Yeah, I shit you not...I forgot I had a blog. I knew something's been missing. And what really sucks is I could have used this to whine about Chicago all winter. Since I last wrote anything on here, I moved to my parents's house in Baltimore and then on to Chicago in December. But I didn't (and still kind of don't) know anyone here all winter and could have totally written some bad ass, angst-ridden stories. It was so cold all winter and snowed every friggin day...uhhh, the weather itself made me stay inside and I was usually bored enough to watch fucking cold pizza on espn...sometimes twice. I played music sometimes but hit a rut in february and have kept playing but haven't recorded since then.
Obstensibly, I've been applying to law school and looking for jobs but have procrastinated so much that I've just finishing the applications now. I'll be all done by tomorrow finally and its just in time: I got tons of shit to write about on here. For instance, I just got back from South By Southwest.
I also got a dog...Spaghetti. Or spaghetti face, or spaghetti head or fettucine head or ravioli brain. you know, any italian dish. more to come...i promise. i'm about to go home now. you'll seee....if anyone still checks on this but i doubt they do...i haven't touched it since august.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Friday, August 11, 2006
1:59 am
After a long day of procrastinating productivity, it's still 1:59 am and I finally got everything ready to rock. I moved the studio into the living room so my girl can sleep and got everything plugged into the four track. I'm pumped and I got ideas ready to flow. So what the shit am I doing putting it in pill form (dig how I have the ready-made slang on pillstohear.blogspot? Pressing that shit up...)? I'm geting warmed up so I'll type and talk about music for a spell. Ease off my gangsta.
With the car stereo and ipod still sidelined, I haven't been able to listen to as much new music as I should. I mean, I've heard the albums I got recently. But instead of bumping them on repeat for a couple days like usual, I just hear them over bogus computer speakers when I have the gumption to fuck around with the computer. Which means I'm not loving the thom yorke, brightblack morning light, herbert, rhymefest, this heat, and spoon records of the last month yet. I haven't had those
intimate experiences yet that develop mutual respect between a man and an album. Come on, I know you know when a record hates you. Or is just pissed at you. It's like a half-step low or some shit and you can't figure it out. And as I type that esoteric bullshit, my itunes malfunctions and the hold steady is silenced. Speaking of the hold steady (as I no doubt have been doing lately), not only is the entire new album straight-up top-shelf, "Cattle and The Creeping Things" is one of the best songs I've heard in a minute. From the referential (to what, I can't recall) title to the churning piano heavy rhythm jam, this song would be a gem even without the classic "Tripping is for teenagers and hard drugs are for bartenders" line at the 40 second mark. Admittedly, I don't always pay attention to rock and roll lyrics as much as I should. It's usually not a problem as I wouldn't mind hearing mainstay indie rock lyrics about women, pot and California only sparingly for the remainder of my days. However, homeboy from the steadies has got my ear and I lament the fact that I miss what he's saying every couple lines. And that just shows how much I really don't listen since this dude (craig, i think?) belts out some crystal clear, plain speaking phrases. I don't know if its cause they live in nyc and their lifestyles might somehow be sorta like mine, but the lyrics about doing drugs in bathroom stalls, low-key big city catholicism, the idiocy of the rest of the country, threatening to move west, working on "vision quests," dealing with no good whores and being "strung out on the scene" really reverberate with me.
Ahh man, I just bullshitted around about "seperation sunday" (the only title associated with the album that doesn't sit right with me; figure, son!) for so long that I don't have time to talk about my other topics ranging from my ear wax removal treatment, today's battle in the epic war with cocksucker cockroaches, the quality of the pot I'm rolling with, season 2 of the wire, and my impending solitude in B-more. Dammit, if I could just remind myself to update this shit everyday, I'd be a happy healthy man. I also need to remind myself to return that library book and get one about Ben Franklin.
"Hey Nelson Algren, Chicago seemed tired last night, they had cigarettes where there's supposed to be eyes. Hey William Butler Yeats, all the Irish seemd wired last night. They tried to seperate our girls from our guys."
And she wants my to move somplace where the cigs got eyes.
With the car stereo and ipod still sidelined, I haven't been able to listen to as much new music as I should. I mean, I've heard the albums I got recently. But instead of bumping them on repeat for a couple days like usual, I just hear them over bogus computer speakers when I have the gumption to fuck around with the computer. Which means I'm not loving the thom yorke, brightblack morning light, herbert, rhymefest, this heat, and spoon records of the last month yet. I haven't had those
intimate experiences yet that develop mutual respect between a man and an album. Come on, I know you know when a record hates you. Or is just pissed at you. It's like a half-step low or some shit and you can't figure it out. And as I type that esoteric bullshit, my itunes malfunctions and the hold steady is silenced. Speaking of the hold steady (as I no doubt have been doing lately), not only is the entire new album straight-up top-shelf, "Cattle and The Creeping Things" is one of the best songs I've heard in a minute. From the referential (to what, I can't recall) title to the churning piano heavy rhythm jam, this song would be a gem even without the classic "Tripping is for teenagers and hard drugs are for bartenders" line at the 40 second mark. Admittedly, I don't always pay attention to rock and roll lyrics as much as I should. It's usually not a problem as I wouldn't mind hearing mainstay indie rock lyrics about women, pot and California only sparingly for the remainder of my days. However, homeboy from the steadies has got my ear and I lament the fact that I miss what he's saying every couple lines. And that just shows how much I really don't listen since this dude (craig, i think?) belts out some crystal clear, plain speaking phrases. I don't know if its cause they live in nyc and their lifestyles might somehow be sorta like mine, but the lyrics about doing drugs in bathroom stalls, low-key big city catholicism, the idiocy of the rest of the country, threatening to move west, working on "vision quests," dealing with no good whores and being "strung out on the scene" really reverberate with me.
Ahh man, I just bullshitted around about "seperation sunday" (the only title associated with the album that doesn't sit right with me; figure, son!) for so long that I don't have time to talk about my other topics ranging from my ear wax removal treatment, today's battle in the epic war with cocksucker cockroaches, the quality of the pot I'm rolling with, season 2 of the wire, and my impending solitude in B-more. Dammit, if I could just remind myself to update this shit everyday, I'd be a happy healthy man. I also need to remind myself to return that library book and get one about Ben Franklin.
"Hey Nelson Algren, Chicago seemed tired last night, they had cigarettes where there's supposed to be eyes. Hey William Butler Yeats, all the Irish seemd wired last night. They tried to seperate our girls from our guys."
And she wants my to move somplace where the cigs got eyes.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
ahh damn
I should have something to talk about. I've been up all night for no reason listening to and finding new music and I should have something to talk about. But that one domed me out and I freaked out about the hour. I can barely read the cnn ticker, which seems remarkably out of place rattling off the contract terms of the Islander's restricted free agents signing 'pacts.' I'm concerned about the civilian casualities in the new war and wonder if hezbollah really exists. Wait a minute, the blowing of the fan in this would-be sweltering apartment is definitely affecting my typing. It's like being in the opposite of outer space. Plus my brain hurts, and the hold steady rocked it. They did it with their guitars and their relevant lyrics about rocking and slacking. And skateboard p (dude better be ill) made a brief appearance cause i got it like that, off the inter-net net. I signed up for the fifty free jawns on emusic and went crazy so i didn't forget to quit before the two weeks of freeness ended. and there are apparently two kinds of free songs on the server so i cant keep count of my fifty. ahhh whatever. dammit, typing is so hard. yeah, its the fan but im sore as a whore after the dodgeball the other day. its not like normal exercise. its all running and contorting and throwing you body out of whack like only little kids in shape should do. my muscles ache. good gangster wheezy, they ache. i'm gonna throw on that this heat reissue and sleep it off. cause i got it like that.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
SATURDAY NIGHT
THE SKINNY TOM HANKS MAFIA IS THROWING THE ILLEST AFTERPARTY FOR SIREN WITH THE NARRARATOR AND THE END OF THE WORLD AT 3RD WARD. STAY TUNED.
you ain't nothing but a car theif who must be stopped
So I’m trying to turn up the heat. You know…turning it up. I decided that I’m sick of screwing around. I’m just like constantly hanging by a thread and when something goes wrong, I’m destitute. I hate to be a downer but my karma is in trouble: some ignorant piece of shit broke into my car last week even though it was parked right out front of Union Pool, that freaking clubhouse. Jesus, it’s a cop clubhouse too. Dig this ignorance: my mini glass panel on the driver’s side was still duct taped in from the last smack job who broke into my whip but the culprits thought about it and decided that it was probably better if they smashed out the driver’s window too. Its like the intersection wasn’t hot enough already and they needed to up their adrenaline or something. I mean, that area is just so crowded all night and there are always cop cars parked along the triangle somewhere. Some sissy hipsters must have seen something go down but were too busy pissing in their pants to do anything ‘cept run. But whatever, I guess I deserved to get broken into for the...let’s see…sixth time. Man, I gotta have shit luck cause this is just unreal. And they finally got my bass out of the trunk this time. So that’s three cd players, a fat book of my mostly burnt discs, and one bazooka tube. Plus they got my ill aviators. Bunch of savages in this town.
But it’s just sad: I worked my ass off last month and was finally going to have some extra loot to put away for the first time in a year. I was psyched. Rent check written and $200 left. But that money is gone. Spent at the junkyards in southwest Philly and my car still looks like shit. My A/C is fucking dilapidated now and I’m stuck with a 9 dollar Wal-mart boom-box. But that’s a wake-up call: I gotta hustle. Everyday. Snoop Doggy Dogg need to get a jobby job.
I’ve been enjoying helping my uncle plumb in Philly but the time away from home and on people’s couches, even if they are my family’s, is beginning to wear thin. Plus my uncle dissed me last week and asked my cousin help him because he claimed he couldn’t get hold of me. But I call bullshit on that so fuck all these hoes. Now that my girl might be staying, I need a real a 9-5 to seal the deal. I do alright freelancing but if I have a full-timer she can’t try and get me to move anywhere. I don’t want her to go but what is really killing me is the uncertainty. I gotta put my plans on hold til she figures out what the shit she’s doing. If I did bounce, it would surely not be to the yuppies infested north side of Chicago. I’m talking an ill row house in Northeast Phila. For 8 houndo a month, I get three floors and a backyard. It’s calling my name.
But then I go and catch an ill Les Savy Fav show at the park and Brooklyn regains some luster. Fuck man, the more I talk about this the more I don’t know what to do with myself. I better just stay put and hustle myself to death.
But it’s just sad: I worked my ass off last month and was finally going to have some extra loot to put away for the first time in a year. I was psyched. Rent check written and $200 left. But that money is gone. Spent at the junkyards in southwest Philly and my car still looks like shit. My A/C is fucking dilapidated now and I’m stuck with a 9 dollar Wal-mart boom-box. But that’s a wake-up call: I gotta hustle. Everyday. Snoop Doggy Dogg need to get a jobby job.
I’ve been enjoying helping my uncle plumb in Philly but the time away from home and on people’s couches, even if they are my family’s, is beginning to wear thin. Plus my uncle dissed me last week and asked my cousin help him because he claimed he couldn’t get hold of me. But I call bullshit on that so fuck all these hoes. Now that my girl might be staying, I need a real a 9-5 to seal the deal. I do alright freelancing but if I have a full-timer she can’t try and get me to move anywhere. I don’t want her to go but what is really killing me is the uncertainty. I gotta put my plans on hold til she figures out what the shit she’s doing. If I did bounce, it would surely not be to the yuppies infested north side of Chicago. I’m talking an ill row house in Northeast Phila. For 8 houndo a month, I get three floors and a backyard. It’s calling my name.
But then I go and catch an ill Les Savy Fav show at the park and Brooklyn regains some luster. Fuck man, the more I talk about this the more I don’t know what to do with myself. I better just stay put and hustle myself to death.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
The Life and Times of Elmo Black
Started writing a concept album but i dont think I want to give away any secrets yet. It basically traces my life up from about the time i started making bad decisions. I guess its a way of suggesting whout could have been. We'll see.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Long Overdue Props to RossWhere
When Kevin and I used to do mockeries of DJ sets at the trashiest college bar in NYC, Fordham’s bastion of cheese, meats and tape-ups The Upper Deck, neither one of us really approved of what the other one listened to or played. I mean obviously, we dug at least some of the same tracks. If we hadn't, we wouldn’t have been able to endure two or three nights a week together playing music for losers and embarrassed friends. But even though we generally agreed on the bangers to fuel the dance floor date raping, I wasn’t down with James Brown and he wasn’t down with DFA. Yet.
Now two years later, I’m re-discovering old friends and leaving my house again. And no sooner did I reach out to DJ K. Ross (or did he reach out to me? Who the fuck cares anyway: we’re boys again) than he and Elsewhere drop the “Play Anything” bomb on that ass. And Jesus Christ, these cats really are onto everything these days. While I was too busy listening to pointless indie bands, Kev was slowly planning his world domination with stacks upon stacks of classic jump-offs. Indie rock had embedded its pseudo intellectual superiority complex in my tastes and sheer punk rock stubbornness had kept me away from the heart of soul of DJ music. But nowadays I know he was right: indie rock is DJ poison. Shit, it'll take any misguided rock head years to catch up to his dust crates.
Of course I mean everything I say in a good way: he's gotta be one of the most talented djs in NYC. Not to mention his music and production skills. So as always, K’s mixing is flawless. I mean, shit, the whole album is flawless so I guess that means Elsewhere’s on point as well. Duh. From the obscure Motown shit Kevin’s been stashing for years to the Bangles, and back through with those bangers we used to rock and the dance tracks we used to argue about. And honestly, they’ve been digging cause I don’t even know who a lot of the tracks are by.
Yeah, everyone agrees that DJs are all on some “I play everything” shit these days. But they usually mean they just play everything they’ve seen people dance to. What sets this mix apart, aside from the utter devotion to Cusack’s masterpiece “Say Anything,” is how the blends turn otherwise unlistenable songs into dance-floor get-downs. Of course the stand-alones are there too as evidenced by the lead-off Nas and too quick mid-album Rapture tease, but these dudes turn shit your parents think is too lame into 3AM tracks. I’m not positive, but I’m pretty sure it was a Neil Diamond blend that made me start banging my hand of the roof of the car and yelling for more.
Above all else, the flow is what gets you here though. When you start losing interest in one style, they drop “Bloody Sunday” or “Shake” and everything gets dizzy and crunk again til the next breakdown. And when you’re dancing and geeking out in the fifth quarter, they hit you with technical acrobatics in the form of a Tears for Fears-Juelz-“You Can’t Hurry Love”-Marvin tear fest. Ahhhh, that's right, I said it. But dry those eyes player. It’ll all be yours one day. And you don’t want to be all moaning in front of them dirty south boys coming up next. Cause they CAN hear you and WILL definitely bitch slap your ass.
But that’s enough praise for my homies this time. Bedsides, I gotta save my compliments for Gnarls Biggie. Goddamn, ya’ll been warned.
Now two years later, I’m re-discovering old friends and leaving my house again. And no sooner did I reach out to DJ K. Ross (or did he reach out to me? Who the fuck cares anyway: we’re boys again) than he and Elsewhere drop the “Play Anything” bomb on that ass. And Jesus Christ, these cats really are onto everything these days. While I was too busy listening to pointless indie bands, Kev was slowly planning his world domination with stacks upon stacks of classic jump-offs. Indie rock had embedded its pseudo intellectual superiority complex in my tastes and sheer punk rock stubbornness had kept me away from the heart of soul of DJ music. But nowadays I know he was right: indie rock is DJ poison. Shit, it'll take any misguided rock head years to catch up to his dust crates.
Of course I mean everything I say in a good way: he's gotta be one of the most talented djs in NYC. Not to mention his music and production skills. So as always, K’s mixing is flawless. I mean, shit, the whole album is flawless so I guess that means Elsewhere’s on point as well. Duh. From the obscure Motown shit Kevin’s been stashing for years to the Bangles, and back through with those bangers we used to rock and the dance tracks we used to argue about. And honestly, they’ve been digging cause I don’t even know who a lot of the tracks are by.
Yeah, everyone agrees that DJs are all on some “I play everything” shit these days. But they usually mean they just play everything they’ve seen people dance to. What sets this mix apart, aside from the utter devotion to Cusack’s masterpiece “Say Anything,” is how the blends turn otherwise unlistenable songs into dance-floor get-downs. Of course the stand-alones are there too as evidenced by the lead-off Nas and too quick mid-album Rapture tease, but these dudes turn shit your parents think is too lame into 3AM tracks. I’m not positive, but I’m pretty sure it was a Neil Diamond blend that made me start banging my hand of the roof of the car and yelling for more.
Above all else, the flow is what gets you here though. When you start losing interest in one style, they drop “Bloody Sunday” or “Shake” and everything gets dizzy and crunk again til the next breakdown. And when you’re dancing and geeking out in the fifth quarter, they hit you with technical acrobatics in the form of a Tears for Fears-Juelz-“You Can’t Hurry Love”-Marvin tear fest. Ahhhh, that's right, I said it. But dry those eyes player. It’ll all be yours one day. And you don’t want to be all moaning in front of them dirty south boys coming up next. Cause they CAN hear you and WILL definitely bitch slap your ass.
But that’s enough praise for my homies this time. Bedsides, I gotta save my compliments for Gnarls Biggie. Goddamn, ya’ll been warned.
Friday, May 19, 2006
DJ TOMHANKS
That sucks. I just lost a long and incredibly witty blog because I had to use freaking windows media player to burn a man man/sunset rubdown disc for my ride ro Philly. Fucking bullshit. Ahhhh! Well obviously, I'm here today to talk about DJ motherfucking tomhanks ya'll! Back and here to stay. This ain't no freaking left turn trip, son. I'll try and recreate this but I totally lost my flow. I'll tell you this much: my last one didn't start like that. Whatever, no one reads this anyway. I dj-ed all throughout college up at Fordham and even rocked out downtown once in a while. I was never that good but I was fine with my relative shittyness. I was used to dj-ing with cats like k. ross or capsandjones and getting blown out of the water. I mean, I never practiced ever and didn't give a rat's ass about mixing. I just wanted to put on the track that was gonna get the most hype whenever possible. And that's that. But By the time I got back from the road trip these dudes were 'so freaking focused,' as funk flex would say. I had a hard time calling myself a dj anymore.
I could always get by as a dj because I know my music. The money I've made spinning records is a slight return on the tens of thousands of dollars I've spent on music throughout my years. Someone owes me dammit! You there, come to the tomhanks party and booze heavier than Papa. I can rock a party with my classics catalog and shake your asses with the newness. Thats just how I do. Now that I'm back to work and can practice while spinning, dj tomhanks is finally mixing. I've realized that all I need to play a good set are a few decent mixes. I can get by the rest of the night with letting songs ride out and cutting the power for dramatic effect. Plus that takes care of my urge to just let shit rock regardless of beat orientation. Putting on a consistent set has eluded me for so long but I know I can do it now. I've been studying music my whole life and know beats. I'm just lazy up there and that shits gotta stop. I gotta get on my game.
Shamefully, I didn't really make any money at either party this week. I think they dicked us at Niagra and there just weren't enough people at Capone's. But thats how it happens and its also the beginning. Shits gonna pop off sooner or later. I can just feel it: its gonna be a dope summer. And I'm getting ready. With at least one weekly, I must stay on my music now. To help with the first week, I stocked up on every dj's best friend this year: the Justice remix. I found about 15 of them in addition to the 'never be alone' and dfa 1979 mixes I already had. Most of them were funky as hell and the scenario rock 'schitzo dancer' remix is fire. The way he ironicaly pleads 'please no techno' is enough to make anyone at least grimmace and shake. Its worth coming out to see me just to hear that jam. Trust me. I got plenty of jams. And while the hipsters at niagra aren't that down with the new rap bangers, the capones kids aren't that self-aware and delusional. They like good music of all genres. So for them, I also prepared. I gotta bounce though. Stay tuned for full reviews of my party rocking jawdroppers.
spot this week.
I could always get by as a dj because I know my music. The money I've made spinning records is a slight return on the tens of thousands of dollars I've spent on music throughout my years. Someone owes me dammit! You there, come to the tomhanks party and booze heavier than Papa. I can rock a party with my classics catalog and shake your asses with the newness. Thats just how I do. Now that I'm back to work and can practice while spinning, dj tomhanks is finally mixing. I've realized that all I need to play a good set are a few decent mixes. I can get by the rest of the night with letting songs ride out and cutting the power for dramatic effect. Plus that takes care of my urge to just let shit rock regardless of beat orientation. Putting on a consistent set has eluded me for so long but I know I can do it now. I've been studying music my whole life and know beats. I'm just lazy up there and that shits gotta stop. I gotta get on my game.
Shamefully, I didn't really make any money at either party this week. I think they dicked us at Niagra and there just weren't enough people at Capone's. But thats how it happens and its also the beginning. Shits gonna pop off sooner or later. I can just feel it: its gonna be a dope summer. And I'm getting ready. With at least one weekly, I must stay on my music now. To help with the first week, I stocked up on every dj's best friend this year: the Justice remix. I found about 15 of them in addition to the 'never be alone' and dfa 1979 mixes I already had. Most of them were funky as hell and the scenario rock 'schitzo dancer' remix is fire. The way he ironicaly pleads 'please no techno' is enough to make anyone at least grimmace and shake. Its worth coming out to see me just to hear that jam. Trust me. I got plenty of jams. And while the hipsters at niagra aren't that down with the new rap bangers, the capones kids aren't that self-aware and delusional. They like good music of all genres. So for them, I also prepared. I gotta bounce though. Stay tuned for full reviews of my party rocking jawdroppers.
spot this week.
Monday, May 15, 2006
well, there you have it: the triumphant return of dj tomhanks.. hell fucking yeah.
niagra everything wednesday at 7th and A. this week, japanther is obviously playing with me and as we all know, they will tear us all a new asshole.
me and curtis just got back from montreal and we had a blast upon all blasts. raged it so hard and fell in love with a city i only previously respected. for some reason, those people up there are so much nicer than us. maybe its just nyc, but every single person we met was so genuinely nice. even when i got drunk and talked shit, which was often. i was hoping to have more hockey convo but i guess they're all bitter about choking in the first round. flyers did too so i'll leave it at that.
bored out of my gored now that im back and supine on the couch. watching father of the bride when i should be studying for my lsats that are now less than a month away. im so fucked on that too since i know, deep within my heart, that i will never be able to comprehend those logic games. wish me luck and come rage on wednesday. holla
Sunday, May 07, 2006
the decline
I don't really have much to say....i've been kinda busy and stopped listening to my new music. However, I think everyone in the world should listen to Nofx's "The Decline." It is an eighteen minute punk opera that touches on many of america's problems today. A beautiful song. Quite possibly the most complete punk rock statement ever and not just because they have endurance and attention spans. It goes through stages and gets better and better as the track goes on and progresses into intensity. Serious shit but as rocking and fun as any classic nofx. "Where are all the stupid people from...and how'd they get to be sooooo dumb." While not as poetic as the rest of the song, it is definitely an attention grabber to start off with. "Blame it on the greedyocracy" "Add the bill of rights subtract the wrong, memorizing six star-spangled songs. Our endeavor asks 'is anybody learning from the past? We're living in united stagnation." Yeah, I know that those words are somewhat silly but these motherfuckers are dead serious. And when you compare it to the rest of the so-cal punk lyrics, Fat Mike may as well be TS Eliot. Download now and play at maximum levels. Immigration, gun rights, fast food, suburban sprawl, and general commercialization of life as we know it. Plus, they are at the epicenter of all that is wrong with America: Los Angeles. Like he said: "A gun in California, a 20 dollar fine." And just when you think its over, they give it to you harder than ever.
Plus that TI jam is so hot right now.
Plus that TI jam is so hot right now.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
how about this
I'm having a tough time trying to quantify what I've been listening to lately. As per usual, I've been scheming on some downloaded material and came up with some good-review-only basis finds. Well, of course there've been others that didn't end up on my computer solely based on one simile-laden record review. For one, I'm feeling that new ghostfact record. Every song is either cut throat raw or a gritty soul loop like only ghost can rock well. I also dl-ed the strangest version of the new Built to Spill album. Instead of embedding the usual "This is a promo" messasge in the tracks, some clever A&R guy slipped in Mike Jones samples at dead-on perfect crescendo to spill moments. At first I thought I had accidentally opened up a different player and had that doubled-up moment like when you land on some jakey's myspace page and "boys don't cry" starts playing over your itunes so that the already distressed computer speakers sputter in pain. But no, that wasn't it and I hadn't opened up a web page. Well then shit, I thought. I was about to go find it again on soulseek before I talked to dustin and he insisted and I leave it on til he could pilfer it. It does kind of sound like those rock/rap mashups his mid-western pals are always sending out this way.
But as far as I can tell, the new Built to Spill album is butt-kicking raw. It really kind of sounds like the Strokes. Thats right, I said it. The freaking bowery boys themselves. The record starts off with a very fab-ian hollow ticking bass/bass/snare, bass/bass/snare, bass/bass/snare before an old-timey sci-fi sample says "welcome to violence" and the guitarist reinterprets the dun dun dun dun intro to "last night." Before long, the other guitar drops and they start duking it out classic BTS style. But this time, its just so much faster and more direct sounding. There is no more of that wayward meandering type junk they used to come with in the superchunk and pavement indie rock heyday of the late nineties. When emo was just an adjective and cats laid off the make-up and the hair products. Even when ahh shit, what's his name? Huh, Doug Martsch? Turns out, I didn't even know that guys name in the first place. Oh well. But even when homeboy starts singing, it is much more in-your-face and not quite as winey as usual. While not every song on here is as blatantly up-to-date as the opener, you can definitely tell these guys have been listening to records lately. Which is a good thing. I mean, artists should be changing gradually and subtly with the times so they don't end up having mid-life crisises and joining Nine Inch Nails like some knife-heir rock stars out there.
But as far as I can tell, the new Built to Spill album is butt-kicking raw. It really kind of sounds like the Strokes. Thats right, I said it. The freaking bowery boys themselves. The record starts off with a very fab-ian hollow ticking bass/bass/snare, bass/bass/snare, bass/bass/snare before an old-timey sci-fi sample says "welcome to violence" and the guitarist reinterprets the dun dun dun dun intro to "last night." Before long, the other guitar drops and they start duking it out classic BTS style. But this time, its just so much faster and more direct sounding. There is no more of that wayward meandering type junk they used to come with in the superchunk and pavement indie rock heyday of the late nineties. When emo was just an adjective and cats laid off the make-up and the hair products. Even when ahh shit, what's his name? Huh, Doug Martsch? Turns out, I didn't even know that guys name in the first place. Oh well. But even when homeboy starts singing, it is much more in-your-face and not quite as winey as usual. While not every song on here is as blatantly up-to-date as the opener, you can definitely tell these guys have been listening to records lately. Which is a good thing. I mean, artists should be changing gradually and subtly with the times so they don't end up having mid-life crisises and joining Nine Inch Nails like some knife-heir rock stars out there.
Trader Blows
Well that trip didn't last long: God, I hate that fake-hippie, so-cal crap they try to put on at Trader Joe's. I don't know why people have the impression that the company treats their employees so nicely. Other than starting the enlisted (I have trouble using the term employee since no one is really treated like they matter) out at around 10 bucks an hour, they really stack the cards against the 'crew members.' First of all, the union square store that I managed to work at for just under two weeks has more employees than any other Trader Blows in the country. The store is just so busy all the friggin' time that they have to hire scores of un-trained and barely interviewed pseudo-employees to keep the operation afloat. But the amount of traffic wasn't a turnoff so much as the way they handled it. Which brings me to the main reason I hated the place: the "full-timers." As part of their supposedly earthy philosophy, there aren't managers but asshole full-timers. Immediately, my forty hour weeks seem inadequate, don't they? These kids were all about my age but much stupider and less ambitious; thus fit to earn the full-time label and abuse power over a couple hundred generally nice 'crew members.' I don't know how they got their jobs, but I bet the screening was a modified version of my 5 minute interview. They are way too ignorant to actually run the store properly and love enforcing stupid rules. Our shelves remained empty while the registers were carding everyone (old ladies and peevish grown men included) for beer and even ringing the bell for full-timer verification if the customer happened to be from out-of-state. That meant ringing a friggin bell to get the people not wearing t-shirts to come over and double-check some 68 year old's Jersey ID just because. And the customers are all from out of state and love acting like they're insiders for knowing to go to the only grocery store in town with a line out front. "oh we're from California so we know all about Trader Joe's." Jesus Christ, get over your self.
The full-timers were too lazy to make a functioning schedule so I was usually forced to work register for entire shifts. Since the place was always so full of California transplants and curious old ladies and everyone they knew times ten, that meant a full 8 hours of one after the next people coming through my lane. Never a pause. After you thank them and give out the receipt, you flip this light switch for five minutes waiting for the line judge at the other end to send down the next custy. All that stuff was a pain in the ass but mainly I just couldn't reconcile the fact that double-bagging the groceries every time meant you needed to invest in stronger bags. You know? That was basically indicative of the entire relationship between company and employee: they don't really care about being nice and know you're going to quit sooner or later anyway. At my interview we talked about how I could escape the dreary desk job and be active at work. But I still sat at a computer all day; now I just wasn't allowed to sit. No one cared if I wanted to shuffle onto the produce or dairy department. Before I got there, the words "cigarette break" weren't uttered at the store. Powerless against my insane addiction to butts, I muttered something about not being able to work under such cig-less afternoons and was 3 minutes every two hours the end of the world? After some deliberation and references to the NYC Clean Air Act, I was granted tentative cig permission but still got dirty looks every time I asked. And thats an abbreviated version of why Trader Blows.
The full-timers were too lazy to make a functioning schedule so I was usually forced to work register for entire shifts. Since the place was always so full of California transplants and curious old ladies and everyone they knew times ten, that meant a full 8 hours of one after the next people coming through my lane. Never a pause. After you thank them and give out the receipt, you flip this light switch for five minutes waiting for the line judge at the other end to send down the next custy. All that stuff was a pain in the ass but mainly I just couldn't reconcile the fact that double-bagging the groceries every time meant you needed to invest in stronger bags. You know? That was basically indicative of the entire relationship between company and employee: they don't really care about being nice and know you're going to quit sooner or later anyway. At my interview we talked about how I could escape the dreary desk job and be active at work. But I still sat at a computer all day; now I just wasn't allowed to sit. No one cared if I wanted to shuffle onto the produce or dairy department. Before I got there, the words "cigarette break" weren't uttered at the store. Powerless against my insane addiction to butts, I muttered something about not being able to work under such cig-less afternoons and was 3 minutes every two hours the end of the world? After some deliberation and references to the NYC Clean Air Act, I was granted tentative cig permission but still got dirty looks every time I asked. And thats an abbreviated version of why Trader Blows.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Living Lately...
I went out the past couple nights and was supposed to go see Anthony and the Johnstons last night but the party filled up before me and moe could get ready. I thought that was why people RSVP'ed but I've totally been that guy who finagled his way in and took some other guy's spot so its no big deal. Its good though since I don't really have the funds to be going out like that and I was kind of in a shitty mood to begin with. I also remembered on the way there that I don't even like their overrated music anyway. Its straight up goofy and that voice bugs me. Plus they only played one(no doubt overrated)song anyway.
However, I fucking dug the shit out of the two shows I actually saw last week: The Sin Destroyers at Black Betty on Tuesday and Birdy Nam Nam at the Knitting Factory on Wednesday. I'm broke but I usually find myself spending money when I don't have any and sitting on my paper when it's stacked. I was out of the city for a week so I was ready to rock on my return. Plus I had job interviews on Monday and Tuesday and totally added those to my excuse list.
For quite some time now, I've been hearing about the Tuesday night Hot Rocks parties at Black Betty's on Metropolitan and Havermeyer. However, no sooner did I make it out to one than the last ever. Oh well, if that night was any evidence, we all missed out.
My homey Jesse BallGame from Savlas is the drunken/ed MC/Host and he's always raving about the comfortably understated hipster crowd. These kids are totally my scene and my reason for choosing Williamsburg: they don't try so hard like most of these motherfuckers with aspirations (Ha, we can't all be rock stars you know). Everyone looks and probably is pretty cool. They just aren't predisposed to cutting off circulation with confusingly expensive and naively tight (or the other way around) designer dungarees like their LES counterparts. Yeah, yeah, there are some fashion fools in the burg but like I'm saying: not these guys. These guys are cool and know how to have fun. Especially when the main event is mock christian metal.
Enter the Sin Destroyers.
I walked in mid set since we'd been at the wine bar across the street acting fruity and drinking overpriced beers from quite possibly the largest selection in williamsburg. Aftering creepy in the back door and pulling out my smuggled pint of cheap whiskey, i almost did a 80s movie spit take when i saw the stage. well, i guess you guys have the picture up top but that is a weak representation: they dress straight out of hot topic and priest surplus catalogs. i once spent an entire mass waiting my turn to do a reading flipping pages in disbelief and horror. they sell everything from purple lenten collars to holy chalices that make me question where my collection money goes (or went when i went to church). but my school mass antics and perpetual nemesis sister pat are far different stories that have little to do with destroying sin. The singer wears the full satan priest get-up: black pants, long-sleeve black button-up, geeky black-leather belt (the kind you'd notice your priest wearing during a pre-confirmation pep talk and instantly lose the last remaining shards of respect you'd been saving for him), combat boots, black leather biker gloves, and matching mall punk/auntie anne's employee stlye spike bracelets. The ouftit coupled with 'i don't care' metal guy hair made him look raw; but in a convincingly religous way. And backing him up were four equally metal dudes wearing black muscle tees with bling encrusted crosses over their chests. But i kinda stopped laughing when i realized the rest of the crowd was taking them seriously!
With song titles like "Holy Mother of God" and "Jesus is My Drug," you know they're in on the fun. Take the former for instance: it starts off with a subtle yet evil bass line followed by a def leppard riff blazing all 'dahnn digada dahnn digada...nainihnih nainihih' and then the signer starts off with 'married to joseph but he kept his old hands off and kept it all kosher...HOLY...MOTHER...OF GOD' danh digada danh digada.' Bad ass. The crowd seemed to know all the words and cheered after they announced each upcoming song. While they may have been smiling, they weren't laughing like I was: I was fucking shitting myself and turning to all my friends to make sure they were laughing as hard. Yeah, it was funny as shit and religous and all (to the point where I'm sure plenty of people aren't sure if they're kidding or not. but i am: they are.) but fuck the wine bar next time: i'll be front rowwing it hard. Jesus is my drug indeed.
As for Birdy nam nam, you really need to check out the web site www.birdynamnam.com
and watch the video. its four french djs that play a different instrument on each turntable and come out sounding like DJ Shadow showing off for scandinavian chicks. 'look baby, i can dig jazz. heres my low end.' but in the case of birdy nam nam, crazy b is the low end. i kept yelling his name the entire show. literally, at like crazy out-of-the-way moments too when it was all quiet. 'this next song is about the unemployment rate and how it killed my father. you know new york, you guys...(YEAH CRAZY B! YOU MY MOTHERFUCKER! HELL YEAH)... so much harder than LA.
Then into some more ambient beats with two rhythm guys and two solo guys that just kept doing crab walks and other invisible skratch piklz type shit. I don't want to hate and all but i dont know how much i'd enjoy the album. I really dug the show and was hopping up and down yelling the whole time but i think it was just the whole 4 turntable gimmick. you probably cant even tell the difference on record. but i dug it. i dug it hard. later nam nam.
Monday, March 20, 2006
caps and jones rip it corporate (complete with metal and house)
While I don't want everyone to think that I only blog about artists I know, I gotta give all mad props to the new Illegible Dj Caps and Pandemonium Jones mix tape. I went over there the day they got the assignment from Caroline Distro and along with the job came about 100 brand new Caroline discs. We all sat there at Creely's place in Greenpoint drinking stiff Polish beer and sorting through the stash.
'You don't have to use all of these, do you?'
'Yeah, just about.'
'But you get to pick the track though, right?'
'No, not exactly. They have singles picked out.'
''Well shit. That blows. So wait, you're telliing me that they're gonna pick which Misfits song you can use? That's absurd.'
'No no. We get to pick out the Misfits track. Thank God.'
'Oh, well you're gonna use 'One Last Caress,' right?'
'Oh yeah, of course.'
As the proud indie rocker, I originally felt bad for my boys and how those suits over at Caroline (come on, they are hardly an indie these days) had sucked the creative life force from the best DJs in Brooklyn. I'm not sure what they would have done with such a huge catalog on their own, but they played by the rules and came out with a banger. When the guy paying you tells you he wants a 61 song mix tape composed of exclusively singles, intelligent people swallow their pride and content themselves on the fact that they at least get to play 'One Last Caress' and that raw Broken Social Scene single. And the result is some of their best work.
Without the typical esoteric-north-BROOKLYN-nyu-alumni-cool-guy pressure to find the obscure dust gems, they are free to create a mix that just wants to make ya'll shake that ass. I mean, these cats would never think to use the melvins on a mix and that track just starts the mix off so proper. Its the musical equivalent of making all your party guests drink 3 jager bombs when they show up at yur front door. 'Alright motherfuckers, now we party.' The real beauty part for capsandjones fans is that we get to listen to lacuna coil rip through a song inexplicably titled 'heaven is a lie' followed by an equally cryptic one called 'all my friends are dead' and then just as we're laughing and headbanging, 'one last caress' makes it all seem so impenetrably high-brow. Or to put it in another way, we get to listen to catchy pop rock ballads without feeling like turds cause we know there is gonna be a caberet voltaire or can song coming up soomewhere. its like a free pass to listen to my chemical romance.
Another clutch aspect is how rapidly the metal gives way to backpacker hip-hop
like only caroline can produce. So when you're sitting on broome street waiting to get over the tunnel to go to philly or b-more and jealous rich people stare at you for listening to 'black music', don't worry: they are gonna pray for the thugs bumping biggie when they hear how a cranked system pushes out caroline's brand of metal. Ahh man, I just want to rewind to that melvins song again and I keep repeating 'heaven is a lie' over and over again in my head. That shit is so loud in the car too. Damn. And don't even get me started on the fiendish house music.
We all need to lose our inhibitions and loosen our jeans every once in a while. If you have hipster neighbors or somethng, just do it when you're alone in the shower one morning and try to keep the sing-alongs to a minimum. Or tell that dude to step his game up cause everyone knows james murphy name-drops lacuna coil whenever he gets the chance. I know you can download this mix from caroline and its probably going to be free (with purchase of a regularly priced caroline cd, that is) at your local record store pretty soon. So grab it and listen to it at full volume. Because you know what? You don't have to be cool all the time so relax. Then come to Savalas on saturdays and geek out with us.
'You don't have to use all of these, do you?'
'Yeah, just about.'
'But you get to pick the track though, right?'
'No, not exactly. They have singles picked out.'
''Well shit. That blows. So wait, you're telliing me that they're gonna pick which Misfits song you can use? That's absurd.'
'No no. We get to pick out the Misfits track. Thank God.'
'Oh, well you're gonna use 'One Last Caress,' right?'
'Oh yeah, of course.'
As the proud indie rocker, I originally felt bad for my boys and how those suits over at Caroline (come on, they are hardly an indie these days) had sucked the creative life force from the best DJs in Brooklyn. I'm not sure what they would have done with such a huge catalog on their own, but they played by the rules and came out with a banger. When the guy paying you tells you he wants a 61 song mix tape composed of exclusively singles, intelligent people swallow their pride and content themselves on the fact that they at least get to play 'One Last Caress' and that raw Broken Social Scene single. And the result is some of their best work.
Without the typical esoteric-north-BROOKLYN-nyu-alumni-cool-guy pressure to find the obscure dust gems, they are free to create a mix that just wants to make ya'll shake that ass. I mean, these cats would never think to use the melvins on a mix and that track just starts the mix off so proper. Its the musical equivalent of making all your party guests drink 3 jager bombs when they show up at yur front door. 'Alright motherfuckers, now we party.' The real beauty part for capsandjones fans is that we get to listen to lacuna coil rip through a song inexplicably titled 'heaven is a lie' followed by an equally cryptic one called 'all my friends are dead' and then just as we're laughing and headbanging, 'one last caress' makes it all seem so impenetrably high-brow. Or to put it in another way, we get to listen to catchy pop rock ballads without feeling like turds cause we know there is gonna be a caberet voltaire or can song coming up soomewhere. its like a free pass to listen to my chemical romance.
Another clutch aspect is how rapidly the metal gives way to backpacker hip-hop
like only caroline can produce. So when you're sitting on broome street waiting to get over the tunnel to go to philly or b-more and jealous rich people stare at you for listening to 'black music', don't worry: they are gonna pray for the thugs bumping biggie when they hear how a cranked system pushes out caroline's brand of metal. Ahh man, I just want to rewind to that melvins song again and I keep repeating 'heaven is a lie' over and over again in my head. That shit is so loud in the car too. Damn. And don't even get me started on the fiendish house music.
We all need to lose our inhibitions and loosen our jeans every once in a while. If you have hipster neighbors or somethng, just do it when you're alone in the shower one morning and try to keep the sing-alongs to a minimum. Or tell that dude to step his game up cause everyone knows james murphy name-drops lacuna coil whenever he gets the chance. I know you can download this mix from caroline and its probably going to be free (with purchase of a regularly priced caroline cd, that is) at your local record store pretty soon. So grab it and listen to it at full volume. Because you know what? You don't have to be cool all the time so relax. Then come to Savalas on saturdays and geek out with us.
Monday, March 13, 2006
vhs or beta
its so weird that vhs or beta played instrumentals for almost ten years before they realized that guitarist craig pfunder had pipes like that. always the frontman by way of attire and stage presence, pfunder makes it offical with the new role of vocalist on their latest record, 'night on fire.' maybe he was just saving his voice for the right time, nevermind the fact that it would have been sometime last year. while these lousiville boys may have waited just a tad too long to unleash their secret weapon, they are much more authentic than those brave but kill-ed schmucks. instead of sounding like some makeup clad deuschebag trying to impress critics with how much he sounds like killing joke, pfunder and vhs or beta actually sound like they made this record with futuristic technnology 20 years ago. to my knowledge, there has honestly never been such a fully realized attack of simon le bon-ness since the Good himself stalked models in the 80s.
while they've added vocals and pop hooks to this record, their sound is still rooted in drummer mark guidry's thumping electro dance beats coupled with dueling joe satriani guitars (you know, the kind of guitar noodles that just sound like they were recorded on funny shaped instruments) and bouncy bass rhythms courtesy of mark palgy. but now with the Georgian (Boy, that is) vocals and pop hooks peppering the tracks like woah, vhs or beta occupy a more important and far more original place in the cool guy music genre. they are no longer a band that tries too hard to sound french and pretentious but comes up short. now they sound mad poppy and even radio-friendly. with tracks like 'the melting moon' and 'you got me,' they draw a line in the indie sand and jump ship. the devastatingly catchy emo-inflected choruses and cheesy lyrics like 'And tonight we’re not alone, we pull the sky down by our side And I’m not leavin’ you anymore Standin’ in the sand, starin’ at the sun, twistin’ into sound And I’m not leavin’ you anymore,' its pretty obvious that they sounded far more cerebral when they used to keep their mouths shut. but its dance music and they're allowed to sound cheesy and feature six minute songs that say no more than 'forver baby, forever all night long.' basic elemental lyrics are almost a necessity in this type of surging, balls to the wall dance music. when you stop wondering what the singer is bithcing about and are permitted to just simply dig his vibe, you free up the mental urgency and let the music just take you to the top. i know i sound a hippie or an e-head or something but if you just 'shout shout shout shout shout to cure the silence' and 'sing la la la la la,' its pretty easy to get that weird, almost euphoric end result that new order or french role models daft punk and air grasp at during their better moments. i know you know what i'm talking about too: when music is just so bittersweet that it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up with goosebumps and shit. if you've never experienced this than i feel very sorry about that and urge you to smoke more pot and listen to more early morning music in the shower or something. that should produce the desired effect. while i'm not really sure this happened to me yet with this particular albumyet, i'm just saying that this is the type of music that is prone to that type of occurence.
plus it is bouncy radio dance rock without the grit or distortion most bands rely on to get crunk. critics and fans love to over-emphasize the fact that a couple shitty bands on the radio last year sounded a little new wavey. yeah, i guess you could kind of hear the strained attempt to sound like the cure. it was kind of hard though with all the distortion and yelling and such. no matter how hard those bands try to leave fat wreckchords out of their interviews, their music is always going to sound filtered through a childhood spent listening to skate-punk. i mean, there's nothing wrong with that. shit, i was a skate-punk for years, hanging out with all the other hyphenated-punk rockers. its just that vhs or beta were never part of that scene and i know that for a fact. craig, the marks and and guitarist zeke buck were always cooler than that.
i grew up all over the place because of my pop's job and ended up living in louisville in 1998 and 1999. it sucked changing schools in the middle of high school but whatever. i was confident in myself and things worked out fine. but you know how high schools are, especially all boys schools in hick towns like louisville, the music you like is an extension of your lifestyle. while i played football and swam and met a lot of people right away, i was a punk and found my lunch table with the other anti-society types. hyphenated punks, like i said, but we were all pretty smart kids and certainly knew we were above the average redneck. fuck it, i said it. fucking scum of the earth those people. jesus christ. but i'm sure the members of vhs or beta, st. x alumni or otherwise, felt the same way coming of age in lousiville with their tastes intact.
but anyway, we went to shows all the time. mostly of the all ages variety at a pizza place or an arcade or something like that. it was a lot of fun and some of the bands were pretty good. a typical five dollar show would have at least five bands playing anything from punk to ska to hardcore to some combination of the three. the good thing about living in a town as small as lousiville is that you can stay up on practically every gigging band in the city. this was even easier when you were 16 and could only go to limited shows. i mean, if it was a really big show like modest mouse or something we could sneak in. but its not like we had a prayer of getting into a vhs or beta show at some bar downtown. which is where i always remember them playing when i was there. they never shared the stage with the bands i saw and played in during high school, composed of high schoolers.
eventually i began to yearn for a fifth chord and started trying harder to get into the cooler shows. it all kind of happened when the FUCK (first unitarian church of kentucky) church opened its doors to the proto-hipsters of lousiville, what we used to call scenesters. since they were now running the shows and not some grimy promoter, shows went on all day and it was not uncommon for a 10 hour saturday in this basement. with so much time on the bill, my familiar punk bands now played with artsier types and indie bands. we got to hang out with the older scenesters like the assaee lake and the national acrobat and sometimes vhs or beta. i'm not sure if they ever played any shows there, but i definitely remember seeing them around at least once or twice. finally, i managed to sneak into an 18 and up show and saw them. from what i remember, it was a lot more experimental and noisy but the electro undertones were definitely there. they were always coming from that angle. they didn't just switch sides when the national opinion callled for it like some other posers hogging their would-be time on mainstream radio. plus they had the look down even way back then in 98. other scenesters wore tight jeans and leather, but no one had tighter jeans and shinier leather than vhs or beta. holy shit.
while the sucessful incorporation of vocals is certainly the biggest accomplishment of 'night on fire,' the steps forward in pop sensibility are definitely significant as well. 'le funk' had some grooves on it and the shit was pretty catchy but not like this effort. this time, they took all the best parts of beach boys bubblegum pop and new wave's sheer likeability and parked it in front of their churning electro rave rollercoaster. while i hesitated to use such a hardy description, their music has always invoked the feeling of a rollercoaster. with all the ups and downs and gaps and breakdowns/beats, you feel shook sometimes. the music has an interactive feel now more than ever that is rarely accomplished in the realm of cool guy indie music. excuse the excessive metaphor, but its like the romping drums are the constrictive tracks that the snappy bass and tricky guitars guide you over. and nowadays, pfunder acts like that crazy kid announcing the safety precautions, a little too happy with the sound of his voice over the PA. but the ride works. the music is finally all in together now and ready to rock at excessive, goosebumping volumes. holla indeed.
while they've added vocals and pop hooks to this record, their sound is still rooted in drummer mark guidry's thumping electro dance beats coupled with dueling joe satriani guitars (you know, the kind of guitar noodles that just sound like they were recorded on funny shaped instruments) and bouncy bass rhythms courtesy of mark palgy. but now with the Georgian (Boy, that is) vocals and pop hooks peppering the tracks like woah, vhs or beta occupy a more important and far more original place in the cool guy music genre. they are no longer a band that tries too hard to sound french and pretentious but comes up short. now they sound mad poppy and even radio-friendly. with tracks like 'the melting moon' and 'you got me,' they draw a line in the indie sand and jump ship. the devastatingly catchy emo-inflected choruses and cheesy lyrics like 'And tonight we’re not alone, we pull the sky down by our side And I’m not leavin’ you anymore Standin’ in the sand, starin’ at the sun, twistin’ into sound And I’m not leavin’ you anymore,' its pretty obvious that they sounded far more cerebral when they used to keep their mouths shut. but its dance music and they're allowed to sound cheesy and feature six minute songs that say no more than 'forver baby, forever all night long.' basic elemental lyrics are almost a necessity in this type of surging, balls to the wall dance music. when you stop wondering what the singer is bithcing about and are permitted to just simply dig his vibe, you free up the mental urgency and let the music just take you to the top. i know i sound a hippie or an e-head or something but if you just 'shout shout shout shout shout to cure the silence' and 'sing la la la la la,' its pretty easy to get that weird, almost euphoric end result that new order or french role models daft punk and air grasp at during their better moments. i know you know what i'm talking about too: when music is just so bittersweet that it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up with goosebumps and shit. if you've never experienced this than i feel very sorry about that and urge you to smoke more pot and listen to more early morning music in the shower or something. that should produce the desired effect. while i'm not really sure this happened to me yet with this particular albumyet, i'm just saying that this is the type of music that is prone to that type of occurence.
plus it is bouncy radio dance rock without the grit or distortion most bands rely on to get crunk. critics and fans love to over-emphasize the fact that a couple shitty bands on the radio last year sounded a little new wavey. yeah, i guess you could kind of hear the strained attempt to sound like the cure. it was kind of hard though with all the distortion and yelling and such. no matter how hard those bands try to leave fat wreckchords out of their interviews, their music is always going to sound filtered through a childhood spent listening to skate-punk. i mean, there's nothing wrong with that. shit, i was a skate-punk for years, hanging out with all the other hyphenated-punk rockers. its just that vhs or beta were never part of that scene and i know that for a fact. craig, the marks and and guitarist zeke buck were always cooler than that.
i grew up all over the place because of my pop's job and ended up living in louisville in 1998 and 1999. it sucked changing schools in the middle of high school but whatever. i was confident in myself and things worked out fine. but you know how high schools are, especially all boys schools in hick towns like louisville, the music you like is an extension of your lifestyle. while i played football and swam and met a lot of people right away, i was a punk and found my lunch table with the other anti-society types. hyphenated punks, like i said, but we were all pretty smart kids and certainly knew we were above the average redneck. fuck it, i said it. fucking scum of the earth those people. jesus christ. but i'm sure the members of vhs or beta, st. x alumni or otherwise, felt the same way coming of age in lousiville with their tastes intact.
but anyway, we went to shows all the time. mostly of the all ages variety at a pizza place or an arcade or something like that. it was a lot of fun and some of the bands were pretty good. a typical five dollar show would have at least five bands playing anything from punk to ska to hardcore to some combination of the three. the good thing about living in a town as small as lousiville is that you can stay up on practically every gigging band in the city. this was even easier when you were 16 and could only go to limited shows. i mean, if it was a really big show like modest mouse or something we could sneak in. but its not like we had a prayer of getting into a vhs or beta show at some bar downtown. which is where i always remember them playing when i was there. they never shared the stage with the bands i saw and played in during high school, composed of high schoolers.
eventually i began to yearn for a fifth chord and started trying harder to get into the cooler shows. it all kind of happened when the FUCK (first unitarian church of kentucky) church opened its doors to the proto-hipsters of lousiville, what we used to call scenesters. since they were now running the shows and not some grimy promoter, shows went on all day and it was not uncommon for a 10 hour saturday in this basement. with so much time on the bill, my familiar punk bands now played with artsier types and indie bands. we got to hang out with the older scenesters like the assaee lake and the national acrobat and sometimes vhs or beta. i'm not sure if they ever played any shows there, but i definitely remember seeing them around at least once or twice. finally, i managed to sneak into an 18 and up show and saw them. from what i remember, it was a lot more experimental and noisy but the electro undertones were definitely there. they were always coming from that angle. they didn't just switch sides when the national opinion callled for it like some other posers hogging their would-be time on mainstream radio. plus they had the look down even way back then in 98. other scenesters wore tight jeans and leather, but no one had tighter jeans and shinier leather than vhs or beta. holy shit.
while the sucessful incorporation of vocals is certainly the biggest accomplishment of 'night on fire,' the steps forward in pop sensibility are definitely significant as well. 'le funk' had some grooves on it and the shit was pretty catchy but not like this effort. this time, they took all the best parts of beach boys bubblegum pop and new wave's sheer likeability and parked it in front of their churning electro rave rollercoaster. while i hesitated to use such a hardy description, their music has always invoked the feeling of a rollercoaster. with all the ups and downs and gaps and breakdowns/beats, you feel shook sometimes. the music has an interactive feel now more than ever that is rarely accomplished in the realm of cool guy indie music. excuse the excessive metaphor, but its like the romping drums are the constrictive tracks that the snappy bass and tricky guitars guide you over. and nowadays, pfunder acts like that crazy kid announcing the safety precautions, a little too happy with the sound of his voice over the PA. but the ride works. the music is finally all in together now and ready to rock at excessive, goosebumping volumes. holla indeed.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
philly town, represent
Alright...so my life post shitty job has been nice and fulfilling. I mean, when I
think that I was only making 80 dollars a day, i don't miss that shit too much. I mean, I can make that straight up hustling. or even fucking day laboring.
ahh, i gotta bounce....i'm in philly so that means i take shit from my chocolate fountain employer andrew when i'm here. and he says we gotta bounce. so i'll be back in a bit and finish.
alright, i'm back...weak ass lunch at the counter on spring garden where andrew accused me of chinsing out on tip. i'm pretty sure i didn't unless they overcharged us but whatever.
the ride down here was pretty quick once i got over the tunnel. it took me like an hour to get from my house to hoboken but i ripped it all down the turnpike and ending up pushing an hour, 15. while i only had two cigarettes to get me through what is usually a five cig trip, i had just gone through a raw download session. after taking forever to get all my dirty laundry and snowboard gear together in two bags,
i finally left my block trying to get down with the daniel johnston tribute album i had just burned. i don't know the real track listing so i just burnt it with the original songs first and the covers afterwards. but in retrospect, i really should have put the covers first. a cover by an already accepted band is always easier to swallow. having never really listened to johnston aside from a few random tracks on compilations, i knew it would be an upward battle enjoying this album.
his ultra-quirky, old-timey folk songs are the type of material that really has to catch me in a good mood to get a fair shake. i mean, listening to it now as i write this the next day, i'm really enjoying the rawness and sincerety and unrequited hopefulness and all those other pretentious reasons for liking a singer who's voice cracks for emphasis. if you've never heard him before, think about an orgnan grinder or a 1930s ragtime record or something along those lines. his songs sound like he's singing into a coke can while showering with his clothes on. usually only accompanied by accordions, guitars and someone stomping their feet and clapping, johnston sings songs from the perspective of a loner who tries real hard but doesn't ever seem to succeed at anything worthwile. the man is trying to keep him down and women keep leaving him. however, on the positive side, it doesn't seem like its just one chick and on the occasional rock-outs, he seems to remember and celebrate the good times.
in fact, i really like this now. and now that i remember, i'm pretty sure i told myself i wasn't in the mood yesterday when i really was getting into it. i got in the car and tossed ths disc on (i had put it on cd because its length meant it would have been a big pain in the ass to clear space for on a stacked 20 gigger) with the intention of only listening while i hooked up the fm transmitter and scrolled around. i had it on for the first three or four tracks until i settled on the recently aquired hot chip album to replace it. 'nah, i'm not trying to listen to this shit now,' i told myself. 'i need something where i don't have to try, something easy; i'm driving for shits sake. uhh,l give me something british, give me hot chip.'
so i preemptively took the johnston cd out, not to be re-visited til this afternoon. i've since listened to all the original johnston songs and i've definitely enjoyed it. in fact, it wasn't even the hard sale and sketchy 'mood music' i promised myself it would be. all the reasons why i told myself i wasn't going to dig it yesterday have made me dig it today. plus, i've discovered that its all those characteristics that put shit on the fence, plus it tends to rock too. its got a total bill haley chuck berry vibe to all the songs with a real band. they are the type of songs i get drunk and claim i want to make one day: total pre-elvis bangers with sentiment. now wait til i get to the covers. then i'll really have some respect for this dude. as for hot chip...lets give it another listen before i judge. i'm about to go delvier food all night so i'll have plenty of time to digest my new pick-ups. later.
think that I was only making 80 dollars a day, i don't miss that shit too much. I mean, I can make that straight up hustling. or even fucking day laboring.
ahh, i gotta bounce....i'm in philly so that means i take shit from my chocolate fountain employer andrew when i'm here. and he says we gotta bounce. so i'll be back in a bit and finish.
alright, i'm back...weak ass lunch at the counter on spring garden where andrew accused me of chinsing out on tip. i'm pretty sure i didn't unless they overcharged us but whatever.
the ride down here was pretty quick once i got over the tunnel. it took me like an hour to get from my house to hoboken but i ripped it all down the turnpike and ending up pushing an hour, 15. while i only had two cigarettes to get me through what is usually a five cig trip, i had just gone through a raw download session. after taking forever to get all my dirty laundry and snowboard gear together in two bags,
i finally left my block trying to get down with the daniel johnston tribute album i had just burned. i don't know the real track listing so i just burnt it with the original songs first and the covers afterwards. but in retrospect, i really should have put the covers first. a cover by an already accepted band is always easier to swallow. having never really listened to johnston aside from a few random tracks on compilations, i knew it would be an upward battle enjoying this album.
his ultra-quirky, old-timey folk songs are the type of material that really has to catch me in a good mood to get a fair shake. i mean, listening to it now as i write this the next day, i'm really enjoying the rawness and sincerety and unrequited hopefulness and all those other pretentious reasons for liking a singer who's voice cracks for emphasis. if you've never heard him before, think about an orgnan grinder or a 1930s ragtime record or something along those lines. his songs sound like he's singing into a coke can while showering with his clothes on. usually only accompanied by accordions, guitars and someone stomping their feet and clapping, johnston sings songs from the perspective of a loner who tries real hard but doesn't ever seem to succeed at anything worthwile. the man is trying to keep him down and women keep leaving him. however, on the positive side, it doesn't seem like its just one chick and on the occasional rock-outs, he seems to remember and celebrate the good times.
in fact, i really like this now. and now that i remember, i'm pretty sure i told myself i wasn't in the mood yesterday when i really was getting into it. i got in the car and tossed ths disc on (i had put it on cd because its length meant it would have been a big pain in the ass to clear space for on a stacked 20 gigger) with the intention of only listening while i hooked up the fm transmitter and scrolled around. i had it on for the first three or four tracks until i settled on the recently aquired hot chip album to replace it. 'nah, i'm not trying to listen to this shit now,' i told myself. 'i need something where i don't have to try, something easy; i'm driving for shits sake. uhh,l give me something british, give me hot chip.'
so i preemptively took the johnston cd out, not to be re-visited til this afternoon. i've since listened to all the original johnston songs and i've definitely enjoyed it. in fact, it wasn't even the hard sale and sketchy 'mood music' i promised myself it would be. all the reasons why i told myself i wasn't going to dig it yesterday have made me dig it today. plus, i've discovered that its all those characteristics that put shit on the fence, plus it tends to rock too. its got a total bill haley chuck berry vibe to all the songs with a real band. they are the type of songs i get drunk and claim i want to make one day: total pre-elvis bangers with sentiment. now wait til i get to the covers. then i'll really have some respect for this dude. as for hot chip...lets give it another listen before i judge. i'm about to go delvier food all night so i'll have plenty of time to digest my new pick-ups. later.
Monday, March 06, 2006
man, i am so into this
i don't know what i was doing this whole time while everyone else was blogging their little hearts out. i have tons to say to the world, dammit. i guess i was just busy and all before.
so i've done a good bit of introducing myself and where i'm coming from so far. i've been dropping the literary bombs and been rocking the depression tip with all my ailments and coincidences (brian just told me that he found a coince for me-i was watching all these history channel things on the deveil last night and it turns out that yesterday was 3-6, 3-6 mafia won an oscar, and the PA lottery number was 666. while this doesn't usually qualify, i figured i'd throw it up anyway). by the way, you don't really have to read all those college essays i put up. those were mainly just to prove that i kinda know what i'm talking about when it comes to early 20th century literary philosophy.
but i've done enough of that and i want to get to music now. you people deserve to hear about what i've been listening to. i should probably start with publishing a list of everything floating around my computer. it would be ridiculous, of course, but it might also paint a better picture of my tastes before i start writing. damn, i wish i had that list for every music journalist i've encountered. stay tuned for that and, i promise, i'll finally start writing about music. it'll probably be something i downloaded today: she wants revenge, vhs or beta, hot chip, the editors, leftover crack, of montreal's latest, or this daniel johnston tribute. and you'll love it and be informed. so bip bip bop blah.
so i've done a good bit of introducing myself and where i'm coming from so far. i've been dropping the literary bombs and been rocking the depression tip with all my ailments and coincidences (brian just told me that he found a coince for me-i was watching all these history channel things on the deveil last night and it turns out that yesterday was 3-6, 3-6 mafia won an oscar, and the PA lottery number was 666. while this doesn't usually qualify, i figured i'd throw it up anyway). by the way, you don't really have to read all those college essays i put up. those were mainly just to prove that i kinda know what i'm talking about when it comes to early 20th century literary philosophy.
but i've done enough of that and i want to get to music now. you people deserve to hear about what i've been listening to. i should probably start with publishing a list of everything floating around my computer. it would be ridiculous, of course, but it might also paint a better picture of my tastes before i start writing. damn, i wish i had that list for every music journalist i've encountered. stay tuned for that and, i promise, i'll finally start writing about music. it'll probably be something i downloaded today: she wants revenge, vhs or beta, hot chip, the editors, leftover crack, of montreal's latest, or this daniel johnston tribute. and you'll love it and be informed. so bip bip bop blah.
look how hot my girl is
san francisco in the background too. road trip
we had a blast there. after driving straight up the coast and stopping through santa cruz and big sur, we rolled into san fran around midnight and started looking for a hotel. too bad them shits are all way too expensive on the peninsula. plus we had never been there and had no idea where to look. our guide book, the let's go guide to the usa on a shoestring (which i had snagged while interning at rolling stone), for some reason didn't have anything in our price range or non-hostel. everything was at least over a 150 any place halfway decent. eventually, we followed some homeless people to a travelodge that was like 100 after taxes and all. as we were unloading our bags, they were all like 'yeah, this is the party spot, the travelodge.' yeah, alright, its a party so i'll go get beer. but a sketchy beer run later proved frutiless and i mixed up my last bit of trader joes vodka in bed.
this pictue is from the park our friend christina from school showed us the next day where you can see the entire city. we took all kinds of 360 degree photos and shit. it was mad cheesy. i ended up really digging the city and said i could definitely live there if necessary. its got that laid back west-coast thing but also mad urban and kinda raw.
when we got there, christina had told us a about a rough bar fight she had gotten into the night before. there had been broken glass and some hair pulling with the whole bar jeering along. unbeknowst to us, we stumbled upon the same spot after leaving our hotel and walking up some hill. the bar, zeitgeist, ended being all outdoors with picnic tables and a dope selection of cheap beers. we end up getting wickedly stoned with some aged metal heads and blacking out on the walk home
the city feels mad euro because of all the crazy street signs and pay toilets and gay people. haight-ashbury has a gap, a ben and berry's, and some other equally corporate establishment one all four corners. oh well, what do i care about hippies anyway.
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