos and reality to Metallica's generally perceived "Kill 'Em All" road warrior persona.

The band also pays tribute to more obvious forefathers, like the supreme masters of metal Black Sabbath, covering "Sabra Cadabra" with a few bars of "A National Acrobat" thrown in for fun, as well as Danish ghoulies Mercyful Fate, who are honored with an 11-minute medley. And apparently you can't get Metallica into a recording studio without them playing Misfits and Diamond Head songs, and both "Die, Die My Darling" and "It's Electric" get the treatment here. Ironic how Glenn Danzig and the Diamond boys have seen more royalty action from Metallica's covers of their material than from the original versions, innit?

Attention K-Mart shoppers: the second disc contains all of the out-of-print The $5.98 EP--Garage Days Re-Revisited, various b-sides and one-offs like their thunderous stomp through Queen's "Stone Cold Crazy," and the cover that started it all, "Am I Evil," a track originally done by (who else?) Diamond Head. Now all you Metallica completists can plug almost all the holes in your thrash collections.

Still, after all the hoopla surrounding the band's image makeover and exploration of new (to them) musical paths, one wonders why the sudden retreat back to familiar territory? Will the next Metallica album be return to metal? Obviously, Garage Inc won't be winning over many new converts to their fanbase, but it is cool that a band with Metallica's commercial heft has so lavishly recorded, packaged and hyped tracks by acts that otherwise would be long forgotten. It makes you want to scour the bins at the Book Broker for some old Budgie records. Almost.

Octopus's Garden

2006-08-11T16:45:00.000-04:00

A fisherman caught a six-foot octopus near the Falls of the Ohio this week. Wildlife officials were all over the local media speculating as to how saltwater marine life ended up in the Ohio River, but the answer to the mystery was a bit more prosaic. Not to mention pathetic and stupid. The auteur seems like quite the little douchebag, no?

Here's a photo of the well-traveled cephalopod:

Big Things

2006-08-08T01:16:00.000-04:00

Stumbled ass-backwards into some Tom Waits tickets, so I went tonight. I've never understood what the big deal was. I'm not going to run out and buy a bunch of his albums in the show's aftermath, but Waits and crew put on a very good show.

Also, the Rolling Stones are playing at Churchill Downs next month. I'll go -- if I stumble ass-backwards into some tickets, that is.

Bummer in the Summer

2006-08-04T12:44:00.000-04:00

From the AP:

MEMPHIS, Tenn. (AP) -- Arthur Lee, the founder of the '60s band Love, has died of leukemia. He was 61.

Lee was diagnosed with leukemia this year. He got a bone marrow transplant using stem cells from an umbilical cord last May, but never left the hospital after that.

A damn shame is what this is. I remember when I stumbled across the band via a typically well-done article in Mojo magazine. I bought the Love Story collection, then Da Capo. Later, when I was at the magazine, Rhino released a deluxe version of Forever Changes and I got a promo of that.

I never dug too deeply into the post-Bryan McLean era of the band, because Forever Changes really is one of the all-time awesome records, even if it does contain the lyric "Oh, the snot has caked against my pants."

Hoist the Black Flag

2006-07-30T15:21:00.000-04:00

I stumbled upon that Mencken quote to your left and just had to slap it on DMBYSC. Pretty evocative.

Today is my birthday. Tony and Sarah came to visit, we went out to dinner with Will and Michelle, Helton showed up and in what must have been an age-induced moment of stupidity, I ordered sushi rolls when I thought I was ordering nigiri. Plate after plate kept coming from the sushi bar. I'm sure I looked a fool. I ate as much as I could and brought about two pounds of leftovers home. The cats were delighted.

But the night was not over. We played pool for a while then we went home and burned stuff in the fire pit. Then a few more people showed up and we were up until 4 a.m., drinking, eating cake and burning stuff.

Tonight: Strangers With Candy -- IN A MOVIE THEATER. Wish me luck.

Landis Just Too Manly for the Europeans

2006-07-28T15:49:00.000-04:00

From the Associated Press:

MADRID, Spain (AP) -- Floyd Landis said the high testosterone that showed up in a drug screening at the Tour de France is the result of his natural metabolism -- not doping of any kind -- and he will undergo more tests to prove it.

I shudder to think what those tests that will prove Landis is a veritable testosterone factory may involve, but I'll hold off until the second test is completed, because as somebody mentioned over on Can't Stop the Bleeding, since Landis has a certain advantage when compared to Lance Armstrong in that department.

Peace, Love and Understanding

2006-07-21T16:38:00.000-04:00

I contributed to an article called “Genres We'd Like to See Dead” in the current issue of LEO. The other writer and I dissed several musical styles, and we got pretty scathing. My chosen targets were hair metal, AAA and jam bands.

I knew I was playing with fire when I took on this assignment, and sure enough, once the issue hit the streets, the comments started trickling in. I expected to offend aficionados of all three genres, but apparently your average fan of AAA radio and/or pop metal has either a) a sense of humor or b) better things to do than type hysterical e-mails and send them to LEO.

To wit:

You must be sorry misearble men to have such a hateful distorted view on musicians. Here you are trying to publish the "2006 Music Issue", which should be recognizing and appreciating musicians not trashing them.

Its one thing to have an opinion about certain genres and artists, but to place such stereotypical judgement on people is ignorance in its finest form. I believe intelligent arguments are made using wit and knowledge not profanity and pompous vocabulary.

T.E., its pretty dispicable that you say you can't name certain Hip Hop albums because "your children need their father", well I quite frankly feel sorry for your children. If my father was firing off GD, Asshole, and the F-bomb in public articles, and referring to people as nitwits and telling them they have shitty taste in music, I would be pretty ashamed to be your daughter. What a great role model you must be.

So...what white horse did you two ride in on? What is it that you guys do or know so well, because obviously it's not writing or music. Most people I know that are masters of their craft have an implicit respect for it, and don't abuse it to be crude and unkind to fellow artists. But I shouldn't refer to you two as even in the same class as "artists," because you have not created anything but HATE.

I noticed that your editor said he hoped that this article would "create some laughs." Well, I hate to tell you, but it wasn't very funny. I don't see the humor in tearing people down just to make yourself feel better. You must be pretty insecure in yourselves.

To all the editors and publishers that let this article go to print, you should be ashamed to claim it as LEO material. Don't forget that many kids and teenagers read your paper every week.

And not to mention that your paper is owned by a politician running for State Congress. Boy...he must be so proud.

Valerie K.

(All spelling errors included in original e-mail, naturally.)

Short answer: Dig the sand out of your vagina, Val, you’ll be a lot happier.

Long answer: If you’re going to criticize an article or book or whatever, make sure you spell everything correctly. Trust me, I learned that lesson the hard way.

Also, get your facts straight: LEO is not owned by a politician running for Congressman; LEO’s former owner is a politician running for Congress. There is a difference.

Furthermore, Valerie blames the other writer for using profanity, when as faithful readers of this blog should know, the potty mouth was all me, baby.

At least once a year, some unsuspecting asshole with his or her panties in a knot sends me an e-mail wondering “what gives me the right” to be critical of the music about which I write.

Two things give me that right: The First Amendment of the Bill of Rights, and the fact that LEO (among other outlets) hires me to, well, write what I think about music, be it CDs that I like or horrible crappy musical styles that I don’t. It’s that simple, and if somebody doesn’t like what I have to say, then they are more than welcome to submit samples to the local papers and see if they land an assignment.

Barring that, they can start a blog about all the mean music critics who think the Grateful Dead and their ilk both suck and blow.

God bless America!

Stop the Presses

2006-07-13T23:15:00.000-04:00

From a press release I got today:

SURVIVOR ANNOUNCES NEW SINGER; BAND CURRENTLY WORKING ON NEW STUDIO ALBUM SET FOR RELEASE IN 2007

July 13, 2006 -- Hot off the presses…former McAuley Schenker Group (MSG) frontman Robin McAuley has replaced Jim Jamison as the new lead vocalist for Survivor.
I'll bet you thought the same thing I did when I read those words: "Fucking Survivor is still together?!?"

I'm man enough to admit that I love me some classic rock -- and not in a smarmy, ironic, above-it-all Chuck Klosterman way -- but Survivor was and always will be a crappy band.

Blast from the Past

2006-07-13T22:59:00.000-04:00

This is an article I wrote for LEO in May 2004 that was never printed because Local H weren't playing a gig that year in Louisville (once again, thanks, LEO!).

The punchline is that at a Local H show in 2005, I was chatting with/sucking up to Scott Lucas and Jen actually mentioned the fact that I wrote the article and it was never printed and Lucas said, "That was you? That was the best interview I've ever done." Whether this is still true is up for debate, and whether he was blowing smoke up my ass is also up for debate. But I felt somewhat vindicated.

Still, the fact that an interview was conducted and an article was written about the band and it was never actually appeared in print is kind of typical for Local H. They are, hands fucking down, the best live rock band in America and they deserve to be as successful as Fall Out Boy or whoever the kids like these days.

Read it and weep.

- - - - -

Local H was a two-man band when two-man bands weren’t cool. They weren’t the first self-contained power duo – bands like Flat Duo Jets, House of Freaks and the Chickasaw Mudd Puppies blazed this particular trail – but now that the White Stripes are being hailed for their "innovative" line-up, the H deserves props for carrying the mantle.

Best-known for their minor 1996 hit “Bound for the Floor,” Local H has maintained a highly consistent level of quality in all their subsequent releases, and their brand-new album, Whatever Happened to P.J. Soles?, is possibly their best ever. The album is named for actress P.J. Soles, who worked steadily from 1975-85, appearing in many cult classics.

“She’s just someone who would always pop up in movies when I was growing up and I always thought she was cool. I must’ve seen Halloween a million times and Rock ‘n’ Roll High School at least half that. She was in Carrie, she had a great scene in Stripes,” enthuses Local H singer/guitarist Scott Lucas. (Drummer Brian St. Clair is the rest of the band.)

P.J. Soles is not a concept album per se, but it does have a theme running through it.

“There’s some stuff on the record that’s kind of about the whole VH1 “Where Are They Now?” type of crap that you just see everywhere,” Lucas says. “It’s just this attitude of what have these people done lately, and it’s being asked by a bunch of people who never seem to have done anything themselves. You’ll see these people on TV making these snide remarks… Who the fuck are these people, where do they come from, and what contribution have they made? It’s ridiculous.”

All this talk of wistful ruminations on icons from yesteryear might lead the uninitiated to believe that P.J. Soles is an introspective record, and indeed, the title cut and “Dick Jones” are both tearjerkers, but Local H always brings the rock. Tracks like “Everyone Alive,” “Heaven on the Way Down” and “How’s the Weather Down There?” hit like a semi truck full of all the songs that Cheap Trick and Nirvana never got around to writing.

And then there’s “Buffalo Trace,” the album’s majestic centerpiece. Clocking in at a manly 10:14, this Zeppelin-esque behemoth was inspired by Lucas’s love of premium Kentucky bourbon, and it name checks the Bluegrass Parkway, Heaven Hill Distilleries and our own fair city – thanks for the shout-out, Scott!

“I wanted it to be big and sprawling, sort of like a western epic. I read this article about whiskey tours in Kentucky, so I just thought it would be kind of funny to write a Neil Young song about taking a whiskey tour, with cowboys on the Bluegrass Parkway -- drink until we get our fill. I thought it was pretty funny,” he says. Funnier still: Lucas is a Maker’s Mark man, but the name “Buffalo Trace” worked best for this theme from an imaginary western -- “Old Grand-Dad” or “Elijah Craig Single Barrel” just don’t have the appropriate ring

“That’s just what me and a bunch of my friends drink,” Lucas says of his tipple of choice. “A friend of mine owns a bar, and [Maker’s is] all we drink.”

As always, Local H is touring behind the album, but unfortunately, it looks as if the closest they’ll get to Louisville is Covington, where they’ll play at Radio Down on May 13. They’ll never get a Maker’s Mark endorsement if they don’t come closer.

Shine On You Crazy Diamond

2006-07-11T10:25:00.000-04:00

Syd Barrett, the man who founded Pink Floyd, has died.

From the Associated Press:

LONDON (AP) -- Syd Barrett, the troubled genius who co-founded Pink Floyd but spent his last years in reclusive anonymity, has died, a spokeswoman for the band said Tuesday. He was 60.

The spokeswoman—who declined to give her name until the band made an official announcement—confirmed media reports that he had died. She said Barrett died several days ago, but she did not disclose the cause of death.

What a bummer. Pink Floyd was an almost entirely different animal under Syd's stewardship than it was when Roger Waters assumed control after Syd's breakdown. Floyd circa '67 were a psychedelic pop band with a dark edge, and even before he became rock's premiere acid casualty, Syd's songs had an unsettling undercurrent.

I had wanted to name our cat Fletcher "Lucifer Sam" after a song from The Piper at the Gates of Dawn, but my wife wouldn't let me. She thought it would be bad voodoo since Fletcher is a black cat.

And "Interstellar Overdrive" is the best rock instrumental ever.

Heavy Metal Bake Sale

2006-07-06T23:05:00.000-04:00

Against my better judgment, I started watching Rock Star: Supernova. I really enjoyed VH1's Supergroup and I figured Rock Star would be a similar venture. It is, but it is also highly similar to American Idol -- both shows are glorified karaoke contests. Not that there's anything wrong with karaoke; I've done it a few times myself and it's fun, especially when you get to follow somebody who's memorably bad and then everybody thinks you're Robert Plant, provided you don't screw your selection up too horribly.

But anyhoo, on Rock Star, the goal is to win the singer slot in a nascent supergroup which consists of Gilby Clarke, Jason Newsted and Tommy Lee. The three stooges here have a hard rock/metal background, which means that the contestants should probably try and sing as much hard rock and metal as they can, and sing it well. Furthermore, image is a consideration, so the contestants need to look halfway comfortable on stage and perhaps most crucially, they need to look as if they actually belong on stage with Guns 'n' Motleytallica, er, I mean, "SUPERNOVA."

So naturally, in each and every contestant's introductory segment, they all glared and glowered at the camera, or else they stared soulfully into the middle distance, or they strode purposefully down dingy alleyways. Most of 'em did all three. You know, to exude street cred. They also all mentioned how rock they were. If you made a drinking game and took a swig of an alcoholic beverage each time one of the hopefuls said the word "rock" or any of its little friends (i.e., "rocked," "rockin'," "rocker"), you would die of alcohol poisoning before the second commercial break.

Fact: If you have to constantly tell people how rock 'n' roll you, or your outlook, or your attitude, or your way of life is? You ain't a rock star. You're a douche bag.

So the format goes something like this: Each singer picks a song, performs it with the house band (named "House Band") and then Supernova, plus producer Butch Walker (nice guy, but most of the stuff he works on is pop fluff) and host Dave Navarro (and seriously: these other guys are all sell-outs to some degree, but they have nothing on Uberwhore Navarro) offer criticism.

Keep in mind, this is supposedly a hard rock band. So does anybody bust out some Black Sabbath? Does anybody play a Motorhead track? AC/DC? Soundgarden? Pantera? Does anybody attempt a note-perfect Judas Priest cover, which would easily prove that you have vocal chops and a passing familiarity with metal? Negatory, good buddy.

The first singer, a lady named Storm Large (!!), did a decent version of "Pinball Wizard" while eye-fucking the camera every time it was pointed at her, which leads me to think she spends more time perfecting her come-hither looks than her vocal scales, but, well, heh heh, she is kind of hot, so I'll let her slide.

After that, a little sissy bitch named Ryan Star (not to be confused with the Ryan Starr who was on American Idol and then The Surreal Life) sang "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls, which kind of set the tone for the male contestants. Badass Ryan also spends a lot of time with a scowl on his face, as if he's just so ready to beat the living shit out of somebody, anybody -- but remember: he sang a fucking Goo Goo Dolls song. Dude, if you perform anything by them, you might as well tattoo the word "pussy" on your forehead.

Speaking of foreheads, there's an ugly little homunculus named Lukas something-or-other who bellowed a gruesomely affected Billy Idol song ("Rebel Yell?" I forget). Naturally, Navarro loved it.

Some unfortunate no-talent -- who would later, without the slightest hint of irony, refer to himself as one of the best singers in the world -- did a radically reworked version of noted hard rock staple "Roxanne" by the Police and thoroughly fucked it up. To his credit, Gilby told him it sucked.

A Pueto Rican goth chick sang that Evanescence song that everybody's sick of and made a hash of it, but since she too is kinda hot, Supernova graciously overlooked her vocal shortcomings. Navarro tried to bond with her by habla-ing some espanol and he sounded like the whitest Latino ever, which, of course, he is. Shut it, Dave.

One semi bright spot was Danila (sp?), a woman from Texas via South Africa who did a highly mannered version of "Lithium." She sounds just like Tina Turner, of all people, and when she rocks out -- take a swig! -- rather than try to bump and grind like the other chicks, she runs around and stomps and twitches. This will probably become very tiring after a few episodes, but beggars can't be choosers.

After the show as over, America voted and three douche bags were put in the hot seat. Each picked another song and then the Supernova brain trust voted on who would get the axe. The guy they booted was some geek from Chicago whose redemption song was, ahem, "Planet Earth" by Duran Duran. I don't think he understood the nuances of the show.

I'll keep watching this train wreck for now, if only to smirk at what are certain to be many more ridiculous song choices, as well as to enjoy the Hot Topic-flavored pulchritude of some of the female contestants. And I think at least once, I will play that drinking game I just invented and see what happens.

Less Like My Cousin, More Like the Vagrants I Occasionally See Downtown

2006-07-06T16:45:00.000-04:00

KFC is updating Colonel Sanders's "image" once again:

From the C-J via Gawker:

The new Colonel is younger, better defined, a video-age celebrity chef. And he doesn't have to share his space with the letters KFC. He's meant to represent Kentucky Fried Chicken again. His new look is less like your grandfather and more like your cousin.

Whatever.

Anybody remember those animated spots they did with a "hipper" Col. Sanders, featuring the voice of Randy Quaid ("Go, Colonel, it's your birthday")? Didn't think so.

Death of a Salesman

2006-07-05T11:01:00.000-04:00

From the AP:

HOUSTON (AP) -- Enron Corp. founder Kenneth Lay, who was convicted of helping perpetuate one of the most sprawling business frauds in U.S. history, has died of a heart attack in Colorado. He was 64.

Call me a paranoid cynic, but when you're as connected as Ken Lay was, faking your own death, fleeing the country and then spending the rest of your life (and your ill-gotten gains) on a private island in the Caribbean isn't entirely out of the realm of possibility, no?

Don't Worry, I Have No Problem Relaxing

2006-07-04T23:58:00.000-04:00

A declaration
Of the intention
To stop extension into my airspace
I'll put the flags up
Pull up the anchor
And then you'll know you're
in a different place
And I can't stand up and I can't sit down
'cause a great big problem stop me in my tracks
I can't relax 'cause I haven't done a thing
and I can't do a thing 'cause I can't relax

You've got your habits
I've got my customs
I'm sure you know it's got to be this way
No hesitation
And in the future
We'll celebrate on Independence Day
And I can't stand up and I can't sit down
'cause a great big problem stops me in my tracks
I can't relax 'cause I haven't done a thing
And I can't do a thing 'cause I can't relax
Independence Day
Independence Day
Independence Day
Independence Day

Hang out the flags ring in the new,
We should be dancing on the city streets
I know the tune, I know the words,
My mouth is open but I cannot speak
And I can't stand up and
I can't sit down
'cause a great big problem stops me in my tracks
I can't relax 'cause I haven't done a thing
And I can't do a thing 'cause I can't relax
Independence Day
Independence Day
Independence Day
Independence Day

It's pretty gay to paste song lyrics in a blog entry, but it seemed appropriate today. I wish I'd bought more Comsat Angels records when I was in high school, because they're all out of print now.

Anyway, it was a pretty nice 4th of July. For one, it rained most of the day here, which meant all the white trash in my neighborhood were unable to set off fireworks all day long. It always amazes me that people with no apparent means of support always manage to scrape together enough cash for six solid hours' worth of fireworks every year. Prioroties.

I probably shouldn't complain: There was one household a couple streets over that used to begin shooting off fireworks on Memorial Day and wouldn't quit until Labor Day, but they've either moved or somebody lost a hand last year, because it stopped this year. God bless America.

Employee of the Month

2006-06-16T16:29:00.000-04:00

I work with a guy I’ll call “Stan.” Stan is, generally speaking, a nice guy and, generally speaking, I get along well with him. Stan is also a musician. Like many musicians, Stan thinks that since he can play an instrument, this means that his knowledge and taste in all things music-related is incontestable. If Stan likes it, anybody with functioning ears should like it and if they don’t, they are clearly incapable of appreciating anything but the most unrefined crap, and if Stan dislikes it, then anybody who does like it is an idiot, or worse.

The punchline: Stan is a jazz aficionado, the absolute worst kind of pretentious, self-congratulatory music snob there is – this is coming from me, remember – and furthermore, Stan is a drummer. [Insert your own joke here.]

One weekend morning, Stan brought in a CD – jazz, of course – to play over the anchors’ IFB earbuds. The show is airing, they hit a commercial break, and Stan plays his disc. A minute or two goes by and the anchor says, “What is this shit? Turn it off.”

Stan was quite livid. For the next few days, he bitched that the anchor made him turn his CD off. “These are some of the finest players in the world, and she calls it shit,” he pouted and mumbled. “Finest players in the world … finest players … these are some of the finest players…”

Stan’s first mistake was trying to foist his tastes upon other people. His second mistake was bringing in whatever the fuck it was he brought in – some Ornette Coleman bootleg recorded in a graveyard in 1961, perhaps – and assuming that his grateful coworkers would lick it up: “Wow, Stan, this 27-minute free-form sax solo that’s going absolutely nowhere is the shit, dude! Burn me a copy!” That’s pretty damned conceited on Stan’s part, and I always admired that anchor for taking him down a peg that day.

Anyway.

I get a lot of advance CDs. This is a perk of being a freelance music critic. I have most of these materials sent to me at work. Today I received a promo of Young Widows upcoming debut album Settle Down City, which is due in August. Young Widows are a Louisville band that used to be called Breather Resist. They decided on a name change when their singer left the band. Regardless of nomenclature, the group plays a pretty heavy, powerful, hardcore-derived style of indie rock with a regular use of dissonance. It’s not entirely inaccessible, but it’s definitely rough sledding if you’re not into this kind of music.

Stan was loitering near my cubicle and he saw the CD. Better yet, he saw the press clippings that accompanied the CD, and right on top was a blurb that appeared in Spin proclaiming Breather Resist a “next big thing.” Spin used the unfortunate phrase “Louisville, Kentucky quartet that exorcise early-‘90s emocore” to describe the band. Stan picked up the clips pack, gave it a brief perusal and then announced to no one in particular, “Well, here’s another band that proves the less talent you have, the more popular you become.”

Where to begin? Well, for starters, I didn’t ask Stan, but I would be willing to bet my own liver that he’s never heard Young Widows or for that matter, Breather Resist, play a single note, so how does he know they have no talent?

Another thing: Spin is a shitty rag, but it is a national magazine and a lot of people read it. How many times have you been in Spin, Stan? Being in Spin is certainly no gauge of artistic merit, but just by being mentioned in it (two years ago), they’re quite a bit further up the musical food chain than any band you’ve ever been involved with, and Breather Resist doesn’t even exist anymore.

Here’s another Stanecdote: He engineers CDs for local bands. Once he brought in some tracks that he had been working on. He couldn’t stop boasting about how great they were, how the band’s songwriting was “solid” and how they “just have a really good sound.” Naturally, they were a thoroughly anodyne pseudo-alt-country knockoff with atrocious lyrics and utterly boring songs – complete and utter shit, in other words, and if Stan had one-tenth the impeccable taste that he says he does, he would’ve realized this. Instead, there he was boasting about this useless band that made Hootie & the Blowfish sound like the fucking Beatles. What a chump.

Dismissing Young Widows sight unseen (or sound unheard, in this case) was an incredibly arrogant and ignorant thing to do. Was he being glib? Oh, sure, but knowing what I do about Stan, it wasn’t too hard to read between the lines.

“Look at these guys, making a living playing the music they create, touring the country, not having to punch a clock or listen to some prima donna newsreader telling them to turn off their cherished jazz CDs. Oh, how I envy and hate them.”

Let Him Who Hath Understanding Reckon the Number of the Beast

2006-06-06T10:08:00.000-04:00

Here's an amusing little trifle I put together for LEO:

Check your calendar. This coming Tuesday is June 6, 2006, a.k.a. 6-6-06, Beelzebub’s Social Security number. In the spirit of this fortuitous instance, we have compiled a 666 playlist, the top 18 tunes for this day. Why 18? Because 18 is three sixes, as one memorable skit from The Ben Stiller Show said. The devil, as they say, has the best tunes.

18) Deicide, Legion: Bass player Glen Benton has an inverted crucifix branded into his forehead — this dude isn’t half-assing. Best cut? “Satan Spawn, the Caco-Daemon,” of course, although “Behead the Prophet (No Lord Shall Live)” comes close.
17) AC/DC, “Highway to Hell”: Makes the road to eternal damnation sound like a non-stop party.
16) Electric Hellfire Club, “Unholy Roller”: Because chanting “S-A-T-A-N, he’s our man” to the tune of the Bay City Rollers’ “Saturday Night” is G-E-N-I-U-S.
15) Venom, Black Metal: If you hate thrash, death and, yes, black metal, blame these guys. A classic.
14) Today is the Day, In the Eyes of God: Who is the Black Angel? On this disc, it’s noise terrorists TITD. Sample cuts: “Going to Hell,” “The Russian Child Porn Ballet.” Delightful.
13) Mayhem, De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas: These freaks took things too far, what with burning down historic churches in Norway, the suicide of former singer Dead and the murder of guitarist Euronymous by bass player Count Grishnackh. So they HAD to be included.
12) Meat Puppets, “Lake of Fire”: As evocative a description of hell as anything out of Dante’s Inferno — but catchier.
11) Marilyn Manson, Antichrist Superstar: The ultimate statement from America’s sweetheart.
10) Goatwhore, The Eclipse of Ages Into Black: New Orleans supergroup (of sorts) unites to craft dark, swampy black metal under a dark god, into a darker sun.
9) Tool, “Die Eier von Satan”: The devil (and Tool) has a sense of humor. This recipe for hash cookies sounds diabolical because it’s in German. Und keine Eier!
8) Led Zeppelin, “Stairway to Heaven”: But only if you play it backwards.
7) Morbid Angel, “Chapel of Ghouls”: “Your god is dead,” bellows David Vincent, and it’s all downhill from there. Not for the faint-hearted.
6) Iron Maiden, “The Number of the Beast”: This song is actually about a guy trying to break up a Satanic coven. He fails, naturally, but his heart was in the right place.
5) Rolling Stones, “Sympathy for the Devil”: Featuring a snazzy bassline (played by Keef), lyrics inspired by the novel The Master and Margarita and, of course, the woo-woos. Pleased to meet you.
4) Robert Johnson, “Me and the Devil Blues”: Legend has it that Johnson sold his soul to Satan so he could play guitar better. Now THAT’S devotion to the instrument.
3) Black Sabbath: Though the Sabs have recorded much better albums than their debut, Black Sabbath is probably the most Satanic. Fun fact: It was released on a Friday the 13th.
2) Aphrodite’s Child, 666: An epic prog-rock concept album about nothing less than the Apocalypse itself, written by future “Chariots of Fire” soundtrack composer Vangelis.
1) Slayer, Reign in Blood. Well, duh.

GWB = Pandering Shithead

2006-06-05T13:56:00.000-04:00

WHITE HOUSE (AP) -- President Bush says he is "proud to stand with" those who support a constitutional amendment to ban same-sex marriage.

What a shocker. These right-wing tough guys sure are a-scared of the gays, aren't they?

What I find so amusing and pathetic is that these dumbfucks apparently think that if same-sex marriage is recognized, it will somehow also be made manditory or something. It's also amusing how some of these staunch advocactes for protecting "the sanctity of marriage" have innumerable divorces and affairs to their "credit."

I Waited Two Years for This?

2006-06-04T23:26:00.000-04:00

I still enjoy The Sopranos, but this season was a little meh for my tastes. I kept waiting for something to happen, and with a few notable exceptions, nothing much did.

The AP's Frazier Moore summed it up thusly:

Having started strong last March with the near-fatal shooting of mob boss Tony Soprano by his senile Uncle Junior, the sixth season of this HBO drama seemed to wilt, week to week, in synch with Tony’s recovery.

The inevitable murder of Soprano captain Vito Spatafore -- offed by fellow mobsters for being gay -- had taken place in the next-to-last episode. But proving somewhat anticlimactic, it only whetted the audience’s appetite for a decisive dramatic finish to the 12-episode season.

That didn’t happen.

Stating Form and Design with Utmost Economy

2006-06-01T19:15:00.000-04:00

Alex Toth died on May 28. He was a comic book artist, but he was ...more.

He designed Space Ghost for starters, as well as the aesthetic given to the DC characters used in Hanna-Barbera's execrable SuperFriends show.

But his comics work was pretty spectacular. He was a master of minimalism, making every brush stroke count. His deceptively simple style was easy on the eye but difficult to emulate. To really appreciate Toth, you have to read a whole story -- one or two panels don't do his work justice.

There's a great article on the Comics Journal's web page that gives detailed biographical info and doesn't pull any punches (i.e., Toth was notoriously prickly and cantankerous and could be a total asshole).

But his personality defects shouldn't distract from his work. Toth was one of the greats from that era, and precious few of the old masters are left.

Now that they don't have to pay royalties, I'm sure a few tribute volumes will hit the shelves in the coming months.

I Suppose It's Possible Other Kids Are Masturbating and Spreading Their Semen Around the School As Well

2006-06-01T18:54:00.000-04:00

Watched The Squid and the Whale on PPV. It's one of those movies I see at Wild & Woolly all the time and think about renting but something flashier catches my eye.

All I can say is I'm sorry I waited this long. The Squid is one of the most deadpan, hilarious movies I've seen in ages. I liked it so much I bought a used copy on DVD at W&W the day after.

First, it features kids, and yet I wasn't consumed with the urge to climb inside the TV and strangle the horrible little fuckers as I usually am when children are required to emote.

Second, Jeff Daniels and Laura Linney are both really good, and William "Don't Call Me Billy" Baldwin is perfectly cast as an amiable doofus (or philistine, if you prefer).

Turns out it was written and directed by Noah Baumbach, who cowrote the screenplay for The Life Aquatic with Wes Anderson -- who executive produced The Squid and the Whale. Birds of a feather.

Soy un Perdedor

2006-05-29T01:04:00.000-04:00

Memorial Day weekend. Jen is up in the Region. I am here at HQ.

So far, I have watched three of the "Classic Album" DVDs: A Night at the Opera (Queen); Ace of Spades (Motorhead); Bat Out of Hell (Meat Loaf).

I also watched New York Doll, which is about Arthur "Killer" Kane, who seemed to be such a sweet, sad guy. How's this for an ending: After playing a triumphant reunion show with the survivng New York Dolls, Kane returned to Los Angeles feeling a little run down and sick. After three weeks, he went to see a doctor. He was diagnosed with leukemia and died two hours later. If that exact same scenario were presented in a novel or a fictional film, it would be seen as maudlin and unrealistic.

I also picked up a documentary on the Runaways. When the boss is out of town, I always try to hit Wild & Woolly and rent all the obscure and/or foreign movies that she doesn't want to sit through, but I can never remember which ones I want to watch, so I usually just end up looking through the music section (see above).

A couple of weeks ago, Jen and I were playing pool at the Barret Bar. The music they were playing was really good and it was obviously all from the same album. After seven or eight fantastic songs in a row, I went over and asked the bartender who was playing. It was Beck's Guero. Better late than never. I hit a few of my usual used CD haunts but I finally gave up this weekend and bought it new at Best Buy. Now I might have to check out Sea Change.

The album graphics are highly reminescent of Henry Darger's art. As I haven't bothered reading the liner notes yet, this may be intentional.

Pretty Kitty

2006-05-20T13:34:00.000-04:00

...a.k.a. lame-ass photoblogging, but what the heck.

Goddamn Electric

2006-05-15T22:13:00.000-04:00

For whatever reason, VH1 has ressurected their Behind the Music franchise, and it's about fucking time. I watched the all-new Ratt and Pantera episodes. The episodes showcased two bands that ostensibly play the same genre of music but were in actuality at opposite poles of the metal spectrum.

The one on Ratt was amusing in a pathetic sort of way, because Ratt has always been a pathetic sort of band: no real substance, just a nonstop babes ‘n’ booze party train (although I do own a copy of their greatest hits CD – I’m not made of stone). They were no worse than any of their contemporaries, but they weren’t any better, either. I thought it was horribly disingenuous to present the interview segments with former guitarist Robbin Crosby without indicating that he, like, died in 2002 – a factual tidbit they saved until the very end of the episode. Also, singer Stephen Pearcy looks like hell.

The one on Pantera had more meat, so to speak, and it rightly opened with the murder of guitarist Dimebag Darrell Abbott. The show presented Phil Anselmo as the root cause of Pantera’s eventual dissolution, which I don’t think is entirely accurate, but it’s a moot point now. Anselmo is an interesting character. He says he’s clean and sober these days but he looked awfully doped up during his interview segments. I wouldn’t want to ride in an elevator with him, but he is easily one of the most intense performers in metal; a truly scary dude. And Down, his offshoot collaboration with Pepper Keenan of COC (one of many Anselmo side projects), is awesome.

I always had mixed feelings about Pantera. I was working at a record store shortly after they broke big. Practically all of the people who bought Vulgar Display of Power were what you’d expect: ignorant, redneck assholes who thought Black Flag were a bunch of fags, yet couldn’t see the similarities between the two bands. On the rare occasions when I would play Pantera through the store’s PA – mainly to irritate customers or fellow employees – I discovered that despite their white trash audience, I didn’t hate Pantera's music, which was brutally simple and direct. It’s not all that different from a lot of hardcore, only it’s played at a slower tempo.

Anyway, a couple of years ago, I got an advance of The Best of Pantera: Far Beyond the Great Southern Cowboys' Vulgar Hits disc and I favorably reviewed it in LEO. If I can dig it up and I’m not embarrassed by it I’ll post it here for completeness’s sake.

I hope VH1 airs more episodes of Behind the Music. I suggest doing shows on Cheap Trick and the Cars, for starters.

Nobody's Fault But Mine

2006-05-10T16:08:00.000-04:00

The great computer war may be over.

I tried, as a last-ditch effort, to reformat the Seagate on the Gateway (remember, I reformatted it for the Mac so everything is copasetic on that end -- for now, at least). As expected, that did not work. However, while I was thumbing through the section of the Seagate's instructions I hadn't yet bothered to consult, I saw that Seagate does NOT recommend using their drives to switch back and forth between PC and Mac. So, yeah, this ordeal was pretty much my fault. Whoops. That's what I get for cutting corners.

So anyway, I bought a 1GB flash drive and transferred most of the crucial junk from the Gateway to the Seagate and/or the Mac. I rationalized that expense as being probably what I'd pay for a tech geek to fix it. Of course, the printer still doesn't work, but then, it didn't ever really work with the Gateway after we had its hard drive replaced the first time.

ONWARD

Running from the Body

2006-05-08T23:46:00.000-04:00

Grant McLennan died this weekend.

Known, if at all, as one-half of the creative axis of the Go-Betweens, McLennan was also one-half of the creative axis of Jack Frost, which also featured the talents of Steve Kilbey, who has written a few poignant remembrances of McLennan on his blog. Both Jack Frost CDs are worth buying, and he would probably want to be remembered for his music, not lame tributes on various web pages.

McLennan was 48 years old.

Paucity

2006-05-08T23:41:00.000-04:00

The lack of recent updates is due to the recent spate of internet outages, so if you're one of the millions who have made DMBYSC the cornerstone of your existence (TM Sam Sugar), blame Insight Broadband, not me. For once.

Hell Awaits

2006-04-28T16:57:00.000-04:00

This sounds like a good idea to me.

I'll stay home from work and tell my boss it's a religious holiday.

A Laff Riot, or: Your Twat Smells Like a Baby’s Coffin

2006-04-26T15:43:00.000-04:00

The Comedians of Comedy tour stopped by Headliners last night. Starring Patton Oswalt, Brian Posehn, Maria Bamford and Eugene Mirman, this show promises to appeal to the type of people who wouldn’t be caught dead in a comedy club. As I had interviewed Patton Oswalt for a story in LEO, I had comp tix and since it was Tuesday, what else was I gonna do?

I am pleased to report that all four performers delivered, i.e., they made me laugh out loud, which is pretty much all you can ask from a comedy show. What sets the Comedians of Comedy apart from the usual stand-up crap is the comedians’s sensibilities, for lack of a better term – none of them relied on the typical, tedious, tired airplane food or "men and women are so different -- am I right, fellas?" bullshit which makes people think stand-up is such a worn-out genre.

Oswalt was especially funny that night; I particularly liked his riff on the music used on conservative AM radio talk shows vs. NPR (“Man, I know what the kids dig! I’ve got an Ornette Coleman bootleg that was recorded in a graveyard in 1961!”). Posehn was good, delivering his material in that “is he stoned or is he retarded?” voice of his. Bamford was pretty interesting; she used this squirrelly cartoon voice for much of the set but then she would use normal-sounding voices to make jokes about her mother, sister and others. And Mirman has been a favorite of mine for a while, if only for "The Marvelous Crooning Child."

I am also pleased to report that Headliners was way packed. I haven’t seen this many people there since the Spoon show last year.

Technical Damnation

2006-04-24T23:28:00.000-04:00

Way back when I hatched my scheme to switch from PC to Mac, I bought a 160GB Seagate brand external hard drive to facilitate the process. It worked like a charm. The day I bought the Mac mini, I plugged the Seagate in and they were recognizing each other like long lost Army buddies.

Well, while Jen was off gallivanting in Europe last month, we had a power surge or something here at the house and the Seagate freaked out and now neither the mini nor Jen's laptop will recognize it, even though they used to get along and play nicely together in the past. I called Seagate tech support and the guy on the other end (a native English-speaker, but still quite obviously dumb as a bag of donkey manure) told me it sounded as if I would need to reformat the Seagate and start over from scratch.

I had resigned myself to this process and after almost two weeks of putting it off, I was undertaking it Saturday. I decided to go back to the source and reinitialize it on the Gateway so I could resave all the stuff I had previously saved on it so the Mac could once again use the files.

Lo and behold, the Seagate is still on speaking terms with the Gateway. All the files were usable, readable, openable (??) etc. In the interests of worst-case scenarios, I backed up all the files FROM the Seagate TO the Gateway, even though these files are scattered across various folders on the Gateway. I did that so they'd all be in one spot (i.e., one folder named "Jay's Crap" and one named "Jen's Crap.")

Just for shits and giggles, I unhooked the Gateway and tried to see if the Mac and/or the laptop would read the Seagate in the hopes that maybe somehow putting the Seagate with the Gateway "unlocked" it or some such computer voodoo bullshit, but no: neither mini nor laptop recognize the Seagate.

So now I'm stumped. My instinct says I should reformat the Seagate on the Mac, since that's the "main" computer now (I don't care if the Seagate becomes a blank slate now that I backed up my back-ups on the Gateway), but my razor-keen instinct also says that with my luck, the Seagate would then only speak to the mini and forget its old friend, the Gateway. Furthermore, I need the Seagate's 160GB storage capacity so I can warehouse big files, like the songs I've put together in GarageBand, which are insanely massive files. Oh, and all the porn, of course.

And no, the Gateway does not burn CDs because we didn't get a CD burner on it when we bought the motherfucker in 2000, which was my decision so I get to take the blame for that lack of foresight -- although I am considering having one installed just for that purpose, even though that would be an incredibly roundabout ass-backwards, not to mention costly, way of doing it.

At this point I would probably just buy a new Seagate (different brand, obviously) if these things cost $50 or less, but since I dropped nearly $200 on it, I want to try and see it through to its bitter conclusion. For lack of a better term, so I can get closure on it.

Any computer geeks out there reading this, please feel free to leave comments (besides "Sucks to be you," obviously).

Hey, Jeffrey Brown: Please Stop Cartooning

2006-04-16T11:43:00.001-04:00

I read Jeffrey Brown's graphic novel "Any Easy Intimacy."

Oh, how I hated this book.

For starters, it's an autobiographical work. I was -- and maybe still am -- a fan of independent autobiographical comics... provided they're interesting and not full of the solipsistic navel-gazing that has, unfortunately, come to define the genre. "Any Easy Intimacy" is nothing but navel-gazing.

The book consists of a series of vignettes delineating the gradual implosion of a romantic relationship. Love is a universal theme to which everybody can relate, but Brown's depiction of his own little melodrama is excruciating in its tedium. The book is an extremely quick read and yet it seems to take forever as you wade through the ups and downs and ups and downs between the two protagonists, "Jeffrey" and "Sophia." It's obvious that Brown finds each and every detail, each monochromatic facet of his pathetic existence, endlessly fascinating, but he is unable to convey that through his inept cartooning, which owes a gigantic debt to Chester Brown. But while Chester's style is simple and clean, Jeffrey's art is merely loose and sloppy. One would think that since Jeff places such obvious weight and significance on the events of "Any Easy Intimacy," he would have put a little more craft and effort into it, but that's not the case.

As mentioned above, the plot of the book follows the love affair between Jeffrey and Sophia, from their nauseatingly cutesy-poo introduction through their thoroughly boring relationship through its drawn out conclusion. There are several sexual interludes, which in Brown's expert hands are rendered with all the passion and eroticism of a trip to the post office.

(Incidentally, this book is the third book in Brown's Girlfriend Trilogy, the first of which is called "Unlikely: How I Lost My Virginity." I mean, SERIOUSLY, what possesses a douchebag like Brown to think that anyone besides himself wants to read about his first piece of ass?)

Brown helpfully includes a soundtrack at the end of the book, because if there's one thing that everybody loves, it's a mix tape made by an art fag who thinks every maudlin song he listens to was written about himself. Predictably, much of the music he recommends is of the self-pitying variety: Death Cab for Cutie, Elliott Smith, Pedro the Lion, Kissing Book. Golly, who would've thunk that a self-obsessed choad like Brown would have such atrocious taste in music? (Some good stuff is included as well, e.g., Low and Radiohead, but even a blind squirrel finds a nut every once in a while.)

At the end of the day, "Any Easy Intimacy" is just so precious and sentimental and saccharine and cloying that you can't help but imagine, just for a little bit, how awesome it would be to, say, hit Brown in the face with a shovel or something. At one point in the book, Sophia tells Jeff, "My dad thinks you're gay." He's not the only one.

Oh yeah, I'm tremendously disappointed that Top Shelf published this worthless piece of shit -- they usually display much better taste in material.

Wedding Crashers

2006-04-14T18:28:00.000-04:00

So apparently Storm and the Black Panther are getting married. Good for them; I hope that these two entirely fictional characters make each other happy. Jeepers, I hope the Ringmaster and his Circus of Crime don't disrupt the ceremony.

However, I think that this is kind of patronizing on the part of Marvel. Storm has been around the Marvel Universe since the mid-70s and the Panther has been around even longer but Marvel decided to retcon a romance into their past and now they're getting hitched. One can't help but think that the editors who dreamt this stunt up were thinking, "Hey, we've got two characters from Africa. One is male, the other female. Of course they'd be lovers!"

I like how Captain America and Iron Man are looking at each other like, "What the fuck, yo?"

Snap, Crackle, Pop

2006-04-11T19:46:00.000-04:00

Today I had two wisdom teeth pulled. This is something that I needed to have done since at least 2000. My left rear molar never fully erupted, as us dentist like to say, so from time to time, bits of food would get lodged under the gum back there and get inflamed. I could always tell when this happened because a) it was uncomfortable and b) I could occasionally smell pus. But since I'm a horrible procrastinator, I kept putting it off and putting it off.

Until yesterday, that is -- I was in quite a bit of discomfort-bordering-on-pain, so I made an appointment to get it taken care of.

Since I'm not a macho former drug addict like my dear friend James Frey, I had a local anesthetic. The doctor and his assistant then proceeded to basically yank the teeth out of my jaw. It took all of 15 minutes. It was entirely painless, but since I could easily hear the teeth cracking and popping like so many brittle twigs, it was a mite unsettling. Once everything was extracted, the put in some stitches, which I have to have removed next week.

I asked the doctor if I could keep the teeth as souvenirs. He said this was not allowed due to health regulations. However, they did let me look at them. They were awfully bloody.

Speaking of blood: I have to keep gauze over the wounds and replace them every 20-30 minutes. When I do, the pads are soaked with blood. It's fascinating for now, but if this persists, I will be concerned.

The Good: Ice cream for dinner, a day off work, a prescription for Vicodin.
The Bad: Bloody gauze, swelling, general discomfort:
The Ugly: The sockets where my teeth were.

Phunnybook Photoblogging

2006-04-10T18:17:00.000-04:00

My pal Jimmie hates it when I do this, but screw him -- he can start his own blog.

The above is Marvel's new, female White Tiger. I'm sure she's a spicy Latina firecracker (is there any other kind?).

I'm Lovin' It

2006-03-31T23:39:00.000-05:00

When I was 18 years old, I worked at a McDonald's. Oh, how I hated it, but I did manage to have some fun.

Example: When a new cashier was closing the store for the first time, there was a special prank that was always good for a laugh. I present the following in the clean, wholesome spirit of April Fool's Day.

1. Take two or three quarter pound hamburger patties out of the freezer. Put them somewhere in the store where they won't be noticed (a locker in the break room, for instance). Leave them alone for a few hours so they get nice and soft.
2. When the patties are the right consistency, roll them all together into a cylindrical shape. You're going for girth and length. If you do it right, you'll get a "snake" that's between 12-15 inches in length.
3. Being as inconspicuous as possible, cook your prop in the deep fryer. This should take about three minutes or so.
4. Remove from oil; drain. It should look like a big, brown turd.
5. Wait until the store is closed and the manager is in the office counting the drawers. Take the prop into a restroom (your choice) and arrange it in the toilet, preferably with part of it draped over the rim of the bowl.
6. The new cashiers always get stuck with cleaning the restrooms. Wait until she heads in that direction.

Usually, a yelp of disgust will be heard and then the patsy will come running out of the restroom. At that point, you can laugh and explain the trick, but why cut things short? Fortune favors the brave...

If you can keep a straight face, accompany her back to the restroom. "There, there, sweetie. Let's see what the problem is."

Upon arrival, you can play it several different ways. You can purse your lips and say, "Boy, that's disgusting. Unfortunately, you are on bathroom duty..."

Or, you can walk over to the toilet and examine the specimen for a minute or so, then grab it and throw it at the cashier. Some people cry when you execute this maneuver, however.

If you really want to make a lasting impression, however, go the extra mile and prepare a second turd. Keep the extra one safe and clean. When you accompany your victim back to the bathroom, solemnly assure her that you'll take care of the mess and send her out. After a few minutes, walk back up front holding the CLEAN turd. Say something like, "I don't know what all the fuss is about," and then take a bite out of it.

I was never able to go that far, although I did have the second turd all fried up and ready to go. Perhaps someone out there in blog world will pull off this tasteful stunt and succeed where I failed.

Auf Deutsch

2006-03-29T23:55:00.000-05:00

Jen has been in Germany since March 18. I knew I would miss her but the things I miss are funny. For instance, she goes to bed much earlier than I do. But since she's not here, I'm staying up way too late -- i.e., when she's home, I end up going to bed between midnight and 1 a.m. Lately, I've been up till (ha ha) 2:30 a.m.

Furthermore, all my friends -- yes, I have more than one -- are split into two camps: Those who think I'm spending all my solo time getting drunk and those who think I'm spending all my solo time watching porn. And even though I am drunk right now and I have "Snatch Masters 4" cued up in the DVD player, I kinda resent the implication that without proper "supervision," my life quickly devolves into binge drinking and chronic masturbation.

I Blame Piven

2006-03-28T15:05:00.000-05:00

Cargo magazine is shutting down.

Although the magazine was pretty dreadful, I still feel bad for all the people who have lost their jobs.