Strength and Vision

New & Old

2011-07-05T20:49:00.000-07:00

Just saw The Thin Red Line for the first time. Slapping myself for not watching it earlier. That's partly due to the fact that when it came out all my friends were like "man, that was way boring." Fools. But such is often the case with youth when a film is on that next level. Great use of narration, focusing on a mind's philosophical meanderings rather than explaining everything to lazy viewers. Need to get my hands on the special edition so I can see the massive amount of footage that got cut from the theatrical release.

***

Actually, I have another Malick flick on deck: Days of Heaven. If you don't think wheat fields are pretty to look at, you should after watching this one. And it also allows you the chance to hear me utter a very rare sequence of words: "Richard Gere is in it and it's really good."

***

Played softball last week. Mixed feelings. Can still hit the ball - went about 7 for 8. But it's slow pitch so everyone should be stroking it. My problems were in the field. I played second base and lost count of how many errors I made. Apparently, I cannot field ground balls anymore. I mean, the field was a mess and I wasn't wearing a cup and was a little tentative playing the ball. Still...I don't know. I expected more out of myself.

***

Fourth of July was eventful. Hiked Mount Si with good friend Chelsea. We did the smaller of the two trails. I honestly found it to be less intense than Tiger Mountain. But that might be because at the time I hiked Tiger Mountain I had yet to start running on a regular basis. Inept cardio may render any comparison erroneous. After hiking, stopped off at Twede's - the infamous North Bend cafe to be featured in Twin Peaks (there known as the Double R Diner). And yes, they had a damn fine cup of coffee. Finished the day off with a PBS documentary on the Jonestown Massacre. Sort of a bumout way to close the holiday.

***

Let's fire up that jukebox. Excuse me while I give it a swift kick...

Fell in love with these guys when I first heard Dead Reckoning about nine years ago. Reminded me of a slightly more indie version of Hot Water Music. Has that perfect balance of catchy melodies and raw energy. This one is off their recent comeback record, Fell & Found, which isn't quite as stellar as some of their past work. Though that's probably just my 18-year old self speaking. Either way, it's good to have Small Brown Bike back doing their thing.

Less Pomp, More Circumstance

2011-06-19T20:57:00.000-07:00

Graduated on Saturday. Received Alpha Beta Kappa Honors - not too shabby. Later that evening went to a graduation party at a fellow student's house (more like a mini-mansion). Good food. Legitimate dudes - they will be missed. Decided to get culinary for this celebratory soiree, whipping up a Spinach Artichoke Dip and a batch of some Mexican Hot Chocolate Snickerdoodles (big respect to Isa and the Post Punk Kitchen). Both were pretty popular - especially the snickerdoodles - despite the fact that a few traditional ingredients were MIA. This did, of course, lead to some curious inquiries about my diet. Most were respectful, merely wondering what it is I eat. One individual, however, blurred the line between ignorance and insolence. I can deal with the misinformed. It comes with the territory. But disrespect is not so easily digested. Recalling the exchange I had with this individual in detail is something I don't care to do here; allow me to say that even after politely fending off a barrage of common untruths with the facts, there was still a sense of mockery about the line of questioning. Cool was kept, though. And in what was perhaps my greatest rebuttal, I let the food do the talking, as the sipper of haterade proceeded to walk a subsequent line between irony and hypocrisy amidst mouthfuls of snickerdoodle. Beef squashed.

***

Been pretty lazy with reading lately. Before I was busy finishing up school. Now I'm busy looking/applying for jobs. But I'm trying to at least pick up Fierce Invalids Home From Hot Climates at least once a day. Josh, it needs to get back to you before the Chicago move. I will make it happen.

***

I always like to post music on here. But am I being delusional in doing so? Does it ever get listened to? Well, that's not going to stop me from posting it. I'll just make it completely random, shuffling my iTunes library and seeing what happens. Here we go...

What comes up but only one of the classics. Top 5 band from the Pacific Northwest. Greatest (or maybe second greatest) metalcore album of all time. The definition of innovation in heavy music. That definition is Botch. Reunion time, guys. Show the newjacks how to harness the power of the angular riff.

What?!

2011-06-10T07:42:00.000-07:00

OH NO.

NOT.

I'm secure enough in my masculinity to post cute cat pictures. I'll even own up to frequenting this great blog about cats (and where they do not belong). Really though, The Murph just needed to be shown some more love on here. Because he is one of the dopest cats of all time.

***

In other uber-masculine endeavors, I've elevated my game to that of 99% vegan warrior. It's been about a week or two - can't remember the exact day. Besides the slice of toast that (for whatever unnecessary reason) contains a minute bit of milk, I'm doing the thing. Maybe it's because I've been on this path for the past nine years, but I'm not finding it to be that hard. My only concern is the whole omega-3 deficiency; LNA (or ALA) not being the problem, but having to rely on inefficient conversion for EPA and DHA. If the algae DHA/EPA pills weren't so expensive, this wouldn't even be an issue. So for the time being I'm relying on the conversion, consuming about 4-6 tablespoons of ground flaxseed daily (it's rich in LNA needed for conversion and is pretty inexpensive if you buy it in bulk, grinding it yourself). After doing some math, I think I've got my omega-3 bases covered. And while flaxseed is high in fat like most nuts in seeds, the rest of my diet is so low in it that I don't have to worry about exceeding recommended intakes. Plus, I exercise often enough to put me well outside the average 2,000 - 2,500 calorie diet plan, allowing me a few extra grams. Long story short, I'm almost there. Babes won't dig it (What do you mean you can't take me to Wendy's?). But that was never the point.

If all that talk about omega-3's made no sense, I'd suggest looking it up. Even if you eat meat, you most likely aren't consuming enough fish to get the recommended levels. Your brain health depends on it.

***

Watched Sling Blade for the first time in a number of years. It's an old favorite. Sort of ridiculous. But therein lies the charm. I can imagine Billy Bob Thorton seeing Forest Gump and thinking, "...what if he wasn't a wuss and had a homicidal past?" Thorton is great in the role, too. I almost forget it's him there at times. Total character immersion. No way he was breaking between takes.

***

Recently discovered The Replacements. A little after-the-fact on that one. Better late than never, though. Josh, I sent you one of their albums and I haven't heard anything back yet, which means you probably aren't feeling it. You probably think they sound the Goo Goo Dolls. Whatever, dude.

Great song? I agree.

Running with the lions

2011-05-26T22:26:00.000-07:00

It was time to get a new pair of running shoes. And since normal running shoes that are non-leather don't really exist - unless you are fine with Saucony's (after straining a tendon(s) in my foot that took a month to heal, I am not) - trail runners are the way to go. So this evening at REI, I snagged those beasts above: La Sportiva's Wildcat. Since I'm normally something of minimalist with my Chucks, I'm still getting used to the gaudy appearance; there's a bit of NASCAR typography going on down the side and the tread is so aggro it looks like they scaled Godzilla. But all that is irrelevant. Running is no fashion show. These babies have the best support I've ever experienced in a shoe. Will be trying them out tomorrow for a 5 mile rage.

So when was the last time I talked about Converge on here? A few months ago? Well, that's quite a hiatus. I'll keep it short this time, letting the following Facebook post by the band and accompanying picture tell most of the story.

A cop moshed and a pregnant girl did a backflip!!! CT was straight up animalistic!!!
Thank you thank you thank you!!!

Accompanying caption read, "Moshcop buying Converge merchandise after slaying kids in the pit."

The things that don't happen at a Bright Eyes show. Just another example of what makes punk/hardcore so unique. And why it certainly isn't "dead". (Okay. I see Jane Doe on vinyl in the picture and am about to have a coronary. Please stay in print. A record player is coming down the pipe.)

Phantoms of the hardwood and the injured reserve

2011-05-21T22:22:00.000-07:00

I was the last person on the planet to get a cellphone, a debit card, as well as try sushi (and I'm referring to the vegetable rolls). So it makes sense that I only just now watched Sonicsgate. If there is an individual who lives under larger rock than I do, it's a documentary about how the city of Seattle lost the SuperSonics. Between the years of 2004 and 2008, I did not have cable and lost touch with what was happening with the team. During the latter of those years, I lived with a now ex-girlfriend who harbored a deep-seeded hatred for any sort of athletic competition besides horse racing (if that even qualifies). Combining the factors of estrangement from broadcast media and exposure to a significant other's contagion of negativity, I simply stopped caring about the Sonics. I remember being on campus at WWU, hearing the rumors of the team moving and thinking with indifference, "business is business."

But after watching the documentary, I've realized how deep the roots run. Seeing vintage footage of Payton, Kemp and Schrempf, along with some of the other more historically underappreciated players like Sam Perkins and Hersey Hawkins, it's pure nostalgia. It made me realize how big a Sonics fan I was when I was young. The Seahawks were annual disasters and the Mariners only had a few memorable years (which both the organization and city still try to unsuccessfully cling to). The Sonics were the real deal and regularly contended in the playoffs. So they were easy for a kid to get into. And those games in May and June were intense; I'd be cursing Karl Malone and the rest of the Utah Jazz in my mind for all four quarters.

Now that I've seen how everything went down, it depresses me. Mismanagement of players, poor draft picks, bumbling local ownership and politicking, deceitful buyers...and a plethora of other things the film does a good job of outlining/explaining. I don't know man, it bums a dude out. (And you know who else got bummed out? Ex-season ticked holder, Sherman Alexie. That's who.) The worst part has to be that the Oklahoma City Thunder, the team that the Sonics became, is right now playing in the Western Conference finals. Good game.

***

Think I screwed up my elbow. Too much working out. Took the week off. No lifting. Don't want tendinitis. But I think I'm going to lose my mind if I don't engage with some iron soon.

***

To capture the essence of this post, I give you Harvey Milk. The album the song below is off of is A Small Turn of Human Kindness. (It came out last year and really should have made my "best of" list.) Most artists just front with the "you guys, I am really sad and I need to sing these songs" and end up sounding too catchy to actually be sad about anything. Harvey Milk, on the other hand, don't sugarcoat despair. While on past releases they've definitely played around with some blues rock and have been known to cover an entire R.E.M. album live, nothing of the sort exists here. Crushing sludge and doom. Exclusively. I don't think I've ever heard anything that so poignantly characterizes the sense of completely bottoming out. Makes Elliott Smith sound like he just needed a Xanax.

Tong Po vs. Billy Pilgrim vs. Goblin-esque beats

2011-05-14T21:44:00.000-07:00

Spending my Saturday evening watching Kickboxer and getting stoked. It reminds me of how when my brother and I were kids we used to put on snow gloves, go out to the backyard and box. And I do mean box. Full contact. Just no face hits. Kicks may or may not have been thrown. I believe a few other dudes from the neighborhood got in on the action too. How my parents allowed this to go on, in their own backyard of all places, I cannot explain. It's not like we were inconspicuous about it. We were out there yelling and screaming and beating the shit out of each other. Granted, we were between the ages of 7 and 11; the worst damage we could do was knocking the wind out of the other guy. Still, we had a sort of "fight club" a good three years before that Palahniuk guy had anything to say about it. A curious memory, for sure. One I haven't recalled in years and which is at odds with much of my childhood. Thanks be to Jean-Claude Van Damme for the memento.

My mom gave me quite a surprise this week when she walked past me carrying my copy of Slaughterhouse-Five in her hand. I didn't really know how to react. I said something like, "Are you sure? He's pretty weird." Better that than Breakfast of Champions, though; she wouldn't have gotten past Vonnegut's illustrations. Well, I hope she sticks with it.

Been jamming a lot of Zombi lately. For those not in the know, they are an instrumental two-piece consisting solely of drums and synths. They play in the progressive vein a la Rush and Yes, but are clearly influenced by the scores of classic 70's/80's B-horror films of the Italian persuasion. Their new album, Escape Velocity, is way rad. Now if you listen to the track below and think, "this one's for the nerds," you would be correct. I am a nerd. And I see/hear no shame in it.

The Bueno

2011-05-05T22:16:00.000-07:00

Indie singer-songwriters. What's really all that "independent" about most of them? Acoustic guitar, hooky folk songs, Beatles melodies thrown in to feign diversity. These are the necessary elements for the cardigan crew to get bout it, bout it. I'm not trying to be overly cynical here; I've just described a handful of artists that I enjoy listening to. I won't go so far as to claim that every songwriter has to sound completely different from one another to attain originality or merit. But there is definite irony in the generally formulaic nature of this music, causing me to roll my eyes and shake my head at the "independent" minstrel show of songwriting.

Then I hear The Grime and The Glow by Chelsea Wolfe. It has little to nothing to do with what I described in the paragraph. So I'm rightfully captivated by what I hear. That is not to say she isn't without comparison; PJ Harvey comes to mind. But it feels fresh. There's incredible variance in the material: subdued poppy post-punk, end-time folk, discordant funeral blues, something that sounds like a whale song filtered through a guitar, etc. And it'd probably be a lo-fi mess of an album if it weren't tied together by Wolfe's hauntingly beautiful vocals, which - with somber bewitchment - create harmony amongst the discordant. 2011 may not be half over yet, but this is my current AOTY.

EDIT: This album actually came out at the end of last year. Whoops. She does have a new one, Ἀποκάλυψις ("Apokalypsis"). Will be checking it out shortly.

Points of No Contention

2011-04-25T21:53:00.000-07:00

The new David Bazan album rules hard. It was to be expected.

John Vanderslice has still got it. Though it would have been nice to see him with a full band (not complaining, Chelsea), I can only imagine how expensive it is to tour with gas prices being what they are right now.

Twin Peaks has taken over my life for almost a week. Lynch must have had one amazing pitch to even get this thing on the air in the first place. Also, Sherilyn Fenn is a fox. And what I wouldn't give to have coffee and donuts with Agent Cooper.

There is no need for Kellogg's Frosted Mini-Wheats to contain gelatin. This would be a liferuiner, if not for the fact that I've already begun to eat like an old man. Oatmeal, toast, banana. Everyday. Oh, and coffee - black as some kvlt as hell Norwegian metal.

Punk rock and hardcore is still great music. Those who say otherwise should just go ahead and apply for their AARP membership.

Just trying to keep this thing alive.

Some dudes need to chill.

2011-04-09T21:27:00.000-07:00

Recently a friend of mine interviewed The Get Up Kids. You probably know by now that I think their new album, There Are Rules, sips large quantities of wack juice. That being said, the interview was good and can be found in its entirety here. But when reading it I was struck by a certain response from the band.

Jim Suptic: To us, every album we have ever made sounds different. When people say our “signature” sound, they are usually talking about “Something To Write Home About”. Probably because it was our most successful album. We wrote some of those songs when we were teenagers. I’m 33 now. I love that record but seriously, it was over a decade ago. We wouldn’t even know how to write an album like that again. Especially not lyrically. Things that were important to me then seem quite trivial now.

My immediate reaction was to shake my head and recall the classic jam below.

If you're scratching your head, thinking that there couldn't be two more unrelated entities than that of The Get Up Kids and Gang Starr, hold tight. Take a gander at Guru's hook on the above track.

It's mostly tha voice, that gets you up
It's mostly tha voice, that makes you buck
A lot of rappers got flavor, and some got skills
But if your voice ain't dope then you need to [chill...chill...]

In reply to Suptic's comments about the lyrical immaturity of Something to Write Home About, I say "irrelevant". Allow me to invoke Guru's concept of "tha voice", but furthering its scope to encompass all "sound" (or narrow it a bit to specify "instrumentation"). The Get Up Kids could write a song about Yogi Bear taking a rocket ship on an interstellar voyage for picnic baskets and I would listen to it...if it had "tha voice". I don't hear "tha voice" on There Are Rules. I hear some guys who really like New Order and Joy Division but lack the sense needed to incorporate synths and electronics into songs without a shoehorned awkwardness (oddly enough, Reggie and the Full Effect did a better job of this). So basically all that's left are some supposedly more-sophisticated lyrics that no one read in the first place. So basically it should have been a book of poetry that no one read in the first place. What's that saying about whether or not a tree makes a sound when it falls without anyone around? Well, it doesn't - not without "tha voice". Guess they should have chilled.

Something only I would find interesting.

2011-03-27T21:23:00.000-07:00

EXHIBIT A: 1986

EXHIBIT B: 1990

SUPPLEMENTARY EVIDENCE: "I adore them: the honesty and great songwriting, and everybody in the band is just a badass." (Philip Anselmo on The Smiths)

CONCLUSION: *head explodes a la Scanners*

Yo sucka...

2011-03-21T22:54:00.000-07:00

This one goes to The Murph. Because he is unapologetically loquacious and loud as hell. But we wouldn't have him any other way. Just tonight my mom caught me calling him "sweetums". She couldn't understand that it was a misplaced reference to Parks and Recreation. So I then tried to cover up by referring to him as a "hairy turd". He is, after all, both. Such is the feline quandary known as The Murph.

Read John Barth's Lost in the Funhouse. Or read all but the last two stories, getting burnt out on his abstract exercises in form. There are definitely some good ones here; "Night Sea Journey", "Petition", and "Lost in the Funhouse" are equal parts golf clap and hearty laughter. Things bog down when the stories are based off classic Greek epics. While I probably should be more familiar with the Illiad and the Odyssey, the fact is that I've only read one of them (I cannot recall which) and that was about eight years ago. So when dude starts name dropping "Telemachus" and "Pesistratus" like we're already BFFs, I just want to crack an MGD and tell him to eat a fat one. Nevertheless, I'd recommend this to anyone looking for something beyond the standard fare narrative. It's a good chance to mix it up and act smarter than you actually are.

After talking to Josh (one of my supposed three loyal readers), I've been giving some thought as to what I want to do with this blog. I am considering copying him and making the transition to Tumblr. I think its format is much better suited for shorter posts - a form I'd much rather deal in at this point. These wide margins are so daunting sometimes. I'd still keep this blog for the occasional longer rant. But we shall see. I'm pretty lazy with what I've got going here. I might be too lazy to start an entirely new enterprise.

Parents just don't understand.

2011-02-24T22:24:00.000-08:00

School has been pretty gnarly as of late. A few large projects to finish up (one which I miscalculated the due date of by a week). A couple of tests. One inept instructor. I've been putting in work. So a class cancellation because of snow offers a nice reprieve, even if it cuts into break.

While I was working on one of the aforementioned projects, I happened to be jamming The Smith's Meat Is Murder via iTunes (Morrissey - the unassuming badass - helps me plow through the tedium of documentation). I step away from the computer for a lunch break and let my mom check her email. From the kitchen, I hear the volume of "Barbarism Begins at Home" gradually increase. Christ, is she vibing to this shit? I then flashback about five years to a scenario involving Iron Maiden's "Run to the Hills" and my mom galloping to the tune of "this has a great beat!" I should be mature enough to deal with this overlap in taste. Maybe even pleased that there has been a bridging of the gap. But since this is a woman whose musical sensibilities include Fine Young Cannibals and the Flashdance soundtrack, my insecurities over defining "awesome" are stirred. Mom, I love you. But I can't be guilty by association.

Allow me to hand out a little self-love. Within the period of one night, I dropped knowledge on Facebook concerning the classic nature of both French cinema and Ice Cube. I'll be the first to admit that I'm much better suited to teach a course on the latter. But taken together...who does that? Who else can wax on entities from realms so disparate? Besides Spike Lee, nobody. I'm just too next level. Can't stop. Won't stop.

Been on something of a Converge binge lately. No big surprise (you may recall my gushing proclamation that Jane Doe was the best album of the last decade). I don't know what else to say about them or if I really need to say anything about them, but whenever I hear a C0nverge track I feel the impulse to tap you on the shoulder say, "Do you hear that? That is the sound of annihilation. Beautiful, isn't it?" I had that reaction ten years ago when I first got into them and I still get it today. No less intense. That is timeless power. The closest thing to a spiritual experience I have. It sounds silly, but it's true. "Annihilation" is extinction. And here it's the extinction of my senses. Senses that are prone to registering desire and suffering. "Annihilation" leading to the transcendence of economic materialism that is this modern life. Dudes, I'm talking about a basic Buddhist principle here: nirvana. No, I didn't just lose my mind. It was all just a ploy to post another Converge song.

They got it right the first time.

2011-02-16T10:09:00.000-08:00

A live-action Akira? I'll avoid the unnecessary "why's?" and just shake my head in disdain. Even if James Franco is on board, it seems pointless. What could the adaptation do that the anime already didn't? Precisely what made the anime so compelling was that it was a "cartoon" doing things that cartoons don't do. Shoot, things that most movies don't do. I should probably contextualize those last two statements by clarifying that I first saw Akira at about 13 years of age. Around that time, I was watching the likes of The Nutty Professor and Space Jam. So then I see this animated Japanese movie that's completely alien in every way possible: it's subtitled, the story is difficult to follow and...christ, was that a cartoon boob? Basically, it was some next-level sci-fi shit and completely blew my mind as a kid because it was so different. But now that anime is all the rage in America (for the last decade or so), undiscerning nerds will gobble up anything big eyes and dumb hair, regardless of how banal or ludicrous the story and/or art is. Akira was, and still is, great because you can see the meticulous care that went into every detail of each frame. No way that same level of care will go into the adaptation.

I finally watched Inception, making me the last person on the planet to do so. Totally got it. Don't even need to ask me about it. (He's still in his dream, right?)

Some words on The Human Stain. Protagonist, Colman Silk, is a light-skinned black man. A professor of classics. Light enough complexion to pass for white in most cases. During youth, decides to disown his black family to create white identity; wife and children never know. Later in his 70's, has an affair with an apparently illiterate white janitor in her 30's from the university he had previously been employed at (got fired for inadvertent racism in using the word "spooks" to refer to habitually absent students he didn't know were black). Desire in the opposite. Power in secrecy. Binaries broken internally and externally. Oh the tragedy of human contradiction.

Just finished The Hunger Games. Not bad. It's clear that the author, Suzanne Collins (who used to work on that old Nickelodeon show, Clarissa Explains It All), is familiar with the likes of The Running Man and Battle Royal. There were even a couple of scenes in the book that reminded me of parts from both Predator and Rambo: First Blood Part II, with the violence toned down a bit. After reading so many novels steeped in textual ambiguity, it's nice to pick up a story that essentially tells itself. That being said, it's no Feed.

I really want to go to Rain Fest. Not only is it in Seattle this year (Neumo's), but the lineup is insane: Black Breath, Owen Hart, Shook Ones, Most Precious Blood, 7 Seconds, Madball, and Trial...to name a few. Oh wait, it's already sold out. Fantastic.

Resurrection

2011-02-06T19:16:00.000-08:00

Please excuse the hiatus I took from blogging last month. I needed to recharge my batteries. Actually, I was just lazy as hell and felt no obligation to entertain you.

Scratch the lazy part. Though a sedentary activity, I've read a lot lately. In fact, I've been following along with with an online lecture series for a Yale course on the American novel since 1945. It's given me the chance to get around to some classics I'd previously overlooked, as well as dust off a number of texts for much deserved rereads. The reading list is as follows (in order): Black Boy, Wise Blood, Lolita, On the Road, Franny and Zooey, Lost in the Funhouse, The Crying of Lot 49, The Bluest Eye, The Woman Warrior, Housekeeping, Blood Meridian, The Human Stain, The Known World, and Everything is Illuminated.

Props to Sno-Isle Libraries for supplying the needed books - with the exception of Lost in the Funhouse , which I've been trying to get by request/interlibrary loan for the past few months (Josh, hook it up if you've got it). I'm currently reading The Human Stain, which means that I only have two more novels to finish before I can officially say that I've completed a course at Yale (sans attending "section" classes or writing any of the papers). Yeah, I've read at my own leisure, starting back in the fall. So although those Yale kids are a bunch of snooty aristocrats, their academic rigor is impressive; reading two novels week in the midst of a full credit load would have broke this camel's back early in the term.

Of the books I reread, it's Housekeeping that I'm most glad I came back to a second time. I first came across it five years ago while at college in a post-modern literature course. My thoughts at the time were something like, "Women. Nature. Hold on while I get the soy milk and Luna Bars" *escapes out back window*. Now I have a much greater appreciation Marilynne Robinson's ability as a writer. I'm not claiming to completely understand what she was doing in Housekeeping (something along the lines of Emerson or Walden). But I know originality when I see it. Did I mention she was a hardcore Christian? All the more amazing that I was feeling it. What can I say? I've got two aces up my sleeve when it comes to theologians in fiction: Robinson, the Protestant transcendentalist and O'Connor, the Catholic absurdist. (C.S. Lewis, you get no love here.)

I can't ignore the Super Bowl. Some key points.

1) I'm sure everyone's favorite commercial was the VW/Darth Vader/force-using one. It was aight. But personally I liked the Doritos one with the the crumb-stain fiend who sucks a dude's thumb and rips off another's pants; that's homoeroticism appreciated. I also enjoyed the British game show-themed Mini Cooper commercial centered around the catch phrase "cram it in the boot", as the contestant proceeded to shove a 12-foot subway sandwich into the trunk of an extremely small car. No sexual innuendos here.

2) That preview for Cowboys & Aliens? I think I'll just watch Tremors again.

3) Black Eyed Peas halftime show. Didn't watch it. Okay, I watched it on mute to know when it was over. Saw that Slash made a cameo for an abominable rendition of "Sweet Child O' Mine" (the GnR royalties must be drying up). I guess it wasn't completely muted. Would have much rather watched the Springsteen performance from two years ago. And lady Ferguson, youse a butterface ho.

The game? It was good. Rather surprised that the Steelers weren't able to pull off the comeback, despite the large deficit at halftime, since the Packers suffered some big injuries in the secondary. To Pittsburgh, I have this to say: I love Troy Palamalu's hair and Brett Keisel's beard, but rapists can't be Super Bowl champions. Ben Roethlisberger, I'm looking at you. "Alleged sexual assault", my ass. I understand that you're one ugly bastard and therefore it's hard to get piece. Doesn't mean you get to strong-arm women. You know who's even uglier than you and still gets laid on the reg without resorting to dirtbag tactics? This guy.

Lemmy Kilmister, my hero.

Tis the eve of someone else's savior...

2010-12-24T22:23:00.000-08:00

...I am drinking a Pacifico, listening to the first Led Zeppelin album, wrapping presents. The Murph is "helping". Was going to bum out and watch Au hasard Balthazar. But christ, it's already half past ten; I'll never make it. Might as well watch Die Hard again. I need to hit that proverbial prune juice to get regular with the blog entries. But that might take a Christmas miracle.

Happy Holidays, turds.

If you were expecting a lengthy update...

2010-12-04T21:13:00.000-08:00

...too bad. Not feeling it lately. Still, I've been doing some reading and watching some movies - recapped in short here.

Blood Meridian is the most memorable book I've read in quite some time. If Faulkner had grown up in the Southwest and wrote Moby Dick, it have would read like this. The contrast between the skillful eloquence of the prose and the human depravity which it depicts is mesmerizing and unlike anything I've encountered. To quote a critic, Cormac McCarthy is a genius - also probably somewhat insane.

Decided to then go with a more traditional Western in Once Upon a Time in the West. Can't go wrong in terms of entertainment with Sergio Leone. Claudia Cardinale is a goddamn babe and Charles Bronson is cool as shit with great lines ("I saw three of these dusters a short time ago...inside the dusters, there were three men...inside the men, there were three bullets.")

Finally checked out When We Were Kings, which is about the "Rumble in the Jungle" between Muhammad Ali and George Foreman in 1974. Despite its Academy Award, I wouldn't say it's the greatest documentary in terms how well it was put together; clips get recycled here and there. Though it's hard to deny the vintage footage of B.B. King (apparently he could stand and play guitar at one point) and James Brown (the eternal badass in his prime), not to mention Ali - who was a hilarious enigma way ahead of his time with that clever rhyme scheme. Boxing may not cater to everyone's sensibilities. But watching Ali absorb Foreman's punishment, essentially draining the aggressor of power and then successfully mounting an assault...it is a thing of brilliance and beauty.

The Descent - gnarliest Lifetime movie ever.

Been jamming The Promise by Bruce Springsteen a lot. Don't know how these were leftovers from the Darkness on the Edge of Town sessions. It's classic Springsteen: blue-collar Americana that is melancholy, sentimental and always genuine. Haters be damned.

Kind of want to see The Fighter. My cinematic instincts are telling me that I should know better. We'll see what happens.

Starting to read Lolita. Lock up your daughters.

30 Years Against the Grain

2010-11-04T20:02:00.000-07:00

I would be racked with a sincere guilt if I didn't at least mention that Bad Religion had recently celebrated their 30th birthday. After all, they were my first punk band; heard "Infected" on the radio around '94 or '95 and I was floored, which is kind of funny because that song was, comparatively speaking, tailor made for the airwaves. Nevertheless, it contrasted starkly with the Candlebox's and Seven Mary Three's of the time. It had a volatile energy, even at a mid-tempo. And there was something distinct about vocalist Greg Graffin: he didn't have that drawl of self-loathing narcissism common to frontmen and songwriters. He was articulate, both in terms of his pronunciation and vocabulary. The obviousness of the latter was driven home when I finally got my hands on a copy of Stranger Than Fiction (don't know how my parents let me walk out the Wherehouse with a CD by a band named "Bad Religion"...big thanks, mom and dad). At age 9, I recall reading the lyrics to the title track.

A febrile shocking violent smack

the children are hoping for a heart attack
tonight the windows are watching,
the streets all conspire
and the lamppost can't stop crying
If I could fly high above the world
would I see a bunch of living dots spell the word stupidity?
Or would I just see hunger lover homicides,
loving brother suicides
and olly olly oxenfrees, who pickaside and hide

...moving on...

In my alley around the corner
there's a wino with feathered shoulders
and a spirit giving head for crack
and he'll never want it back.
There's a little kid and his family eating crackers like Thanksgiving
and a pack of wild desperadoes scornful of living

Again, I was 9. So all this went right over my head; my only concerns were playing baseball, drinking Slurpees and collecting X-Men comics - everything kids that age should be worrying about. It wasn't until the angst of my teenage years that BR's lyrics became discernible and I began to adopt the liberal ideologies and cynical worldview that were conveyed in their songs. And that's a healthy cynicism, mind you - not some involuntary, knee-jerk, "fuck the government" response. It was more about understanding the individual in relation to the rest of society and coming to terms with fact that there is strength in being an outlier, but that it's not always a comfortable position to inhabit. Okay, there was a slight inclination to smash the state. But I think the rebel spirit is a healthy part of youth. Otherwise, there'd just be apathetic band nerds and Rush Limbaugh jocks.

Nowadays, I'm a little softer. I'd sell a limb for a job that provided a living wage. I indulge in the viewing of arbitrary, testosterone-driven competitions such as MMA. And I occasionally listen to that second Counting Crows record. But looking back, I have to acknowledge Graffin and company as laying an important part my character's foundation. My parents taught me how to be sensitive and compassionate. Bad Religion taught me how to shove a foot up the ass of any status quotidian dogmas that fail to pass tests of simple logic. And for that I am eternally indebted to them.

To celebrate this grand occasion, I figured I'd throw up my favorite BR song - which is no easy task for me to designate. But if there is one jam of theirs I live by, it would have to be this one. Consult the lyrics below if you feel compelled to sing along.

A grizzly scene on my electron beam

told a story about human rights

So all the King's horses

and all the King's men

had a riot

for two days and nights

Well, the city exploded

but the gates wouldn't open

so the company asked him to quit

Now everybody's equal

Just don't measure it

Well Hanson did it to Hester

and Mark David did it to John

and maybe Jack did it to Marilyn

but he did it to South Vietnam

For beauty and glory

for money, love and country

Everybody's doing it,

Don't do that to me

A bitter debate and feminine fate
lie in tandem like two precious babes
While the former gets warmer,
it's the latter that matters
except on the nation's airwaves
And custodians of public opinion stayed back
after vainly discussing her rights
Lay hands off her body
it's not your fucking life

I don't know what stopped

Jesus Christ from turning

every hungry stone into bread

and I don't remember hearing

how Moses reacted

when the innocent first born sons

lay dead

Well I guess

God was a lot more demonstrative

back when he

flamboyantly parted the sea

Now everbody's praying

Don't prey on me

a book, a film, a fight

2010-10-25T21:02:00.000-07:00

Again, let's keep it brief.

It had a been about five years since I'd last read a Murakami novel and had forgot much of what to expect. I was quickly reminded what makes this guy so exceptional: his creation of seams to the surreal within a familiar world in a manner that, for lack of better words, makes sense. And if it doesn't make sense it's still engaging, which is probably due to Murakami's ability to convey isolation, loneliness, longing and any other synonym better than most authors - making feelings palpable through text is a skill few have. He's one of a kind. And this isn't even his best work. (B+, and in case you can't read the title, it's Sputnik Sweetheart)

I was finally able to track down a copy of this from the library that didn't appear as if someone had resurfaced it with a belt sander. It was worth the wait. I'm a pretty outspoken supporter of the Coen brothers, going so far as to crown them the best directors in contemporary American cinema. So I may be a little biased when I say that this is the greatest directorial debut I have ever seen. Every aspect here has an experienced polish. First try and the Coen's nailed their signature exploration of dark tendencies of human nature. Out-of-place injections of humor notwithstanding. (A-)

And what you've all been waiting for...

Call me a nerd, but I was rejoicing this last Saturday when Cain Velasquez dethroned Brock Lesnar as the UFC heavyweight champion. I called this a while a go but saw some footage of Lesnar training and started to second guess myself - the dude looks like the body that Krang operates (TMNT reference). But Velasquez turned the match into that old biblical parable of David vs. Goliath: size isn't necessarily indicative of victory. Take note: he didn't win with a lucky shot. He beat Lesnar with with well-placed, technical striking - straight T.K.O. He also survived some precarious situations: getting caught against the fence and being put on his back - a position no prior opponent of Lesnar had been able to get out of (save for Frank Mir with a fortunate kneebar on a then inexperienced Lesnar).

So I'm dedicating this one to the first Mexican American heavyweight champion in combat sports. It might seem ridiculous coming from a graham cracker such as myself. Whatever. I've been mistaken for Mexican on multiple occasions. So it's all good. One love.

Grade Report

2010-10-15T11:58:00.000-07:00

School this quarter is heartless. Specifically, my architecture course. So my assessment of the arts will be brief.

Entertaining and at times engrossing, but the rabbit hole doesn't run quite as deep as it did in American Gods. (B)

My main question is how these people had the money to eat/drink/sleep out (what seems to have been) every single night. The writers didn't appear to have been writing that much...so I guess they were just trust fund kids? Oh, and reading about it over and over again gets tiresome. Lost generation, indeed. (B-)

Awesome. Nothing more needs to be said. Other than I shouldn't have slept on it. (A)

MLB postseason picks back up tonight: Yankees vs. Rangers. Phillies vs. Giants on Saturday. Forgot how great playoff baseball was. Sad to see Bobby Cox leave the game on loss, even though I used to hate the Braves as a kid because they were so damn good - that combination Greg Maddux, Tom Glavine and John Smoltz has to be one of, if not the most dominant starting rotation of all-time. And even though the Twins got swept by the Yankees in the ALDS this year, enjoy the diddy below. It's titled "Don't Call Them Twinkies" by The Baseball Project - which features Craig Finn of The Hold Steady on vocals and some other dudes from various outfits including R.E.M. The track has some great references to our national pastime's rich history.

If the embedded player isn't working, you can listen to the song here. It's a lot to ask, I know.

A New First

2010-10-05T22:01:00.000-07:00

Went to my first baby shower on Saturday. If I'm not mistaken, that's an event traditionally reserved exclusively for the ladies. Luckily, Josh and Emily are post-punk parents, breaking down gender barriers and allowing a fine cuisine that included a platter of Top Pot donuts - straight bangin'. Hope my bear themed onesie and blanky weren't too wuss. Give the kid a couple of years to grow into this beast. It (or something similar) will be waiting for him.

Realized I went to Caleb and Lacey's baby shower a few years ago. Whoops.

Decided that the film version of The Last Picture Show is better than the book. While the book is good, Peter Bogdanovich directs better than Larry McMurtry writes - at least in this case.

Checked out a couple of vegan cookbooks from the library. One awesomely titled Veganomicon. Not waving any flags yet. Really just want to acquire more skill in the kitchen. Hoping there's some practical recipes to be found - not a bunch of stuff you have to shop at co-op markets for. Further hoping one can find tempeh at QFC (cue laugh track). To the haters: (1) would like to see what you're benching, and (2) beef doesn't put muscles on your chin.

Watching the second season of Extras. Endless hilarity. (Episode with David Bowie is brilliant.) One of the best theme songs too.

Studying for a quiz in my Architecture course. Who would have thought learning about building houses was so dry? Contractors, perhaps. I suppose not everyone gets to be Frank Lloyd Wright.

Listening to this winner. It goes out to anyone who's spent cheese they really shouldn't have on those must-have records. My days of blowing all my tips at Silver Platters have come and gone. But that warm fuzzy feeling I got from tearing off the plastic on something that hits the ears' sweet spot...priceless. When I eventually lock down the daily grind, I'll be back scrounging in the bins. Can't deny the dig.

Da Bears and other assorted goods

2010-09-27T20:55:00.000-07:00

Enjoying some bro-man-dude time with Monday Night Football. Green Bay and Chicago. I've always been a Bears fan. This can first be evidenced from an elementary school class picture where I can be seen posting up hard on the Big Toy, decked out in Bears gear (I'll have to track this one down). I don't know what it is about them. I was too young to remember their prominent years with Jim McMahon and William "The Refrigerator" Perry. Though I do remember Ditka coaching. And I put in serious time on the original Tecmo Bowl for the NES, breaking off huge runs with Walter Payton. There is just something captivating about that navy blue and orange.

The Bears' Famous Invasion of Sicily
by Dino Buzzati

Another cool thing involving bears - this one in the form of an Italian children's book. I use the word "children's" hesitantly, because there's a lot of text, filled with words like "incredulously" and "bivouacked". Add the presence of advanced concepts like national history, cultural/individual identity and a narrator who can be a tad misleading and this one might end up beyond the scope of the ragamuffin who is content with booger nourishment. So feed them another Curious George. Keep this essential read for yourself.

B Is for Beer
by Tom Robbins

Another "children's book". Well, only if you consider the story of a six-year-old girl who gets drunk and then receives a visit from the beer fairy appropriate for that age range. Regardless of how you want to categorize it, in addition the magical journey detailing the glorious combination of grains, barley and hops, Robbins examines a kid's difficulty to make sense of the complicated and contradictory adult world. The fact that its written as if it were for young'uns is rather funny, considering most adults who drink beer (myself included) couldn't even begin to explain the process in which it is made. But yeah, this one's pretty unique.

The Last Picture Show
by Larry McMurtry

Ever hear old people talk about the past with wistful romanticism? A time when innocence prevailed; Leave It To Beaver was an accurate representation of life. I never really bought into it. Moreover, after reading McMurtry's tribute to his home, Texas a.k.a. "God's Country", it's clear that even people back in the day were teeming with deviance. Kids drank. Kids fought. Kids fucked. And I'll be damned if a couple of them didn't take an impromptu road trip down to Mexico in order to bang a pregnant whore and watch mixed species pornography. All of this before the existence of a Bret Easton Ellis novel.

CURRENT FAVORITE

A Tribe Called Quest - The Love Movement

Tribe has been an all-time favorite of mine for quite some time now. Since I was about 14 - which is when this, their final album, came out. Giving it a few retrospective listens, it's clear that it doesn't exactly warrant swansong status. (But the competition is tough, sharing a body of work with genre classics like The Low End Theory and Midnight Marauders.) Still, there are a number of feelgood jams here. Bottom line: you can't go wrong with smooth beats and butter rhymes.

Prarie Sludge

2010-09-23T22:20:00.000-07:00

Sounds like Neil Young jamming with dudes from Sleep and Earth. Drive the herd, catch the vibes. Seriously though, this is good.

Observations and musings

2010-09-13T09:56:00.000-07:00

Seahawks home opener: Testosterone was a given. Though there were a surprising amount of Snookies flossing Tatupu jerseys, as well as grown men drinking Mike's Hard Lemonade. The other surprise was that the Seahawks actually looked good.

Jordan Young in 2010 displays flashes of Jordan Young circa 2003/2004. My sides are a little sorer for it.

A Confederacy of Dunces: Could be the funniest book ever. But the parallels between Ignatius J. Reilly and myself are the source of much distress (Proud owner of a worthless liberal arts degree which fosters an archaic and unhealthy ideological worldview that ultimately leads to misanthropy and cripples the ability to function socially and/or professionally within the greater commonwealth. He also lives with his mom.).

Boneshaker: An entertaining read. Felt like the author, Cherie Priest, watched 28 Days Later and played Fallout 3 before writing it. Unfortunately, a lack of character development and sequences of terrible dialogue keep it from being anything "literary". But who really cares about that? Maybe the guy in the paragraph above. So it gets my approval.

Found out my cat - The Murph - has liver disease. To diagnose the specific type would require an ultrasound and subsequent biopsy. Ultimately, the treatment is a daily regiment of medicine, regardless of which strain it might be. Having already been through force-feeding The Murph pills for prior ailments, we (my family) are deciding to forgo the diagnosis and treatment; better that his remaining days are peaceful, rather than living in fear of having things shoved down his throat.

Facebook. On one hand, it's the main way in which I stay in contact with my friends. But thanks to the voyeuristic nature of social networking, that permeable barrier between "friend-of-friend"...I end up unintentionally seeing things that are detrimental to my psychological and emotional well-being. Things that make an individual not into the cardio drive up to the local middle school to run five miles on a track at 7 o'clock at night. There might be a sad metaphor to be found in a guy running 20 laps with hopes of trying to escape/forget something. Good thing I don't pay those literary devices any mind. My legs, however, are in definite pain today.

Here's to brighter days. Don't have to be straightedge to enjoy this one. Love seeing my friend Kevin launching off the monitors. And goddamn those drums sound good.

Have 12 minutes to kill? Sure you do.

2010-09-03T23:25:00.000-07:00

Supergroup featuring members of Mogwai, Electric Wizard and Iron Monkey - so obviously I'm jonesin'. Don't worry, this one doesn't bite. Grab some headphones and chillax.

What's crappening

2010-08-30T10:09:00.000-07:00

First off, a much belated thanks to Stephanie and Cameron for the reception gathering at Whidbey Island. Good friends and good food: two things I certainly appreciate. Another thanks to Jordan and Jaclyn for transportation, a place to stay and the rollicking session of catch - may we do it again soon.

Kicked off my two week break correctly on Saturday with an old soldier, Matt, at Big E's to watch UFC 118. Even if the card was a little weak, MMA and microbrews isn't a combination to be dropping qualms on. So here's my brief fight-by-fight breakdown that you probably don't want to read.

Nate Diaz v. Marcus Davis - This was easily the best fight of the night. Diaz, known for his jiu-jitsu/submission skills, displayed far superior striking in his hands. He turned Davis' face into something out of Dick Tracy, before submitting him via guillotine choke towards the end of the third round.

Kenny Florian v. Gray Maynard - Despite fighting in his hometown and walking out to the awesome "For Boston" by Dropkick Murphys, K-Flo looked uncomfortable, getting handled in all three rounds by Maynard - who took the unanimous decision.

Demian Maia v. Mario Miranda - This fight was reminiscent of the Jon Fitch/Thiago Alves fight from the last card, where there wasn't a lot of excitement because one fighter successfully neutralized his opponent by controlling them on the ground. It was Maia this time around.

James Toney v. Randy Couture - Boxing legend meets MMA legend - a total joke of a fight. This sideshow played out exactly like most of us had predicted: someone competing in MMA with little-to-no background in wrestling and/or jiu-jitsu is going to get dumped on their ass and submitted with the quickness. To be a one-dimensional fighter is to be worthless. Thank you Randy Couture for proving the haters wrong and hopefully bringing a little more respect to the sport.

Frankie Edgar v. BJ Penn (2) - Huge bummer. This was supposed to be Penn getting redemption for the last fight with Edgar, proving he was still one of the greats. That did not happen. Instead, it was basically the same fight as before, with Penn not doing what he does best (shooting for takedowns) and Edgar outworking him for five rounds (he looked as fresh in the fifth as he did in the first). I don't know whether it was poor conditioning or an issue with cutting weight, but this was not the Penn of (even recent) past. I sincerely hope that he's not finished. I don't want to be stuck remembering him through reruns of the Joe Stevenson fight (see below - don't be a wuss) on Spike.

Find more videos like this on BJPENN.COM

Recently finished a couple of books: Slumberland by Paul Beatty and both Wise Blood and half of A Good Man is Hard to Find by Flannery O'Connor. Josh, I already talked to you about these and since you're the probably the only one taking interest in what I read, I will refrain from any lengthy redundancy. If you're new to Beatty, start with The White Boy Shuffle - the stereotypes he's playing with will be more identifiable. If you're new to O'Connor, be well-versed with Christian theology and start with A Good Man is Hard to Find - she was a better short story writer than a novelist.

Dusted off OutKast's Aquemini last night for the first time since...I'm going to guess high school. Talk about a fine wine. I've always claimed ATLiens was their best (probably because I had my mind blown at age 12 by the video for "Elevators [Me & You]"), but I think I'm going to have to go back on that now. Aquemini is a rare specimen of an album that set an artist on the road to stardom without representing a compromise. It's sort of psychedelic and distinctly southern without being obnoxiously "dirty" (even if they use the word "dirty"). In short, it brings the funk. Even the instrumental/spoken word track (see below - don't be wuss) is dope as hell.

So two weeks off. Got some reading to do. Some projects to help the parents with around the house. Have Architecture II and Engineering Graphics II next quarter. Will probably be more intense coursework than I've had in awhile. But I've got less than a year to go now with my CDD degree. And from talking to a couple of people in the industry, the combination of this degree and my bachelor's degree gives me the opportunity to get a decent job. Finally, there's some light at the end of the tunnel. The chance to comeback from nothing to something. The return of self-worth and pride, never to let them be taken again. Or like The Jealous Sound said, there is hope for us.

Real post coming soon

2010-08-23T21:20:00.000-07:00

I'm finishing up school for this quarter, so I'll get something legitimate up here next week. But in the meantime enjoy this little diddy I put together.

If I were a superhero, I'd be this guy.

...if Bruce Banner looked like this guy.

And when this song played...

...super-villains would already be shit-out-of-luck. Oh look, the transformation is starting...

HULK SMASH!

From the diary of some dumb teenager

2010-08-17T19:46:00.000-07:00

You're born into this world alone.
And you die in this world alone.
No family.
No friends.
Just you and what you make of your life.

Stay cold.

In respose to your question, Chelsea

2010-08-11T16:09:00.000-07:00

Let's begin by introducing the dialogue at hand. My friend Chelsea made the observation that every guy says that only the early Saves the Day and AFI albums are any good. I replied with "I've said all that shit because it is true," to which she posed the question "why?"

First of all, I don't think all males say that. I can easily imagine many-a-dude who like Pantera in metal forums posting something along the lines of "Saves the Day and AFI R 4 fggtz."

But the reason why I have a higher regard for the early works of these bands rather than their later efforts is pretty simple: they stopped doing what they did well.

Saves the Day's first two albums, Can't Slow Down and Through Being Cool, are excellent pieces of pop-punk/melodic hardcore: fast, fun and full of energy. Thir third album that found them success, Stay Where You Are, was more along the lines of that 3rd wave of emo a la Jimmy Eat World; it wasn't bad. In fact, it was quite enjoyable. But it did show the band beginning to lose that energy which made their first two albums so great. Everything after this third album...snoozefest. They started to pull that "we're respectable artists" card. Maybe Pitchfork or some other snooty zine ate that shit up. Sorry, I'm not buying it. Saves the Day were a pop-punk band. Their first tour was with Bane. And then suddenly they're the fucking Beatles? They done forgot their roots.

AFI is a similar case. Great punk/hardcore band that always had a slightly darker edge, one that came out fully on Sing the Sorrow - a rad album, despite what the haters say. But when that "Miss Murder" single dropped, they had traded their punk/hardcore energy for shitty goth makeup and haircuts. Look, I like The Cure as much as the next misunderstood teenager. But the only guy who gets to look like Robert Smith is Robert Smith. Oh, the music? Yes/no. Watered-down and generic. It sounds like they spent more time putting on eyeliner than writing songs.

I can see someone saying "Dave is just selfish and immature. He doesn't like it when bands to grow artistically." To that I say, slow your roll. Growth is fine. Growth can be great. But it's best when artists evolve within themselves. Not when they go off the deep end, because that rarely works. Think of it this way: can you imagine what would have happened if John Steinbeck had written a fantasy novel? Orcs and wizards and unicorns: the whole nine yards. Tolkien would have kicked down his front door and beaten him within inches of his life with a first edition of The Hobbit yelling, "Are you trying to fuck with this?" And that's merely in addition to Steinbeck's fantasy novel sucking really hard.

MORAL: Do what you do well. Do it to the best of your ability. You don't have to do the same thing for five albums. But don't trip out. Stay rooted (to some degree) in what you came up in. Otherwise, start a new band. Because you're tricking old fans into attending your shows with the naive hope that your setlist might contain some classic material, about which you now act as if it had never existed in the first place.

And above all else, do not try to sound like The Beatles. We get it. They kind of changed music. Now let's move on. Because surely you aren't changing it by aping them. Rather, you become - to quote Wayne's World - The Shitty Beatles.

What the hell was wrong with this? Absolutely nothing.

Rock the bells.

2010-08-08T21:48:00.000-07:00

Weddings, man. This, my brother's, was the fourth I've been to, but the first I've actually taken part in (as the best man). My responsibilities were relatively small, limited to a few ceremonial requirements. But just being in the midst of the chaos, a chaos which lasted a good half-a-day, was draining. Again, it wasn't even me getting hitched. Rain forcing the ceremony to be moved to the area for reception (The Uptown Hideaway), a debacle with the slide-show (which must have been completed minutes before it was shown), a delay on the ice for the beer, and a bunch of other stuff I won't go into here - shit happens. Let's just say that I couldn't pound an IPA soon enough. Warm or cold.

The clear highlight of the evening would have to have been the musical selections. They were a pleasant surprise. Emphasis on "surprise". While rehearsing the entrance of bridesmaids and groomsmen, no music was played. All I knew was that my brother's wife-to-be was going to walk out to a Cat Power song. So I was taken aback when the procession commenced to the tune of Outkast's "So Fresh, So Clean". It was dope. After the ceremony, the playlist included the likes of Lupe Fiasco, Souls of Mischief, Grandaddy, Ice Cube, Bloc Party, Arcade Fire, along with all the other jams I am forgetting. One of the photographers claimed it was the best music he'd ever heard at a wedding. I'd have to agree with him. Though my wedding hasn't happened yet (a largely hypothetical event), where there is sure to some Dropkick Murphys pumping through the system. In fact, if I don't get to drunkenly sing along to the following, it was never meant to be.

Besides myself, everyone else seemed to have a great time. Especially my family: both immediate and extended. Like I said in the previous post, my folks are a pretty reserved bunch. But whether it was the infectious joviality of spirits or the alcohol, they busted out of their shells. Right onto the dance floor. Seeing them all out there, immersed in uninhibited fun, I had to join. So I did what any other self-respecting white guy does in the presence of loud hip-hop: poorly executed break-dancing. I also dusted off a few choice moves from my golden years at 80's Nights in Bellingham. My mom proceeded to ask where I learned to perform these pelvic gyrations. I explained to her that college wasn't all about books.

In summation, the wedding was a rager. I only hope I didn't ruin the photos with my bulldog front. I swear, it can't be helped. I'm just a mean-looking son of a bitch.

I know this is a horrible transition, but I wanted to share my favorite passage from Molloy. Despite the lack of a real story, it shows Beckett dropping profound knowledge on a rather taboo subject. Keep in mind that this was written in the late 1940's. How it made it into the final draft, I do not know.

For as long as I had remained at the seaside my weak points, while admittedly increasing in weakness, as was only to be expected, only increased imperceptibly, in weakness I mean. So that I would have hesitated to exclaim, with my finger up my arse-hole for example, Jesus Christ, it's much worse than yesterday, I can hardly believe it is the same hole. I apologize for having to revert to this lewd orifice, 'tis my muse will have it so. Perhaps it is less to be thought of as the eyesore he called by its name than as the symbol of those passed over in silence, a distinction due perhaps to its centrality and its air of being a link between me and the other excrement. We underestimate this little hole, it seems to me, we call it the arse-hole and affect to despise it. But is it not rather the true portal of our being and the celebrated mouth no more than the kitchen door. Nothing goes in, or so little, that is not rejected on the spot, or very nearly. Almost everything revolts it that comes from without and what comes from within does not seem to receive a very warm welcome either. Are not these significant facts. Time will tell.

Wow.

"Yet I don't work for money. For what then? I don't know."

2010-08-02T16:54:00.000-07:00

My brother is getting married this Saturday. The weather forecast calls for rain. Hopefully it will be wrong like it is normally supposed to be. I will be representing as best man - something I've always considered myself to be. Now the title will make it official. In all seriousness, the wedding should be a lot of fun. I'm looking forward to getting to see an aunt from Oregon and a couple of cousins from California that I rarely get to see. One of the cousins I haven't seen since I was 11. It will also be interesting to see what the dynamic will be like between the two families. My side is pretty reserved. And I consider myself to be the same when I'm around them. But who knows what's going to happen once the alcohol starts flowing and Prince comes on over the dance-floor. I say the freaks are coming out.

Had the bachelor party this last weekend. Took a shot and a half of the shit above. No sips. Down the hatch. Instant sore throat. Foulest of foul libations.

Molloy
by Samuel Beckett

After finishing this book, I was at ITT Tech when I got into a strange conversation - considering my surroundings - about literature with a teacher. He asked me what literature was. I said that, as an art, it is a form of human expression and, moreover, describes the human condition (that's "what it means to be human" for all you idiots). He thought on that for a second and then returned with, "Okay. But I've always experienced literature as a journey. Where characters begin and end and all that's in between." I thought how convenient and replied with "you're apparently not familiar with Samuel Beckett."

There are no two ways about it: Beckett is a real bastard to read. Mainly because he doesn't subscribe to the "journey" theory of literature. Trying to understand Molloy through such conventional devices like "story" or "plot" quickly becomes a futile and incredibly frustrating exercise. This lens provides little more than the two main characters who, seemingly destined for conflict, never meet - both instead are absorbed and crippled by internal ramblings of a most incoherent nature. In short, the story makes almost no sense; it's just weird people behaving weirdly, without any logical sequence of events to establish significance.

To begin to "get" Molloy requires a rejection of literary norms. The reader either continues to bang their head against the wall of non sequitur text or they develop a new approach. That is, breaking the confines of tradition where you are a reader reading/being told a story; Beckett attempts to accomplish this by feeding you a story you can't make heads or tails of, along with contradictory narration that helps the literary foundations unravel: "Now my sick leg, I forget which, it's immaterial here", "I wouldn't know myself, if I thought about it", "No matter, no matter", "I say that now, but after all what do I know about then", "But to tell the truth (to tell the truth!)", etc.

In the process of struggling, most likely with these phrases and the void of conflict, you're bound to say something along the lines of "I cannot understand what he's doing." Here, distinguishing the "I" and the "he" becomes important, signifying that the story has indeed become "immaterial" and that the main conflict of the novel has formed: that which is not between characters, but between the reader and the author. No longer is the reader in the familiar position of that passive observer of events. Beckett forces us into a not-so-old fashioned donnybrook: not over the literary (of symbolism and what not), but about what literature is.

But what of my "human condition" definition (let's just assume I'm an authority here)? Does it hold true for Beckett? Because merely trying to push the limits of form would be too sanctimonious and self-serving to be considered art. It would be a vain performance of art-for-art's sake: ego stroking, or, if enjoyable, entertainment - which this is most definitely not.

With the reader/author conflict in mind when considering the goal of art, there emerges a successive conflict between this goal in literature and why people read. If literature truly is to describe what it means to be human, it must do so in all its facets. Yet so much of fiction falls back on artificial conventions: the synchronization of memory and time (infallible recollection), sequential placement of events, cumulative significance, a narrator that speaks after the fact. All these elements are used to lend clarity and create a sense of ease with which the reader encounters a story. But they in no way help illuminate human experience. Instead, they romanticize it with a falsely assumed logic and cadence to provide people with a nice leisurely activity. But art? No, they fall short of that.

With almost all of the aforementioned literary comforts absent in Molloy (except for narrators speaking after the fact, but they hardly lends any ease or clarity in their jumbled mess of memories), it's as if Beckett is asking "what the fuck are you here for?", giving readers requiring a pampered tale the opportunity to walk after the first few pages (where they will encounter the one paragraph that will span the next 80). As someone who decided to, as Salman Rushdie says in the introduction, "surrender" to the end of Molloy, persevering whether out of curiosity or ambition or stubbornness or whatever it was, I could not have answered Beckett's question from the outset. For I could not have known the question. Though I had a sturdy definition of art and an understanding that it takes both the book and the reader to make meaning, my analytical perception still placed me as an interpreter disconnected from that which he studied. But in the case of Molloy, it was the author who beheld me and, essentially, turned me and every other reader into characters to be scrutinized. Characters that don't find simple or precise explanations to the complex issues of their reality.

What the Faulk?

2010-07-29T23:05:00.000-07:00

I said I was going to post examples of Faulkner's extensive use of parenthetical statements in The Reivers. So here you go. Reading these out of context, they may not seem so bad. But when they're right in the middle of a larger paragraph, your ability to follow along can get thrown for a loop.

pg. 74
But just tough men then, no more, until Colonel Sartoris (I don't mean the banker with his courtesy title acquired partly by inheritance and partly by propinquity, who was responsible for Boon and me being where we at this moment were; I mean his father, the actual colonel, C.S.A. - soldier, statesman, politician, duelist; the collateral descending nephews and cousins of one twenty-year-old Yoknapatawpha County youth say, murderer) built his railroad in the mid-seventies and destroyed it.

pg. 100
The middle right-hand upper one was gold; in her dark face it reigned like a queen among the white dazzle of the others, seeming actually to glow, gleam as with a slow inner fire or lambence of more than gold, until that single tooth appeared even bigger than both of Miss Reba's yellowish diamonds put together. (Later I learned - no matter how - that she had had the gold one taken out and an ordinary white one, like anybody else's, put in; and I grieved. I thought that, had I been of her race and age group, it would have been worth being her husband just to watch that tooth in action across the table every day; a child of eleven, it seemed to me that the very food it masticated must taste different, better.)

pg. 109
His supper was hot: not a plate, a dish of steak smothered in onions at his place. ( You see? how much ahead of his time Mr Binford was? Already a Republican. I don't mean a 1905 Republican - I don't know what his Tennessee politics were, or if he had any - I mean a 1961 Republican. He was more: he was a Conservative. Like this: a Republican is a man who made his money; a Liberal is a man who inherited his; a Democrat is a barefooted Liberal in a cross-country race; a Conservative is a Republican who has learned to read and write.) We all sat down, two new ladies too...

pg. 166
Though some of it has not changed: the big rambling multigalleried multistoried steamboat-gothic hotel where the overalled aficionados and the professionals who trained the fine bird dogs and the northern millionaires who owned them (one night in the lounge in 1933, his Ohio business with everybody else's under the Damocles sword of the federally closed banks, I myself heard Horace Lytle refuse five thousand dollars for Mary Montrose) gathered for two weeks each February; Paul Rainey also, who liked our country enough - or anyway our bear and deer and panther enough - to own enough Mississippi land for him and his friends to hunt them in: a hound man primarily, who took his pack of bear hounds to Africa to see what they would do on lion or vice versa.

pg. 169
But still behind the bit; he had never once come into the bridle, his whole head bent around and tucked but with no weight whatever on the hand, as if the bit were a pork rind and he a Mohammedan (or a fish spine and he a Mississippi candidate for constable whose Baptist opposition had accused him of seeking the Catholic vote, or one of Roosevelt's autographed letters and a secretary of the Citizen's Council, or Senator Goldwater's cigar butt and the youngest pledge to the A.D.A.), on until he reached Ned, and with a jerk I felt clean up to my shoulder, snatched his head free and began to nuzzle at Ned's shirt.

pg. 190
So Butch and Boon went that way, and Everbe and I (you have doubtless noticed that nobody had missed Otis yet. We got out of the surrey; it appeared to be Butch's; anyway he was driving it; there had been some delay at Uncle Parsham's while Butch tried to persuade, then cajole, then force Everbe to get in the front seat with him, which she foiled by getting into the back seat and holding me by one arm and holding Otis in the surrey with her other hand, until Boon got in the front with Butch - and first Butch, then the rest of us were somehow inside the doctor's hall but nobody remembered Otis at that moment) followed the doctor into another room containing a horsehair sofa with a dirty pillow and a wadded quilt on it, and a roll-top desk cluttered with medicine bottles and more of them on a mantel beneath which the ashes of last winter's final fire had not yet been disturbed, and a washstand with a bowl and pitcher and a chamber pot that somebody hadn't emptied yet either in one corner and a shotgun in the other; and if Mother had been there his fingernails would have touched no scratch belonging to her, let alone four cut fingers, and evidently Everbe agreed with her; she - Everbe - said, "I'll unwrap it," and did so.

A pain in the ass sometimes? Perhaps. But dude was (and still is) the man.

Get off my lawn.

2010-07-23T20:02:00.000-07:00

The great NW summer weather seems to have finally come around, so lately I've been able to break-out the bike and hit Burke-Gilman. I'm sure all the Tour de France nerds think I look pretty goofy on a mountain bike, cruising down a paved road. But they are Tour de France nerds, so I'm not losing sleep over it. As much as I enjoy getting out to ride, I have noticed one glaring omission of trail etiquette: side-by-side riding. I understand that it's nice to chat it up with your friend while on a bike, but the width of the trail really doesn't allow for it. When I try to pass two double-wide chatty Cathy's on a hill, but have to yield to an oncoming rider, being forced to downshift and fall back, losing all my momentum...that's no good. Next time I see two people doing this side-by-side business, the one on the outside is going to become the unlucky recipient of a clothesline. Ultimate Warrior style.

Recently checked my email for the first time in about a month. Yeah, a little behind on that. Facebook has become my main medium for correspondence. So my email ends up accumulating a lot of dust. Of the two-hundred or so pieces of junk I sifted through, there was one particularly interesting email. It was from WWU Libraries. They claim that I have yet to return a couple of movies (Lost Patrol and The Man Who Came To Dinner - two from old-Hollywood) I checked out from them two years ago. This claim is completely false (I returned everything). More surprising is the fact that this is first I've heard about any unreturned items in the two years since leaving Bellingham. Oh right. I'm getting charged $16. To the WWU Libraries, I say thus:

I owe you many a thanks. During the years I didn't have cable television, I pillaged you and discovered a world of cinema I did not know existed. You made me appreciate countless films of brilliance; films that most people couldn't be payed to watch. In this way you helped me realize my intelligence and become a snob. For this, I am eternally grateful. But as to the money I "owe", you shall not see a dime of it. Eat me.

Watched Gran Torino again. First time since it came out in theatres. Perhaps a little too heavy-handed (bad guys are completely one-dimensional and the ending gets too obvious with the symbolism) to be considered a "great" film, but there's still something about it that I love: Clint Eastwood - the biggest badass of all time. Even as a dying old man (albeit an incredibly racist, dying old man), he is one mean dude. There aren't really any of his ilk left in Hollywood - the kind of actor that isn't necessarily physically imposing but can still make you say "that is just not the guy to fuck with." Get yourself a PBR and throw one back for Eastwood.

What the hell is Adrian Brody doing in the new Predator movie?

Read The Reivers by William Faulkner. Here's a brief account of my history with Faulkner: The Sound and The Fury - practically unreadable; As I Lay Dying - "My mother is a fish." Big gulps, huh? All right! Well see ya later; Absalom, Absalom! - difficult as all hell, but worth the effort (there's no shame in using Wikipedia or SparkNotes). So it should be apparent that I've had a tumultuous relationship with the esteemed author. Yet, I continue to come back to his works. This is in part due to being a literary masochist, as well as simply trying to add notches to my bookshelf (what up, ladies). The Reivers, however, isn't like the majority of Faulkner's novels - it's accessible. The story is more or less linear and doesn't employ the advanced literary techniques he was famous for, such as the shifting stream-of-consciousness. Because of this it has been marked as one of Faulkner's minor works by English professors who subsist off teaching courses on antiquated and indecipherable texts and is consequently overshadowed by his other books. Though it should be said that even an "easy" Faulkner novel still takes more work to get through than most contemporary popular fiction. The man displayed a heartless affinity for parenthetical statements; not only numerous, but of an incredible length. It's funny that in now searching through the book I'm having trouble finding a good example of this issue. (Rest assured, I will find one and post it as a followup.) Anyways, if you want a well-constructed adventure, this one is as good as any. Stolen cars, backwoods horse races, gold-toothed professional sluts: it's the goods.

Also just wrapped up Sherman Alexie's The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian. Unless I'm mistaken, this was his first foray into Young Adult literature. I'd say it was a successful venture. Though more optimistic than not, there is enough strife in the story for it to feel genuine and earned - something today's generation of pussies (Clint Eastwood's words, not mine) wouldn't know anything about. My only complaint is that Alexie's attempts at adolescent humor occasionally come across awkwardly. It's the old-people-trying-to-sound-youthful shtick. And it's painful to read. Big Sherm, go talk to M.T. Anderson. He knows how it's done.

CURRENT FAVORITE

The Sounds - Dying to Say This to You

Back in the early-00's, there was an interesting resurgence of an 80's phenomenon: new wave. It was almost as if everyone burned out on the brooding rock music that filled the airwaves during the late-90's, collectively deciding to shut up and dance. From this retro-movement emerged some okay bands like The Killers and some less okay bands like The Bravery. In my opinion, this stuff was hot for a minute but was ultimately superficial gimmickry and lacked substance - like much of what characterized the 80's.

Of all the new wave revivalists, The Sounds were one of the better acts. With them, it wasn't just dumb fashion and shitty keyboards. They were The Clash playing Blondie songs with New Order's gear. And while they did look the part, they brought the energy to back it up - much of which was channeled through the spitfire vocalist, Maja Ivarsson. When I saw them live 5-6 years ago, she had this sassy charisma that was way hot (I said it, I meant it), holding down the stage better than the average knuckle dragger. Probably the most entertaining live band I've seen to date.

Now I'd be lying to you if I said Dying to Say This to You was better than Living in America - which was a cold hard bitch with a penchant for the dance. But I can still say it's really, really good. Maybe as good. And it avoided the sophomore slump. Catchy, infectious, brazen...honestly, this music doesn't require much description to appreciate. But it will definitely have you moving your head in ways you once thought impossible.

You don't know Jesus.

2010-07-07T21:00:00.000-07:00

A quick and belated thanks to Josh and Emily for taking me in on the 4th of July. Otherwise, I would have been hanging out with my parents, watching the KOMO 4 coverage of the fireworks display over Lake Union. I'm getting older, but not that old. So thanks again for helping me avoid a depressing holiday.

Another thanks to Jordan, who graciously gave me a discount rate on a Mariners ticket so that I might accompany him to the game Tuesday evening with the Royals. The seats were better than any I'd ever had before: second row, just behind third base. Even though it was a losing effort for the M's (3-2), it was still a good night at the ballpark; Jack Wilson made a couple of nice plays at short and Chone Figgins turned what had to be longest double-play ball in the history of the MLB. The bats were...terrible like they've been all season. I've now seen in-person that trading Cliff Lee is a must.

I just finished Christopher Moore's Lamb last weekend. For the unfamiliar, it's a light-hearted satire on the missing years of Christ's life as told by his best friend, Biff. Coming into it, my thoughts were somewhere along the lines of "well, it's all fiction to me anyways - at least this time it will be funny." Indeed, there is a quite a bit of humor, much of it in how Christ comes to inherit the traits which are commonly associated with his biblical personage - such as his steadfast celibacy (holy shit). Yet what really makes Lamb a unique tale lies in how Jesus is treated as human, rather than the extension of God in shell of man. Yes, he performs his fair share of miracles. But here the messiah doesn't know how to be the messiah right from the beginning. He is not the great shepherd on day one. Instead, he must learn through experience and - at some points - failure. (Character progression in the Almighty's son? I know, total blasphemy. ) So in that sense, it's kind of like Scorsese's The Last Temptation of Christ made enjoyable by way of crude sexual jokes. Ultimately, the narrative isn't really altered from the one we're already familiar with. And I still don't believe in any of it. But that's not the point. Lamb is great for what it is: fiction.

CURRENT FAVORITE

Mogwai - Special Moves (First off, I rarely get into live albums; I'd rather just go see the band in person. Secondly, I did catch Mogwai on tour about two years ago and was, to be frank, a little underwhelmed. I say this as a big fan of their studio work. Having been previously blown away by performances from the likes of Mono and Red Sparowes, groups that Mogwai unarguably paved the way for, it was a bummer that the Scots weren't able to match up. I don't know if it was the venue, the crappy opener, or merely an off-night for the band. Something was missing. So imagine my surprise when I first listened to these tracks and said "Damn. A Mogwai live album is better than seeing Mogwai live." There is no logic to that statement. Yet, it's true - for me, at least. There's a powerful intimacy to this recording that I didn't experience firsthand. Highly recommended.)

This is not youth culture.

2010-07-05T12:19:00.000-07:00

Trial (Full Set, w/ soundboard mix) from hate5six productions on Vimeo.

G's never say die.

2010-06-11T00:03:00.000-07:00

Drove down to Seaside, Oregon last week with my brother and his fiance. Stayed at this ridiculously nice hotel (bro's fiance hooked it up through her work). Full kitchen. Got a queen sized bed all to myself. The balcony had a gas grill. Press start to fire it up. Cooked a lot of phony baloney. Took a swim in the pool - first time in about six years. Went to Cannon Beach and had some peanut butter-chocolate ice cream. Watched two movies: August and Live Free or Die Hard. Have to agree with my brother and say that I'd rather see a crappy action flick I can laugh at than an average indie-film that's going to put me to sleep. Turns out the 25th anniversary celebration for The Goonies was taking place in Astoria. Couldn't find any bully-blinders for sale. Managed to scope out Bram and Mikey's house, the large ocean rocks which Mikey matches with the "key", along with a windy road that I am pretty sure the kids ride down while Cyndi Lauper's "The Goonies 'R' Good Enough" plays. All in all, it was good to get out of town for a few days.

Finished Neil Gaiman's Stardust. For a fantasy novel, it's deceptively conventional. Yes, there is the unlikely "hero" who embarks on the impossible quest, receiving help along the way from inventive array of characters, to ultimately complete said quest. But the book does a few things differently from the standard LOTR copycat. The heart of the story really isn't in the played out conflict of good vs. evil. While the hero has couple of run-in's with those who look to deter him from his quest (who might be considered "evil"), ultimately there is no grand culmination of this conflict, which works because a halfway intelligent reader would have seen it coming from the beginning and questioned the necessity of reading all the way through to get to something foreseen so far in advance. Instead, the conflict is ditched for more of a coming-of-age realization, where the hero achieves his original goal but comes to understand that the implications of his success are much different than they seemed when he first set the goal - a time when he was a little younger. There are no constants in the world (even a fantasy one); reality and perception of it is always shifting. And that's nice to encounter in a genre that mainly thrives off steadfast archetypes (elves are good at this, dwarfs are bad at that, etc).

Decided to clean out my desk. Tossed a bunch of accumulated garbage from years gone by. But also found a few interesting items in the process.

Old pictures of my dad. I'd never seen these before. He must have been in his 20's when they were taken, which is kind of a trip since he just turned 62 yesterday. I will refrain from taking cheap shots at the photos. That'd be cold-blooded on here. Just know that fashion changes over time. My grandma is some of these too, with a dark head of hair that I undoubtedly inherited but was born about 15-20 years too late to remember.

Tolo pictures. From my freshman year in high school. Wore khakis and a Hawaiian shirt - definitely her choice. Her? Nicole Olsen (what up, girl). She's holding a stuffed-fucking-Tigger in the shot. It's okay. We were both nerds.

Rolling Stone: 35 Anniversary Special. Has a cool section on some of the most notable "American Icons". Springsteen, Warhol, Jordan, Homer Simpson, Chuck Taylors - amongst other people and things. Unfortunately, it also has a small blurb about Avril Lavigne with a headline that proclaims she shows a surprising amount of edge, which is described as "having no light show [and] a simple black curtain emblazoned with a gigantic TRY TO SHUT ME UP slogan and three giant TV screens running real-time footage of Lavigne." Now I remember why I stopped reading this magazine.

Saves the Day - I'm Sorry I'm Leaving. Ah. I do recall a story behind this one. The first Saves the Day song I heard was "Sell My Old Clothes, I'm Off To Heaven", from a Vagrant Records compilation (the one with the Get Up Kids cover of "Beer for Breakfast"); it ripped about as much as emo/pop-punk can rip. So I went off to Circuit City to pick up either Can't Slow Down or Through Being Cool but this EP was the only thing in-stock. I took a gamble on it, not knowing it was all acoustic. Got home and was disappointed to hear Dashboard Confessional pump through my speakers. Well, only slightly disappointed. I was into that dumb shit back then.

Atticus: ...dragging the lake. Grabbed this comp because it had a new Glassjaw track on it. Turned out to have other good songs (some unreleased) by Alkaline Trio, The Movielife, Rival Schools and American Nightmare. Though there is a fair share of crap on there: Finch, The Used, Simple Plan, Sugarcult. Again, I was into some bad stuff at 17 -18. So there are tracks on here by Midtown and The Starting Line that I still know the lyrics to. Catchy like herpes.

A stamp with my name on it. I really don't know what this was for. I did have atrocious handwriting as a kid. But I wasn't an invalid. I could write my own name. My best guess is that I used it for marking ho's on the playground - had to let 'em know.

Clean out your desk, dresser or closet. See what wonders you find.

The death toll rises.

2010-05-29T22:30:00.000-07:00

Now Dennis Hopper has peaced out? At age 74 too. That's not young. But it's really not that old either. If anything, it makes me feel old. The first movie I can recall seeing him in was Speed. I remember going over to my uncle's with the family to watch it, which was kind of odd because we never really did that. My parents must have been caught on the slide because that is definitely an R-rated film and I was definitely nine or ten years old at the time. Oops. I remember Hopper being a total psychopath, crazier than anything I had ever seen. A few years later I saw Waterworld in the theatre. The guy was still nuts, but this time as a one-eyed pirate. Then Easy Rider and Apocalypse Now, where I started to detect a pattern in his roles. Finally I came across Blue Velvet and was convinced the guy masturbated with sandpaper (pretty sure his character heavily influenced my friend, Cameron). He was in a lot of other stuff that I'm forgetting. I think he was an alcoholic in Hoosiers too. Anyways, his passing is a bummer. It's been a sad year for notables: Guru, Dio and now Hopper. I guess the real question is how Ozzy is still alive.

Final Isis show in Seattle on Tuesday. Agh. I'm torn over what to do. The sensible person in me says not to go since I don't have a job and shouldn't be frivolous with the cash flow. But then there's another part of me which says that (a) I haven't been to a show in over a year, (b) haven't ever seen Isis live, and (c) will never get to see them again. Revisiting their last record, Wavering Radiant, has me leaning towards the splurge. I don't know. Maybe I'll sell some plasma.

I'd also like to send a shout out to Jordan. He always comes through with the brews at Azteca for the afternoon happy hour rendezvous...even when they get shiesty by charging full price. $31.50 for two pitchers of domestic beer? Get the fuck out. This isn't some bougie lounge with tang aplenty. This is a Mexican-American "cantina" at 2:30pm that is two blocks from the goddamn Funtasia. Still, the man shelled out like it was no big deal. Props, daps and a handshake, my friend.

Josh! I don't normally use exclamation marks, because I think they're clownish. However, I am beyond stoked that you are moving back to Washington. I realize you have an overwhelming amount on your plate at the moment. But being a completely vain and selfish individual, I declare we shall be hanging when your ass comes west of the Cascades. Get 'er done.

CURRENT FAVORITE

Bruce Springsteen - The Ghost of Tom Joad (It's hard for me to believe that at one point I could have actually hated The Boss. But it's true. I was young and dumb, though - probably spinning Finch records like they were worth a damn. I think it was when I heard Nebraska that I was able to find appreciation. All the corny bravado I had previously associated with Springsteen was stripped down to the bare minimum - guitar, harmonica and vocals - and there emerged a great collection of stories about blue collar America. The Ghost of Tom Joad shares the same lyrical themes and subdued musical aesthetic with the subtle addition of background synths. While not quite as good as Nebraska, it's certainly one of The Boss's best albums.)

Why I don't believe in God.

2010-05-21T20:45:00.000-07:00

First-week sales of the new Bullet For My Valentine album, Fever: 71,000

First-week sales of the new Sick Of It All album, Based On A True Story: 1,500

(sigh)

Bummed again.

2010-05-19T23:00:00.000-07:00

Earlier this week we lost the almighty Dio. Today yields the passing of Isis - who are calling it quits after thirteen years. Definitely one of the most influential bands in post-metal, having released some genre defining classics in Oceanic and Panopticon. They showed how a band could continue to evolve musically without losing the qualities that were inherent upon inception: i.e. that special Isis touch. Whether it was the bleak, Neurosis-like drone of their early years or the later incorporation of melody, Isis always kept it heavy and epic. Additionally, their music has always been a visual affair for me, laying thick atmosphere and conjuring up vivid scenery. So a video is quite necessary here. Below is a fan's homemade creation for one of my favorites, "So Did We", which is set to the 1956 short, American Engineer. I find it to be an effective pairing and an appropriate manner in which to send out one of the greats.

By the way...

2010-05-09T23:45:00.000-07:00

...Bizkit is back.

I was 14 once. I was into this hot garbage for a hot minute. But before my crucifixion begins, understand this: I didn't grow up with any guide to music (outside of hip-hop). I didn't have older friends to provide a proper foundation by showing me the classics. I had to figure it out for myself. Missteps were inevitable. Limp Bizkit were one of them. I'm not sure what I was thinking. Or hearing. But that's all in the past now. There. I've manned up. I feel much better.

But seriously, what is this mess? What are Limp Bizkit coming back for? More specifically, who are they coming back for? I'm stumped. It would appear that the fanbase the band once had no longer exists; kids either eventually discovered good metal or jumped on the booming metalcore bandwagon of the early 00's. Whatever the case, support clearly began dwindling in numbers after the release of Chocolate Starfish and the Hot Dog Flavored Water and the band - along with the rest of rap-rock and nu-metal - faded into relative obscurity.

It was only a just couple of years ago that I was reminded of this band when Fred Durst made a cameo on House as a bartender - I had a good laugh at the sight of that balding dumbass on television again. But now that Limp Bizkit has returned with a new album, I'm not sure what to do with my laughter. On one hand, it might increase because LB is great fodder for unintentional humor; Durst, as I mentioned in an earlier post, is an old faithful for unknowing quotables.

But there is a part of me that expected more out of humanity. Expected that people would learn from their past mistakes (I did). In the wake of file-sharing and Myspace, quality music should have become more accessible (it did), killing any demand for bands like this. Oh how idealistic I am, trying to generalize my own experiences for everyone else. I guess all I can really do is proudly state that once I heard some halfway intelligent shit like Snapcase, Bizkit became obsolete.

Damn I love that song.

"Ball don't lie."

2010-05-02T21:05:00.000-07:00

With only two classes, no job and cable television, being productive with my time has become difficult. I'm watching too much playoff basketball. When I didn't have television, sports wasn't really a concern or something that I felt my life was missing. But now I find myself enjoying it quite a bit. Will the Lakers meet the Cavs in the finals? Or will the Magic crash the party once again? And what the hell is wrong with Paul Pierce's sideburns? It's a soap opera for dudes. And like any soap opera the narrative is old, yet powerfully addictive. Watching the NBA again reminds me of the golden years the Sonics had when I was a kid: Shawn Kemp, Gary Payton, Detlef Shrempf, Sam "Big Smooth" Perkins, etc. Someone needs to upload that song by the Presidents of the United States of America that was a dedication to the team. "Supersonics, oh yeah!"

Watched Where the Wild Things Are with my parents last night. My second time, their first. Don't think they hated it, but they weren't that big on it. I expected that, though.

Currently reading Vonnegut's Sirens of Titan. The problem with most of the science fiction I've come across (in my admittedly small sampling of the genre) is that everything gets bogged down by unnecessary technobabble that only in-the-know nerds can make sense of (*cough* Neuromancer *cough*). Vonnegut, however, never did that. His imagination was infinite, but never tripped over itself and was relatable to almost anybody. Too bad he's gone. Though I'm not even halfway through his body of work, so there's plenty of great stories left.

CURRENT FAVORITES

Red Sparowes - The Fear is Excruciating, But Therein Lies the Answer (A pleasant surprise. Their last effort, Every Red Heart Shines..., only had one jaw-dropper and was plagued by flat production, which may have been partially due to the band getting robbed before recording. I was also a little bummed to hear that Josh Graham of Neurosis left, but it appears that some member swapping has done the group good; besides being an improvement musically, there now appears to be a rather attractive lady in the band. Anyways, this new release is more on par with their debut, At the Soundless Dawn. Good use of dynamics and utilization of three-guitar interplay. Could still use more steel pedal guitar. But I'm a shameless fiend for that shit.)

Descendents - Milo Goes to College (An obvious classic from the California punk scene of the 1980's. "I'm Not a Loser", "Hope" and "Bikeage" are some of the genre's best songs - pissed, melodic and fun. Makes me wish I had learned to skate and gives me the hilarious image of tearing up Brier a la Gleaming the Cube at age 26. First heard "Bikeage" as a cover back when I was 16, listening to Big Choice by Face to Face; it's the last track, right after the ever-popular "Disconnected". Always loved the lyrics:

Sitting there with a mouth full of beer,
Your eyes are glazed, your face is red,
Who's gonna pick you up and use you for tonight?

Not Dave.

YAWN.

2010-04-19T22:43:00.000-07:00

Who's lazy? This guy. I've got nothing, really. Maybe some advice.

Watch Treme - new show from the creator of The Wire, David Simon. Only one episode has aired, but it looks like he's got something promising on his hand. It's about a post-Katrina NOLA, to be extremely general. What's that? You don't have HBO? Well neither do I. Get crafty.

Peep the new Minus the Bear album, OMNI. It's taking a lot of criticism for being "soft". I realize that they've had their fair share rocking tunes, but I've always considered MTB to be feel-good music - shit to chill to. Anyways, people are stupid and the new one is dope. And most of its detractors are claiming Planets of Ice to be the best MTB album. Noobs. Highly Refined Pirates and They Make Beer Commercials Like This, for the win.

Don't read any Dragonlance. Just terrible. Sorry Gibbs, I tried. Way too much Mormon propaganda. Both in the text and annotations. Regardless, the story is atrocious. It was unintentionally humorous for a couple hundred pages. But after about 400 pages, the charm wears off and it becomes painfully obvious that this stuff was written by/for D&D nerds. I feel like I should have been reading The Lord of the Rings trilogy instead.

Here's some other things I have been listening to lately.

Supermachiner - The Rise of the Great Machine (Ambient/Industrial side-project between Converge's Jacob Bannon and Kurt Ballou. Reminiscent of Swans, Mogwai, Earth, Depeche Mode, etc. Came out awhile ago, but didn't hear until recently. Definitely a mash-up of ideas. Some work really well, while others feel undeveloped. Still, a cool listen for fanboys like myself. Bannon has continued in this direction with Dwid from Integrity for another project, Irons, which I'm stoked on.)

The Get Up Kids - Simple Science (New EP. Picks up where Guilt Show left off, which isn't a terrible thing. But I can't say it's great either. Whatever. It is what it is. There will be no Something To Write Home About part two. So take it or leave it.)

Propagandhi - The Recovered EP (John K. Samson, good call on leaving these guys and starting The Weakerthans. You are not punk rock. Your vocals on "Leg-Hold Trap" are one of the most awkward things I've ever heard. Time to go back to your indie band.)

Like whoa

2010-03-31T16:58:00.000-07:00

I'm a pacifist at heart, but this is just a thing of beauty.

A Lesnar match-up is in the cards somewhere down the line, I hope.

A great combination.

2010-03-22T15:28:00.000-07:00

Two of my favorite things are Rambo and Bolt Thrower. What happens when you mix them together? It's simple arithmetic, really. Total audio/video carnage. Thank goodness for YouTube and guys with way too much time on their hands, because who knows how long it would have taken me to think this up.

Part I

Part II

This isn't an entire movie. It's about 15 minutes worth of the newest Rambo, covering a few great scenes. If you're going to wuss out, at least watch Part II, which kills right from the beginning.

Seattle Weakly

2010-03-17T13:47:00.000-07:00

Today while I was at Lake City Storage, I deftly managed to lock my keys in the car. Stranded, I waited in the office until my dad could drop by with the spare. I found the latest issue of Seattle Weekly sitting on table next to me and decided to peruse it to kill time. Bad idea. Here are some examples of the stupidity I came across (approximate recollections, mind you).

1) The Appleseed Cast have not matched what they did on the Low Level Owl volumes. (Ridiculous pining for indie credibility taking place here. Two Conversations was, and still is, awesome. Not passable or decent. Awesome.)

2) The new Rocky Votolato record, True Devotion, is "ingenious". (Get off the jock. I understand that he's a local boy and deserves our backing. But I can't imagine that anybody who actually spent some time with this album, along with both Makers and The Brag & Cuss, feeling anything but a little underwhelmed. Sorry. The memorable songwriting isn't there. And if that's because it's overshadowed by the prior two classics, tough beans. Doesn't mean we need to pull out a free-praise card.)

3) New Found Glory and The Get Up Kids sound similar. (No. And I like both bands. The closest relation between TGUK and pop-punk is probably second cousin. Yeah, both bands are catchy and have a youthful energy to their sound, but TGUK had the whole second/third wave emo influence - depending on your timeline. Though I will say this: Not Without a Fight = best NFG record to date. Fight me.)

4) In reviewing a split 7" of Narrows/Heiress, only the Narrows material is referenced. (Way to dick a band that could use a little PR. It's only a 7" - not a lot of material to digest. A sentence or two would have been nice. Good or bad. Bad would have been better than a straight snub. Maybe the writers have beef with Pettibone.)

There was some cool stuff in there too, though. I read that there's at least 20 artists from Seattle representing at SXSW this year. Including Ivan & Alyosha. What up Ryan Carbary. I know you think I'm just some heavy metal boner. But I know you probably haven't read The Brothers Karamazov. I also hold all the Never Again material in high esteem, which must surely make you cringe. It's alright. You aren't reading this anyways.

Woe is Howard Jones

2010-03-06T20:08:00.000-08:00

I'll admit it. I love me some scandalous music news. Stuff that would be reported in an US Weekly for hardcore and metal; beef between bands, non-amicable breakups and other such happenings. When I was younger, it was a treat to read the never-ending fountain of hilarious garbage which emanated from Fred Durst's mouth - unintentional comedy at its finest ("Lay off the hatorade"). But lately it seems like there hasn't been much drama to go around. The last memorable story I remember was the infamous Canadian border stop of Brain Drill from a couple years back (If you don't know what I'm talking about, definitely check that story here. And if you're too lazy to do that, just know that now whenever the band gets mentioned in an online newsbit, it will be followed by an endless string of comments reading, "They stripped me naked had me lift my ballsack up so they could check underneath it, and then had me bend over and spread my asscheeks apart so they could look inside my asshole.")

Fortunately, Howard Jones of Killswitch Engage has brought back the scene sideshow. Here is the story as reported by ThePRP.

Rumors have been running rampant for weeks now regarding the reason why Killswitch Engage frontman Howard Jones stepped down from the band during the bands current headlining tour. ThePRP has now exclusively learned that Jones temporarily stepped down from his position as a result of allegedly getting pornstar Allie Foster pregnant.

To date Foster’s claims have not been verified publicly by the band themselves. However, the situation looks to have since taken a turn for the worse with Foster posting the following statement on her official Twitter page:

“Howard Jones of Killswitch engage, meet TMZ and your bitter baby momma coming with sweet sweet fuckin revenge you dirtbag.”

Foster also posted a photo of her ‘baby bump’ of what is alleged to be Jones‘ child here. Meanwhile, further postings on Foster’s Twitter account have shed more light on the situation with Foster alleging that she is 4 months pregnant with Jones‘ child. Amongst some other disparaging remarks directed towards Jones, she also revealed that Jones has been insisting on her having an abortion.

Couldn't have scripted it better myself. For the sake of entertainment, let's hope this drags out into a long, ugly mess. Yes, it's terrible that a baby is tied up in this. But the kid's mom is a pornstar, so the inclusion of baggage is a forgone conclusion; I think there's something in the Bible about children inheriting the sins of their parents...oh whatever, for as Vonnegut said, "So it goes."

And just in case you missed the link.

LESSON TO BE LEARNED: If your cheese makes adult films, rawdogging it should never enter into the equation, regardless of the fact that her profession would seem to indicate a comprehension of the pill schedule for birth control. Keep it simple: if a fat guy isn't holding a camera, you aren't in the clear. Better yet: if your cheese makes adult films, it's time to get some new cheese. Try something besides Kraft Singles.

Really now...

2010-03-04T22:37:00.001-08:00

(2003)

(2010)

...and that's where the similarities end. One of these bands stepped down when they were still relevant, while the other hasn't been legit in eight years (yes, Good Mourning was solid), continuing to put out uninspired and unexceptional albums (they're not terrible, but worth no more than the cost of a mediafire download).

Experiments with Sleep

2010-02-18T23:24:00.000-08:00

I've been slacking on here for a while. School, even though only three days a week, wipes me out and kills any drive to post; I spend enough time in front of a computer doing homework, I tend to afterwards gravitate towards a television to turn my brain off with Fraiser reruns. When I get the urge to write, it's normally reviews for Totally Crushed Out (which is turning out to be a swell little publication). Any of the brief dumb shit I used to post on here now ends up on Facebook. So what will become of of this blog, I'm not sure. I won't delete it. But it will probably deteriorate into sporadic randomness...

...for example, I've developed this habit of going to sleep with my iPod. It's like a nightlight or a stuffed animal for kids. I need it in order to get to sleep. However, it can't do all the work alone; normally I have to read some boring ass Russian literature (right now: Anna Karenina) in order to induce drowsiness. Then it's time for some drone/ambient stuff to nod off to - music that holds a steady equilibrium, without much change in dynamics. Some of my favorites along these lines include Mogwai and Earth.

But lately I've noticed something rather interesting when I've incorporated Sleep's Dopesmoker into this routine. (For those of you who don't know, Sleep were a super-heavy stoner/doom metal band that sounded like Black Sabbath on Qualudes. They featured Matt Pike on guitar, who would go on to form High On Fire.) Dopesmoker is the band's once-canned major label debut, consisting of the title track which clocks in at over an hour, along with a bonus live track titled "Sonic Titan". It is by far away the most effective record in getting me to slumberland. Vocals don't kick in on the title track until around the 20 minute mark and I'm normally long gone by then.

The odd thing is that each time after listening to this album at night, I will wake up the next morning to find my iPod sitting on my bedside table. It's always paused at about 45 seconds into the next track, "Sonic Titan". I never have any recollection of either stopping the music or placing the iPod on the table. This might not seem like much to some, but I'm not one to do things half-asleep. When I'm stirring at the witching hour, I'm normally aware of it. Often when I employ these sleep-inducing tactics with other albums, I'll wake up at some point after they've finished to put my iPod on the bedside table and quickly fall back to sleep, with the ability to recall doing so the following morning. I don't function that way with Dopesmoker and it's beginning to creep me out. It's almost like it works a little too good. I must be taking some sort of subliminal bong hit through my ears in order to more easily reach the REM cycle. Weird stuff.

And while on this subject of falling asleep to music, may I recommend not attempting to do so with Sunn O))). I could go to their live show with earplugs and a sleeping bag and call it good. But I tried to pass out to Monoliths & Dimensions once and was frightfully robbed of a night's rest; seriously, some of the most unsettling audio I've ever come across. That's not to say it's offensive, it's just...ah, I can't describe it. It's just one of those things you don't fool around with in the dark, like chanting "Bloody Mary" in front of the mirror.

TV Letdown

2010-01-23T10:35:00.000-08:00

So I, hopefully like the other eight of you, was all excited for a new episode The Office this last week, as it had been a month since the last one aired. Instead of getting an actual episode, we are shafted with a half-assed clip reel sparsely interspersed with original material - none of which was all that memorable. A clip reel? Come on. It's 2010. Fans of the show have either a) purchased the DVD boxsets for each season, b) illegally downloaded the episodes, or c) use to Hulu. Clip reels served a purpose back in the eras of shows like Cheers and Seinfeld, where unless you religiously taped episodes, it would be hard not to miss one here or there. Even with syndication, the scheduling of was too erratic to catch unseen episodes by anything other than dumb luck.

That was then, though. Nowadays, when a show implements a clip reel, it can only mean that writers are running low on ideas. I'm careful not to call them "lazy", because I can only imagine how difficult it is to continually come up with fresh material for 25 episodes a season. So I will place the blame on NBC, who should have just shortened the season by one episode and not tried to pass off this outdated convention as a legitimate entry in the series. I would have much preferred a rerun. But how about doing something different? Interviews. A documentary. Yes, things of this sort have been included on the boxsets, but with varying degrees of quality - the forum set up with the cast (special feature, Season 5 ) was a great idea, but poorly executed, with the audio being a mess.

Again, I will invoke the word "legitimate". That's all I'm asking for here.

Crucial 00's

2009-12-30T11:37:00.001-08:00

I decided to jump on the bandwagon and do a Best Albums of the Decade list, barely sneaking it in before the new year. I'm not Pitchfork, meaning I don't have a bunch of cronies to review 100 records. So I went with a more manageable number in 10, counting down to my favorite. I made these picks based on the first 10 that popped into my head. I think this kept it honest, rather than turning things into a hipster checklist. Unfortunately, the picks lean heavily on the first half of the decade, with none past 2005 and most coming from the first three years. Well, like I said, at least it's honest. Enjoy.

10) Andrew WK - I Get Wet

For a moment in time, he was a god amongst men. Appearing on first encounter to be a full grown wild-child that had been haphazardly positioned in a band, great purpose resided underneath the apparent mental case that was Andrew WK. Of a singular earnestness and dedication, this man headed one of the most remarkable humanitarian crusades in recent history: the party. I Get Wet served as an enduring mission statement which did not mince words: life is not to be attended as a soiree or gala, but to be set ablaze with the intensity of an (not necessarily sexual) orgy. This manifesto found perfect companionship in a raging pomp and circumstance best described as Def Leppard mainlining a cocktail of meth and 'roids, within the context of colossal, overdub-happy production. It did not take long for the music and the message to take effect. Soon collectives of supposedly incompatible people (nerds, jocks, geeks, uber bros, etc.) came together under the banner of the party. Yet as mysteriously as he had first arrived, blood face and his dirty white jeans disappeared into obscurity (i.e. Japan). Fortunately, I Get Wet remains - a dream not deferred.

9) Burnt By The Sun - Soundtrack to the Personal Revolution

The initial tag-line for this record was "a detailed study in the forward motion of heavy music." I'd like to amend that statement with the following: "Progression is great, but if you're too hip for Pantera - get the fuck out." Not to kill the analogy, but Soundtrack to the Personal Revolution is Far Beyond Driven written by Coalesce. Burnt By The Sun are a noble example of what "metalcore" was before the term became associated with tepid hybrids like As I Lay Dying and All That Remains. Tempo and groove shift with the force of passing tectonic plates, ranging from an ambush of blastbeats to some of the most crushing breaks ever put to tape. A seriously menacing listen when it came out, this one still obliterates today. (I wrote an explication piece on the song "Famke" for a high school English class. In retrospect, I should have chosen "The Boston Tea-Bag Party" instead.)

8) Bane - Give Blood

Having discovered hardcore by way of 90's Victory bands like Hatebreed and Buried Alive, much of what I considered to be "hardcore" actually had prevalent metal influence. Not to discredit those groups in the least, but Bane showed me the merits of taking things back to basics: if purpose and energy are job #1, a solid foundation for the music has been laid. Grasping this maxim, they penned a contemporary classic in Give Blood - a record that pays respect to a history rich in tradition, yet avoids an '88 jack move. Echos of the old school fuse with a willingness to evolve within the parameters of the style. In doing so, Bane demonstrate a keen knack for supplementing the punk stampede with huge kinesthetic grooves that dodge metal categorization. Getting verbose about Give Blood as a composition is unnecessary, in a way trivializing the experience - one that revives the now fleeting inspiration of youth, when becoming a better person was a feasible goal. If that comes off a little too sanctimonious, know that "Ante Up" is about a poker game.

7) Pedro The Lion - Control

How this - an album centered around divorce - was sold at Family Christian bookstores still baffles me. I guess it is as "Rapture" says: "Gideon is in the drawer." Witty quips aside, Control is an incredibly affecting record to take in as a whole. David Bazan's waning lamentation poignantly illustrates the deterioration of a marriage in all it's infidelity and melancholy. That is not to say this a right-versus-wrong finger pointing scenario. By weaving in and switching between different perspectives, Bazan complicates the matter much to our consternation, in way stating that everyone carries these reproachable characteristics and is capable of such social wreckage. Told with an everyman's simplicity, there is no questioning the reality of the tale. To make this bumout palatable, Pedro The Lion's signature stripped-down approach was revamped with a newfound vitality. Songs like "Magazine", "Rehearsal" and the already noted "Rapture" rock a little harder than previous Pedro material, while "Indian Summer" implements a lush synth to create a humble pop-gem. Bazan may have put The Lion to sleep, proceeding on to other credible projects, but Control continues to be the songwriter's most focused and moving work. Look at it this way: I - an intolerably harsh critic of faith - have recited "God bless the Indian summer" countless times without thinking twice.

6) Cursive - The Ugly Organ

Domestica solidified Cursive's place amongst the upper echelon of inde-rock, brandishing a group who could expertly tow the line between raw catharsis and catchiness. It can be said that the proceeding album kept the same elements in tact, but that they were more pronounced with a larger dichotomy between the two, submerging the listener into a nerve-wrought atmosphere akin to walking on glass. A precarious doppelganger, The Ugly Organ wolfed down those in search of instant satisfaction. While the angelic "The Recluse" cast its complacent lull, "Herald! Frankenstein/Butcher the Song" quickly reigned down with a jarring racket that was anything but harmonious. Credit is due to cellist Gretta Cohn, who played an integral role in the musical juxtaposition just outlined, providing elegance to the delicate parts and severity to the clamor. Continually shifting from pastoral to caustic and then back again, The Ugly Organ forced a new, comprehensive definition of beauty.

5) Little Brother - The Minstrel Show

The most significant concept album the genre had seen since De La Soul Is Dead, The Minstrel Show was a desperately needed satirical critique upon the lowest common denominator of modern day hip-hop. Under the guise of a TV station (UBN) thriving off the purveyance of such cliches as the foolish slow jam (see Percy Miracles) and misplaced cultural affirmation in white people (see Dave Wood), Little Brother not only took their shots but provided track after track of filler-free bangers. Like forefathers A Tribe Called Quest and the aforementioned De La Soul, these natives of North Carolina managed to make the smooth hit hard, so as to provide for maximum head bobs. Much of this can be attributed to 9th Wonder's stellar production, a masterful infusion of soul into beats that is on par with the work of the late J Dilla. Of course, history shows us that artistic achievement generally goes unappreciated; in a case of sad irony, BET declined to pick up the single "Lovin' It" because its was considered "too intelligent".

4) At The Drive-In - Relationship of Command

The album that introduced independent music to a generation of naive suburban kids weened the mainstream. "One Armed Scissor" somehow infiltrated popular radio and video outlets, displaying a sound completely at odds with that of its accepted peers on K-ROCK and MTV. Punk in spirit but full of alluring instrumental twists and turns, Relationship of Command put ATDI in an elite company of genre innovators with Refused and Fugazi. Though the band/album may not have been so impactful minus one eccentric frontman with melodies to burn: Cedric Bixler - creator of a long-stemming infatuation with both nasal sass and girl jeans. And while Bixler's irrefutably self-indulgent lyrics are more or less ambiguous poetry, ATDI's swansong was an arresting venture, leading many of us to question the necessity of our Linkin Park records.

3) Godspeed You! Black Emperor - Lift Your Skinny Wrists Like Antennas To Heaven

Imagine compiling an array of rock instrumentation, classical arrangements, along with various products of human sound and sending them out into space. Then imagine a signal is shot back to earth with all original components still in tact but rearranged and cross-linked in a manner where unfathomed sonic territory has been forged. Enter Lift Your Skinny Wrists by Godspeed. Utterly triumphant layers of beauty cascade into moments of disconcerting sorrow, all held together with the interspersed words of a doomsday prophet, an aging Coney Island beach bum, and an automated teller machine. It's difficult to move beyond cryptic descriptions. A crude lineage traces back to Sonic Youth and Slint, while streamlined descendants are identifiable in Explosions In The Sky and Mono. Such comparisons, however, only get you halfway. Godspeed exhibit an omnipresent expansiveness on Lift Your Skinny Wrists which places them on the fringe of conventional reference points. Here is the postmodern opus of the decade. Kid A, you have been served.

2) Mastodon - Remission

What's in a band name? Be it to correspond with predetermined molds? To increase t-shirt marketability towards brats? Alas, these things are often the case. Though sometimes a name can capture the very essence of a sound. The first time I called upon Remission, thence appeared before me the great mastodon: a indomitable prehistoric behemoth that stormed over frozen tundra, forgoing all regard for that which lay in its path. An animal fiend from ages past, I did see. But its sonance failed to fit any previous documentation. It was a brutish amalgamation, combining the arithmetic of Botch, the physics of Celtic Frost, the putrefaction of the Melvins and the occasional melodious refrain of Iron Maiden. One labyrinthine riff spun dizzily into the next, all while the never-ceasing war hammer struck out in new sequences, refusing to settle on a meter. It's cry? Well, it was the call of the mastodon: a wrathful bellow which cut the terra firma from itself. Since this meeting, the depicted creature has amassed a phenomenal amount of acclaim. Criminal it may be to forsake Leviathan from inclusion on this memorandum, yet I do believe Remission to be its zenith of destruction. All parts in perpetual chaos, but always moving forward as a whole; it was here that I first looked the beast in the eyes and knew it for what it was. Righteous.

1) Converge - Jane Doe

If you know me at all, you saw this one coming. If we've conversed about music, I've spoken highly about this record, perhaps to the point of becoming overzealous in praise. Hype is hype, but this one lives up to every positive word ascribed to it. I say this as someone who wasn't necessarily sold on Converge and Jane Doe the first time our paths crossed. Simply put, it was just too much. "Concubine" would hit and trigger an immediate sensory overload. Still teething off Sepultura, I couldn't get my head around it. But I did recognize the sheer power that came through my speakers. Playing it passively in background was impossible. It compelled, forcing confrontation. So I kept coming back, trying to figure out what the hell all this noise was doing. Eventually I got it (at least partially) and realized why this band and record are a pair of all-time greats.

On Jane Doe, Converge transcend the plethora of influences which make up their sound. It's not hodgepodge of styles that stand apart from one another. Hardcore, punk, metal and grind: these components are seamlessly integrated, coagulating into something completely different, not anchored in any one source. There is no moments of "oh, here's the mosh part and there's the thrash part." This cohesion is result of a nihilistic dissonance and tireless intensity which permeate the songs, eradicating direct resemblances. I mean, what have you heard that even comes close to "Thaw", a demential funhouse on an angry sea of riffs? Where can you place the primal brutality of "Phoenix In Flames", which is composed only of percussion and vocals? And though incessant aggression is a trademark of this album, dynamics and textures have variance; "Distance and Meaning" reeks of The Jesus Lizard smut, while "Phoenix In Flight" exudes a Swans-like ethereal canopy. Closing out is the absolutely massive title track; with a duration of nearly twelve minutes, this monster finale is the culmination of each already mentioned facet of Converge.

Considerable lengths have been taken to explain how ugly and overwhelming this record is. But in many ways, Jane Doe is a positive, empowering experience. The auditory violence is not self-serving. It is the deconstruction of traditional conceptions of art, including the allegedly extreme forms. It takes preconceived notions about music, rips them apart and demands that you either put it back together or walk away. Choose the former and forevermore become an engaged listener - always searching for and constructing meaning. Reflecting back on this record and the challenge it posed, I see it as making an important contribution to my progression in critical thought: not finding truth at the start, but through a process of constant reassessment. To those of who snicker at these principles, by all means continue to arbitrarily nod your head along to REO Speedwagon. This is not for you. But for those who come forth with patience and an open mind, the effect of Jane Doe can be galvanizing.

Best Holiday '09 Commercial

2009-12-06T21:26:00.000-08:00

Not trying to push this camera, but you can't deny The Biz.

Glassjaw - El Mark EP

2009-12-02T16:10:00.000-08:00

Warner Bros.
(2005)

A few leftovers compiled here: the first two from the now out-of-print Cosmopolitan Bloodloss import single (which I almost purchased years ago at an exorbitant price) and a third that was just unreleased. "El Mark" is standard fare GJ - meaning it's catchy but doesn't sacrifice energy or urgency, leaving me scratching my head as to how it didn't make the cut. "The Number No Good Things Can Come Of" is a full-fledged ballad, stripped-down and subdued in a manner the band had previously only really displayed for brief periods in songs. "Oxycodone" has a similar feel with a more prominent jazz influence; while the verses are a tad awkward as Palumbo attempts the poetic bounce of Fiona Apple, he redeems with a chorus that is both sultry and undeniable.

Whether you're anticipating the new Glassjaw record or it's been awhile since you last listened to them, check this EP out (if you haven't already). Better yet, revisit their full lengths. Either way you're likely to hear a band that has aged surprisingly well.

"I was raised on classic rock."

2009-11-15T20:03:00.000-08:00

More like you were too lazy to dig outside of your parents' anemic and uninspired record collection or turn off KZOK. Not saying it's all bad, but "classic" status in "rock" music can be easily and rightfully extended to bands/releases from the 90's and beyond. And ditch the Led Zeppelin shirt. That mess is tired and about as definitive as having eating food and watching sports for hobbies.

Iron Maiden, Motorhead and Black Sabbath are not classic rock, since they receive little to no play on stations designated to play such music (ironically, because they probably rock too hard for the wuss-demographic who make up the majority of radio's audience). That's right. Black Sabbath are not classic rock. You might occasionally hear "Iron Man" and "Paranoid" on the airwaves, but that's it - which is criminal considering the plethora of raditude that band produced (Dio years included).

So when someone asks you if you like classic rock, tell 'em Dave Wood says "to hell with you and your misnomers."

Lots of sauce

2009-11-03T21:49:00.000-08:00

Is it just me or are there a lot of commercials airing for liquor? Ketel One, 1800 Tequila, Jameson Whiskey, Crown Royal, Jack Daniels, Jim Beam, etc. I've seen a bunch of TV advertising for these brands lately (much of which is terrible - maybe I'll get to that another time). This is the first year in quite a few that I've had cable, so I could easily be mistaken. But I swear the first time I ever saw a bottle of Old No. 7 was in a Guns 'n' Roses video, not in a commercial. I guess hard times calls for hard alcohol. Get strapped and loaded. Been there, done that. Without the gat. I'll stick with beer. Though I am hoping one of these brands' ads will show their liquor relieving a small child of a toothache. That I will drink to.

Kids suck

2009-10-22T18:36:00.000-07:00

In my Friday evening CAD/Drafting Methods class last week, I came across some general shittiness from a fellow student of a more youthful age. I was showing a group of students how to go about downloading the student version of AutoCAD 2010, warning them that the program could be a little temperamental if one has an older computer system. I explained that I owned one of these older computers and had crashed it multiple times when attempting to run the program while listening to music with a media player at the same time. Then this kid, who couldn't be older than 18, relayed the following to me.

Oh yeah. When my grandmother heard I was going to college she gave me like 30,000 dollars. So I bought this ridiculous HP system that has like 100 GB of RAM. So AutoCAD runs no problem.

I was quiet for a second. But the kid had on a shitty Poison "world tour" shirt. So I asked him why he'd bring that up after I'd confessed to the poverty of my computer. Why would someone do that? After one person admits a deficiency - be it personal, financial or what have you - what drives another person to essentially say "I'm better"? I would understand had I taken the route of bragging about how nostalgically bitching my 2002 Gateway is, plastered with its AFI and Sick Of It All stickers. That might induce a competition of sorts. That was not the case.

The kid didn't have an answer for me. Half jesting, I told him he was a fucking asshole. His response: Well, now you're calling me names. So why should I be nice to you? After witnessing his inability to reason, I explained to him - with the tact of a kindergarten teacher - that I wasn't calling him names, but assessing his character. That was pretty much the end of that. But what the hell is wrong with kids? Maybe that one is just upset that he's a trust-fund, string-bean wuss and that I'm a meatless beast of unparalleled wit. That must be it.

Switching gears, I saw Where The Wild Things Are this past weekend. Absolutely fantastic. For the past couple days I've tried and failed to come up with something profound to say about it so I could post it here. Allow me to use the words of someone else in place of my own.

There are different ways to read the wild things, through a Freudian or colonialist prism, and probably as many ways to ruin this delicate story of a solitary child liberated by his imagination.

The New York Times critic who said this was referring to the book, but the view appears to have been shared by director Spike Jonze. While it's clear that a good deal of addition needed to take place in the film to supplement a 40-page story consisting mainly of pictures, Jonze chose to primarily expand upon the liberating imagination of a child. What happens in the book happens in the movie, but with less parameters. The world of the wild things is boundless, with more variance in the environment and that which can be encountered and created within it. The wild things are recognizable in form, but now carry distinct personalities and tendencies. It is in the interaction with and between the wild things that film steps beyond the book, fleshing out why it is that the Max would want to quit his fantasy to return home to his family. (Not a spoiler. Happened in the book.) So go see it. It's rad. I told you I had nothing profound to say.

The Wire

2009-10-14T20:37:00.000-07:00

Damn. It's over. Admittedly, a sentimental part of me wishes it could have continued on to reach "happily ever after" territory. But I'm genuinely impressed by how loose ends were left to be, giving no neat and tidy solutions. That is an honesty you don't often experience with television drama. Yeah. I could elaborate more. But Josh is just about to begin his journey with The Wire and it should not be spoiled. I wish him the best of luck. May he enjoy it as much as I have.

Sheeeeeit.

Punch - s/t

2009-10-08T11:48:00.000-07:00

625 Thrash/Discos Huelga
(2009)

Despite the renowned words of Kevin Seconds, hardcore unequivocally is boys' fun. The ratio of dicks to chicks is 10:1. Testosterone levels can be lethal or at the very least off putting. When a "she" does wind up in the mix, the result is Walls of Jericho. So yeah, the scene could really benefit from a well-intentioned lady's touch. And no, this isn't a covert scheme to raise probability for the boot-knock.

Respect to Punch. Female-fronted and seriously pissed, they put to rest any reservations concerning the ability of women to step off the sidelines. In terms of intensity, their vocalist (Meghan) spits with a scathing venom that far exceeds the generic dick-flex of most guys on the microphone. It's like nails on a chalkboard, but awesomely refreshing. She's rounded out by a thrashy brand of hardcore that brings to mind the likes of Ceremony and American Nightmare. Fast enough enough the crew, crusty enough for the flannel, and just the right amount of heavy breaks to lure the flatbrims. There's scene unity for you. Should have know it would be a broad showing dudes how the game is played. Excuse me while go I scarf down a Luna bar.

Download

"Who's Bringing the Microwave?"

2009-10-02T00:06:00.000-07:00

This is old and probably isn't real, but nevertheless funny as hell.

http://www.collegehumor.com/article:1789446

9/19/09

2009-09-22T00:12:00.000-07:00

Wake up at 7:15am. Eat some Organic Raisin Bran. Scrub nuts and brush breath. Mash up I-5. No traffic. Jam The Wash (three weeks running). Everett. ITT. Math. Trigonometry. Eight year wormhole. Back in high school. Time to set it straight. First quiz. Flawless. Nailed it. Annoying kid interrupts lecture. A lot. Bad jokes. Crickets. Apparently views class as appropriate forum to practice failed comedy routine. Gravely mistaken. Give clown a pass. Blows for next time. Literal punchline.

Get home. Eat pizza and watch UW/USC game with mom. Incredible. Can't sit still. Curse like a fiendish sailor on UW blunders. Mom says quarterback Jake Locker can't react like that. Tell mom that's why he's on TV playing football and I'm 25 living at home watching football. Illegally download new Rise and Fall album at halftime. Our Circle Is Vicious. Destroys. Surrogate 'til new Converge album drops. Final score. USC 13. UW 16. Contest in arbitrary context of rules and point system generates battle fervor. But a giant is a giant. And he has been felled. Exquisitely surreal.

Go to Oktoberfest with brother, his fiance, and friend Steve. Fiance brings two friends. One is mother of two. Other is Christian Scientist (not real scientist). Nice people. At least there is beer. Steve references "Dick In A Box". Christian Scientist has no clue. Likely confused. Definitely appalled. Familiar with Justin Timberlake? Steve asks. She has. Christ. Tiny glasses. 1/2 measuring cup. Righteous brews. Kona Porter. Tad thin. Dark enough. Elysian Pumpkin Ale. Wow. Pumpkin pie and beer had sex in mini-mug. Again in mouth. Not too sweet. Super thick. Jasmine IPA. Another Elysian. Sounds odd. Sleeper hit. Subtle floral notes. Alaskan Smoked Porter. A-1 jumped in my beer. Meh. See a couple friends. Old roommate's girlfriend. Bestows drink token. Bonus. Piss five times. Enormous lines. Almost go in pants. Twice. Main troth overflows. To the brim. Disgusting and hilarious. Extra Honey Buckets fork-lifted in. Heroic event staff.

Back at brother's place. One final piss. Probably shouldn't drive. Do anyways. Short distance. Not completely tossed. Still dumb. The Wash again. For composure. No sign of the beast. Pull in driveway. Enter house. Total stealth. Brush breath. Rip ungodly ass. Crickets. Smells like bacon, eggs and propane. In bed. Headphones. Pass out to Madlib. Shades of Blue.

The days are just packed.

For Josh

2009-09-18T11:45:00.000-07:00

Crapulous in concurrent love and suffering at the thought of his omniscient creator, John Donne was (at best) a crappy poet.

Somebody call the wahmbulance.

New favorite word

2009-09-16T21:14:00.000-07:00

Phonetics trump semantics here, but still...

Crapulous
1. given to or characterized by gross excess in drinking or eating.
2. suffering from or due to excess.

Shrinebuilder

2009-09-11T22:23:00.000-07:00

Most supergroups are pretty unnecessary, failing to produce any vital material and leaving you to wish that you were instead listening to the members' original bands. Shrinebuilder is not that supergroup. Check the pedigree.

Scott Kelly (Neurosis)
Wino (The Obsessed, Saint Vitus, The Hidden Hand)
Al Cisneros (Sleep, Om)
Dale Crover (Melvins)

They just posted a new track, "Pyramids of the Moon", from their debut self-titled album here, which comes out October 20th. Doom, drone, psychedelia, and riffs you can ride like a mammoth. Spark the L to this one.

Lee Fields & The Expressions - My World

2009-09-07T22:53:00.000-07:00

Truth & Soul

(2009)

Following the death of Michael Jackson, a number of ludicrous claims were made concerning the infamous superstar's legacy. One affirmation thrown around with reckless abandon was that he was a genius - an interesting assessment of someone whose biggest hits were written by others. Another prominent understanding is that Jackson established the pivotal crossover between R&B and pop music. This cannot be denied. However, the common sentiment tied to this fact induces nausea, requiring that one should be thankful for the contribution. Far be it from me to mock the dead, but I must decline feigning appreciation for he who opened the floodgates for R. Kelly, Usher or any other source of pedophilic slow jams.

Once a respectable form of music, R&B had a different name. Soul. Flourishing during the 60's and 70's, greats like Otis Redding and The Temptations continually charted hits that were indicative of the title given to music; it was a sort of carnal testifying. Lee Fields, a contemporary of this legendary generation, had a supporting role during soul music's pinnacle in the Memphis scene. While working with many big players in the game, Fields never broke through as a solo artist, attaining little more than a cult status with genre loyalists. Fortunately, patience has proven virtuous for this unsung hero, paying significant dividends this year.

Out of the current cesspool of inarticulate porno-speak, Lee Fields has come forth as a messiah, dropping the next great soul stigmata, My World. The word "throwback" fits the sound, which is akin to the aforementioned pioneers. Yet, it seems inappropriate considering Fields' history with the music; rather than switching up to a retro angle, he's just doing his thing - a thing he's been doing for quite some time now. And if one attempted to define the essence of that thing, it would have to be the seamless versatility of Fields' voice. Harnessing both the warm lull of Al Green and the tenacious bite of James Brown, Fields strikes an exceptional balance between smooth and rough. So well integrated are the two styles that they cease to be exclusive approaches to individual songs. Instead of trying to express this vocal paradox in musical terms, a hypothetical anecdote proves much more effective: Lee Fields could walk in your house, cold-clock you, bang your woman, have her make him a sandwich...and you'd still shake his hand on the way out.

Gracefully orchestrated and stunning in its arrival, My World takes the crown for 2009. Sadly, it's more probable that the record will end up as one of the diamonds in the rough, due to the dire poverty this music now resides in. While D'Angelo and John Legend may have updated it, and Amy Winehouse might periodically mirror it, Lee Fields proudly exhibits that there is no substitute for classic soul. Let's bring it back.

(Seriously, don't sleep on this.)

Poor Mount Vernon

2009-09-03T15:10:00.000-07:00

It's bad enough that a d-bag like Glenn Beck could be the product of such a quaint settlement. But it's worse that their ignoramus mayor, Bud Norris, is awarding said d-bag the key to the city on September 26, further designating the date as "Glenn Beck Day". Against his critics on the decision, Bud stands firm: "This isn't about his political views. It's about recognizing someone who has a history with our city."

You're right, Bud. This is isn't just about his political views. This is about someone who couches brainless fear and hatred in his political views. How is it that you can so easily separate an individual from their words and actions? How can you celebrate Beck's success without taking into account how it was achieved and/or what he's actually "successful" at? Apparently celebrity status provides exemption to these issues, instead equating a high profile in pop culture with that of philanthropy. I guess I shouldn't be suprised. But if this is the case, respective city keys for Monica Lewinsky and Kato Kaelin are way overdue.

Inglourious Basterds

2009-08-30T20:43:00.000-07:00

Directed by Quentin Tarantino
(2009)

Instinct calls for a diatribe upon the grossly overrated nature of Quentin Tarantino, taking the following potshot: Tarantino is to cinema what Slipknot is to metal - not authentic. But I won't do that. I've learned to accept the director's work for what it is: entertainment. He often attempts to shift into the realm of art, but such is little more than clever dialogue and ultra-violence cloaked in dramatic camerawork. And that's fine. My conscious doesn't require an overhaul with every movie. Sometimes things just need to go boom.

Inglourious Basterds delivers what you'd expect it to. Pronounced wit and superfluous brutality. Brad Pitt cracks a funny and a Nazi gets a swastika carved in his forehead. Justice served. To condense a needless summary that can be found in abundance over at Rotten Tomatoes, you should walk out of the theater entertained. Though I will add that Christoph Waltz gives a breakout performance as the cunning and malicious (and humorous) Colonel Hans Landa, aka "Jew Hunter".

But in comparison to Tarantino's past offerings, Inglourious Basterds lacks. Namely in terms of character depth regarding "The Basterds". This is a shame, considering the opportunity presented by the notion of a Jewish death squad in World War II. We could have had The Dirty Dozen meets The Watchmen. Though some great character ideas are presented, like the baseball bat-wielding Bear Jew, they never flesh out beyond their awkward introductions. Instead, the film's two other storylines eat up the clock, leaving Brad Pitt's brazen doofusness as the only memorable trait of the Bastards. Inglourious Basterds needed the large scope that Kill Bill had, allowing for a number of characters and storylines to develop without any gaps or forced acceleration. This film feels like way too much was left in the editing room.

Alright. I said I wasn't going to be an asshole on this one, but it can't be helped. The premise here is outrageous. Beyond that, it's too easy. Who can the audience justifiably hate the most? Nazis. Who can take the most satisfying revenge on them? Jews. Tarantino is like that whale of a stepfather who spoils the children with expensive gifts in order to win their affection; he might gain their favor, but ignobly so. Again, I know I'm not supposed to access the cerebral with this guy, but it pains me to see him held up as a genius by most (Copernicus was a genius, idiots), when he's really just dressing up cheap conflict in pomp and circumstance. More painful is knowing that Tarantino has an extensive knowledge of cinema and continues to produce this ornamental tom-foolery.

He needs to learn how to spell, too.

I got knocked.

2009-08-27T22:03:00.000-07:00

Blogger, Mediafire, and assumedly Barsuk Records gave me a collective "hell no", so I had to pull the link on the new Bazan album. I should have known better, since that's something of a high profile release and I leaked it. (Josh, that was for you...and you couldn't even download it!) There hasn't been an issue until now, so obviously none of the other stuff I've posted here has set off any alarms with artists/labels. So I'm gonna keep providing, just avoiding the leaking of popular shit. I'm also gonna switch the link up so it's not so transparently labeled "download". Don't worry. It won't be hard to find.

The Wire

2009-08-27T09:34:00.000-07:00

I know I'm late, but damn this show is good. Best I've seen in quite some time. Well written and grimy as hell. HBO will go down in history for reinventing television.

Wait. Doesn't that foul-mouthed fellow look vaguely familiar? REWIND.

That is just great casting.

WTF

2009-08-24T19:47:00.000-07:00

I swear on my mother that I just heard an ice cream truck playing "Silent Night".

David Bazan - Curse Your Branches

2009-08-22T23:40:00.001-07:00

Barsuk Records
(2009)

Even as a militant secular humanist, I have always held David Bazan in high esteem. I attribute this fact to his never irrationally doctrinal lyrics. Bazan has always dealt with the less attractive aspects of life, like divorce and suicide, with poignant realism that elicits an inevasible melancholy. Though "God" and "Jesus" have always been occasional invocations, they are never made in praise or supplication, tending to appear in the context of desperate futility. (And he's never been too prudish to refrain from dropping an f-bomb or focusing "his high hopes on a vagina or two.")

Curse Your Branches shows the futility hit a breaking point. While he renounced Christianity around the time of Pedro the Lion's Winners Never Quit, this marks the first record where Bazan can be heard openly criticizing the constituents of his past faith. At a few tracks in, the skepticism could feasibly be interpreted as a mocking of Doubting Thomases. But by the time "When We Fell" plays, all jokes are off: "You knew what would happen and made us just the same. Then you, my Lord, can take the blame."

Lines like these provide me with a sort of personal affirmation, not to mention a giant shit-eating grin. Yet, for Bazan such a conviction brings about severe consequences. A little knowledge of his backstory - being married to a devout Christian intent on raising their daughter in church - reveals a quandary that clearly influences much of the discouragement found on Curse Your Branches. On "Bearing Witness", Bazan dispenses with the old fables and offers his child an invaluable piece of rational thought: "Though it may alienate your family and blur the lines of your identity, let go of what you know and honor what exists. Daughter, that's what bearing witness is."

It's an absurd world. Every time I watch the news or pick the paper, humans are damning and killing one another over discrepancies in archaic belief systems. Each time, a bit of my sanity dissipates - to the point where I start to believe it is actually me who is delusional. It's records like this one that bring me just enough resolve to know I'm not completely marooned. For every Cat Stevens, there is a David Bazan. Well, that's pretty delusional. But maybe one day it won't be.

(May Jeremy Enigk be the next to fall from grace.)

Special Delivery

2009-08-19T21:59:00.000-07:00

A new Converge track, "Dark Horse", can be heard here. Good goddamn it's rad. Get stoked for the new album, Axe To Fall, which drops October 10th.

Transcending white trash

2009-08-18T20:02:00.000-07:00

So hard.

Shit pending.

2009-08-14T23:42:00.000-07:00

School has had me in a vice for the past few weeks. It'll be over after 20th. So I'll have some new goods posted up here in about a week. Until then, enjoy this scene from a screenplay I'm writing that addresses the truth about universal health-care.

PARENT: Oh doctor! How is my child?

DOCTOR: Well, I've got some bad news. It's a retard.

PARENT: Oh no!

DOCTOR: Oh yes. And because your child's panel review showed unacceptable levels of potential societal productivity, we have no option other than to euthanize.

PARENT: Lord have mercy!

DOCTOR: This, of course, means it will be terminated via repeated blows of a heavy wooden stick.

PARENT: (sob)

DOCTOR: Kidding! Lethal injection is protocol.

PARENT: Oh cruel world!

DOCTOR: (walks away and high-fives passing doctor)

Cue Van Halen's "Runnin' with the Devil"

Brutal Truth/Converge - In These Black Days: Vol 2

2009-08-02T10:05:00.000-07:00

Hydra Head Records
(1997)

It's pretty hard to technically botch a Black Sabbath cover. Being little more than a dirge of distorted blues chords, they are commonly some of the first songs that novice guitarists of good taste bumble through. So the question then becomes whether to play the songs straight up as tributes or to expand in directions the originals only hinted at. But this provides a set of pratfalls. Sticking too close to the progenitor's style lands you in that reoccurring local-dive bar-scene territory, while taking too many artistic liberties causes the song to collapse from excessive deviation - bad news for a Sabbath track.

In this split between grind kings Brutal Truth and a pre-Jane Doe Converge, a collective attempt to foil this heavy metal conundrum is made. Both bands, to varying degrees, take a middle path between tribute and experimentation with Black Sabbath. For Brutal Truth, this approach acknowledges a momentary shift in their sound, as nary a blastbeat can be found in their cover of the doom-laden "Cornucopia". Though a slight increase in speed and inherent crust of the band help avoid any shameless idol flattery. Yet, it is Converge's take on "Snowblind" which gets the blue-ribbon. Oddly enough, it comes across almost musically identical to the Sabbath version. That is, until Jacob Bannon unleashes his inhuman vocal exorcism upon the once crooned lines of Ozzy, smothering them in a malevolence that the heavy metal of Sabbath's era may have claimed but never actually produced. Perhaps the most remarkable insight to arise here is how comparable the melodies in "Snowblind" are to those found in the earlier, more melodically inclined material of Converge. Even with this unlikely connection drawn, it's still amusing to hear such a definitive hardcore band play what is essentially a rock song, and do it in a way that won't make you cringe.

BOTTOM LINE: Classic bands covering classic songs by another classic band. Do the math.

Download

Hum - You'd Prefer An Astronaut

2009-07-25T23:11:00.000-07:00

RCA
(1995)

I smell something good. Oh, it's that tasty 90's alternative smorgasbord otherwise known as Hum. A mash-up of big Deftones styled riffs, thick and spacey but less experimental My Bloody Valentine layers (which can be harvested for secret sounds when blazed), and the driving rock of vintage Smashing Pumpkins, Hum are the band you heard and liked but couldn't name. Or at least that was my experience. I heard their only real hit "Stars" numerous times on the radio, but never knew who they were until years later. Turns out they didn't slouch on their major debut; the entire track listing is solid, including the perplexing failure of follow-up singles in "The Pod" and "I'd Like Your Hair Long". But the most notable part of the album is its duality of production. Much like Loveless by My Bloody Valentine, You'd Prefer An Astronaut can be enjoyed at polar ends of the volume spectrum: a quiet drone for naps or a cranked amplitude for physical emulsification with the music. Though the latter yields far superior results.

Download

Peace to the Braille Tapes and Josh. Both will be missed dearly for similar/different reasons. Memories for days.

Show You No Mercy

2009-07-21T22:16:00.000-07:00

While at the Seattle date for the Cro-Mags reunion tour, my friend got to interview vocalist John Joseph (an interview I hope to read at some point). During the course of questioning, Joseph mentioned that he had written book on vegetarian diet/exercise titled, Meat is for Pussies. The book has not yet been published, but below is its introduction. Joseph is far from eloquent, but what would you expect from the frontman of one of the fiercest hardcore bands of all-time? And to be honest, it is refreshing to hear someone speak coarsely in defense of vegetarianism, as so many come off as pretentious dickheads who would scarf down a plate of foie gras before confronting anyone without a master's degree. Regardless of your thoughts on the issue, the read will provide enough laughs to make it worth your time.

Who propagated this bullshit that meat makes you macho? My guess is it's the same big business assholes that told you the Marlboro man was a stud. Eating defenseless animals doesn't make you tough numbnuts. It makes you a coward. You wanna eat meat? Instead of purchasing factory killed, slickly packaged animal parts, have some balls and try this: Go out to the woods or jungle, tear down an animal with your bare hands, rip it apart and eat it. I guarantee you you'll find out just what a big pussy you are because you'll get your ass handed to you like some idiot on that TV show "When Animals Attack."

I've met so many weight lifter Neanderthals over the years that were like, "Yo, I need meat, it makes me aggressive." Or my favorite, the protein myth, "Yo, where do you get your protein from guy?" as if the only source for protein is dead, rotting carcasses. In reality there are dozens of sources of protein that doesn't require the systematic incarceration, torture, and finally, slaughter of animals. And as far as aggression, I know some vegetarians that will rip your fuckin' head off in a New York minute.

These people have all bought into the lies and propaganda put out there by the douche bags running the meat industry who are some of the most powerful lobbyists in the U.S. Do you remember that bullshit ad campaign they ran a while ago? "Beef it's what's for dinner." yeah, and cancer, arterial sclerosis, high blood pressure, impotence, as well as dozens of other meat-eating related diseases. that's your karmic dessert.

I'm sick of people, who are either ignorant of the facts, or even worse, have hidden agendas, dissing vegetarians because we care about animals and the environment. What do you want to live in a barren wasteland dick wad? Now, just so we get off on the right foot here I want you to know my background. I'm not some new age, macro-psychotic wimp trying to get you to eat your sprouts. Most new age people make me fucking puke. The fact is I've probably had a harder life then 90% of you out there. Just read my first book, "The Evolution of a Cro-Magnon." I survived orphanages, abusive foster homes, boy's homes, NYC's mean streets in the mid-seventies at 14, shootings, stabbings, lock-ups, drug addiction, homelessness, the music business and the list goes on. So if anyone knows a thing or two about being tough and fighting on it's me. What I'm giving you in this book is a no-holes-barred, New York style beat down for your brain cells on real health and real nutrition, and I'm not pulling any punches.

To be honest I don't blame you carnivorous fuckers for being turned off to a vegetarian diet by the looks of a majority of vegetarians. The first thing meat-eaters say to me is, "Damn, you're a vegetarian?" I know what they mean. Most vegetarians look like weak-as-fuck string beans. But I've been at this a long time, almost 30 years, and I'm as physical as they come. On any given day it's not at all uncommon for me to run ten miles, hit the gym, pump some weights, then hit the bags for another hour. As a matter of fact just last year in '07, I ran the Marine Corps Marathon and I beat every fucker in the running crew I ran with, some of whom were almost half my age. Their reaction as they crossed the finish line to find me cooled off enjoying a snack, "Damn old man."

At 45 I'm still a stage diving, triathlete maniac and I attribute the longevity to two things. consistency in my training and the most important, proper food choices. Over the years I've worked out at so many gyms and watched trainers instructing people and the one thing I find ridiculous is most of these guys don't know shit about nutrition. I mean, at one old school gym on the Lower East Side I had this Puerto Rican bodybuilder tell me Alpo-burgers are great protein and if its good enough for his pit bull, its good enough for him. That's an extreme case, but you get my point. If you aren't hip to what the fuck you're putting in your body it's like trying to light a fire (training), but constantly throwing water on it at the same time with what you're stuffing your face with.

That's why in this book, the first thing I'm going to do is tell you exactly what all that shit your eating is really doing to your body. Then I'm going to show you alternatives, even show you how to cook great tasting meals and give you a seven-day work out and meal plan. Notice I don't use the word diet. diets are for pussies. If you're tired of being an Atkins', Jenny Craig, or Weight Watcher-type diet pussy, man up because this book is for you. But, on the other hand if you're happy with your yo-yo diets and calorie counting like a fat chick in her Curves calorie class, return my book and continue on with your chronic pussy-ism.

I'll show you what's worked for me as well as so many others I've turned on to this knowledge. Remember, the first part of learning is to keep an open mind and try new things. It's all about live foods, whole foods, green foods, energy producing foods, foods that have their enzymes in tact, plant based protein foods that don't put strain on your body's organs to digest them, and most importantly, foods that taste amazing and are 100% meat-free.

Make no mistake about it; my intention is to get all you Joe-meat-and-potato-head fuckers to stop eating meat for your own sake. That's why I put some kick-ass, easy to make, nutrient rich meals in the back of this book and some super-food recommendations as well, that will kick you, your metabolism and your libido into overdrive.

If you take advantage of this knowledge and combine it with a good exercise regiment, you'll become an unstoppable force to be reckoned with instead of a two-pump-chump in the gym, and the bedroom. The choice is yours, you can continue on your path of debilitating health, being weak, tired and miserable, or listen up to what your woman's been telling you all along, "It's about longevity" and just in case you didn't know it, meat not only affects your endurance down the road, but your schlong as well! Ah, now I got your attention, don't I fucker? Read on and you'll find out how.

I decided to pen this book at the urging of people I've given advice to over the years who were like, "Damn bro, this is easier than I thought." No shit Sherlock. I use the acronym K.I.S.S. as my mantra. Keep It Simple Stupid. It ain't rocket science. I studied this for almost 30 years and besides having a degree from The University of the Streets in Ass-Kicking-101, I know my info on health better than lots of people in the health field. Bottom line. most doctors are pussies. Why you ask? Because they don't deal in prevention they just want to sell you the drug company's medicine to treat the disease. Very expensive medicine I might add. See that's because there's no money in the cure. If you're healthy most of them are out of work, that's why there's practically no research conducted in preventive medicine i.e. herbs and natural foods. The FDA is even trying to make herbs & whole food vitamins illegal. Do they suck wooly-mammoth balls or what? So it's up to you. you can continue to be a pussy and fuck yourself up, or you can be a real man and pull up your pants.

With my approach I always try to be a little philosophical. As such I hope I don't overload any brain cells here by quoting the late Eleanor Roosevelt who said, "Somewhere along the line of our development we discover what we really are, and then we make our decision for which we are responsible. Make that decision primarily for yourself because you can never live anyone else's life." Exactly fella's, it's all about you making lifelong changes, and you never retreating back to a life of unhealthiness. Every journey in life starts with a first step. The first step on this journey is to understand that as the harmful effects of meat take a toll on your body...YOU WILL BECOME A PUSSY.

Keith Murray - The Most Beautifullest Thing In This World

2009-07-10T22:48:00.000-07:00

Jive
(1994)

My hip-hop baptism has proven hard to pinpoint. I usually make reference to the Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers) as the jump off because it's (a) untouchable (b) familiar to almost everyone, and (c) honestly the first record my mind gravitates to when searching for the beginning. Memory, however, has an odd way of being unsound, even concerning such linear perceptions as the chronology of life. But in digging back through time, which is well documented in musical crates, I found an error in my previously consistent testimonial ("It was 'C.R.E.A.M.' to infinity, man..."). Important as the former album may be in the grand scheme, it did in fact have predecessor (in terms of the assembly of my collection): Keith Murray's The Most Beautifullest Thing In This World, an album that was one of the first five CD's I ever purchased. Rather than an indication of juvenilia, the early carbon-date is a measure of legitimacy; of the initial five, this album is one of maybe two that have weathered the changes in musical taste brought with each passing year - still remaining in my possession to this day.

It would be fair to consider the sound of The Most Beautifullest Thing In This World dated. Fortunately, this date occurred before the dawn of "bleep-bloop" SFX and Auto-Tune technology. Rather, Eric Sermon's now classic darkened funk stylings lend the majority of tracks a chill but slightly hostile demeanor - the perfect mixture to hold proper levels of interest and bounce. The title track (a minor hit in its time) strays from from the formula, being a tad more genial both musically and lyrically; but the tastefully understated R&B melody and an awesomely implemented background nuance in the warm crackle of a record spinning not only help keep the track from becoming an obvious single attempt, but solidify it as an under appreciated anthem.

While he's not quite Rakim, Keith Murray holds his own on the microphone. Coming off like the poised and collected member that Onyx never had, Murray harnesses an important x-factor in charisma, which allows for great shifts in vocal inflection and rhythmic delivery. Listening to him flow is the equivalent of watching a good welterweight bout: plenty of speed and agility, with the occasional heavy blow. Lyrically, Murray isn't exactly a slouch, though his memorable lines waver between clever and ridiculous.

"Cowabunga/I'm taking MC's straight under/You can't see me like Stevie Wonder."

"You couldn't see me if you ate 5 million carrots."

"I'm internationally known from the East to the West Coast/I likes hot butter on my breakfast toast."

An all-around credible release, The Most Beautifullest Thing In This World represents an era in hip-hop when talent found an outlet in the mainstream (the record is certified Gold). Eschewing any transparent gimmickry, Keith Murray kept it simple with solid rhymes over solid beats - a should-be but often distorted maxim. At 15 years of age, this album has inevitably been lost to both current and future generations. I therefore deem it necessary to borrow a savvy line from the man himself: If you got a crew, you better tell 'em.

Download

NOTE: Some of you may have a vague recollection of Keith Murray being part of the Def Squad, a group consisting of him, Erick Sermon and Redman. They scored a big hit in '98 with a cover of "Rapper's Delight".

Not so fast, freeloader.

2009-07-07T23:43:00.000-07:00

Below is a great article addressing the rampant issue of illegally downloading music from the infamous hardcore/metal website, Lambgoat. While it's easy to dismiss the whining of a record executive at Columbia or Metallica, the possible adverse affects of free downloading upon the independent music community should at least be taken into consideration. I know what you're thinking: "Dave, how can you say that when you yourself are contributing to the problem by uploading music?" I am a bit two-faced in this regard. But I liken what I do on this blog more to cassette/CD trading with friends; judging from the number of (attempted) downloads registered in my Mediafire file folder (the average being 2-3 per album), my friends are the only ones downloading from here. I'll stop myself from going on any personal tangents, since the article is a tad lengthy. So check it out.

Lambgoat's resident reviewer Nick decided to tackle something a little more challenging, an actual article. This time Nick discusses file sharing and illegal downloading with several record labels in the scene. Are they happy, sad, confused, or suicidal?

When asked of the changing audio mediums in today's music market, George Vallee of Century Media starts laughing, saying, "It was funny. I saw a kid just instantly walk out of a store, rip out the package, grab the CD, and toss the jewel case in the trash with the liners and the booklet. I was like, 'Oh my god. Well, I guess that's all that matters. Just give me the music. Let me throw it in the computer. The rest is trash.'"

Although Vallee's anecdote certainly deals with extremes, it is the perfect representation of the unpredictable evolution of listeners' wants, demands, and mindsets within the independent music community. Ten years ago, no one could have predicted the way crude file sharing systems like Napster, Audiogalaxy, and Kazaa would revolutionize music distribution on the Internet. Just five years ago, before broadband Internet access was ubiquitous and the final regulatory axe was given to these file sharing programs, the concept of full albums being readily (and illegally) available online via a network of blogs, forums, and upload sites such as Mediafire and Megaupload was still inconceivable. It's been a wild ride, and everyone in the independent music community has witnessed a whirlwind of changes driven by technological advances and a younger generation raised on an on-demand lifestyle. And it's no secret that labels are struggling to keep up.

The effects of illegal downloading are complex and far-reaching, touching everything from the obvious implications in label sales and distribution, to secondary side effects like changing listener mentalities and the potential rise of "independent" culture as a whole. And within the metal and hardcore community, the reactions from those labels responsible for driving independent music, whether it be "giants" like Metal Blade and Century Media, mid-sized outfits like Deathwish Inc. and Black Market Activities, or basement-run DIY operations like Teenage Disco Bloodbath and Gilead Media, are far from unanimous. Illegal downloading, though certainly a well-trodden topic, is by no means dead, and the overwhelmingly enthusiastic response from some of metal and hardcore's most influential labels just might make listeners think twice about the ramifications of pirating music on the Internet.

Album Sales: A Downward Spiral?

With downloading causing the overall decline of CD sales from majors and the financial failure of large music retailers, the assumption is that the independents are also witnessing similar trends, albeit on a smaller scale. Upholding that statement is Nicole Hollis-Vitale of Boston's Deathwish, Inc., saying, "Well, hardcore isn't really one to sell tons of copies, but we've definitely seen a slight decline, though it has more or less leveled off. Online sales are great, and we try to push digital stuff as much as possible, but of course, nothing beats free."

Century Media's Vallee echoes a similar stance, commenting, "We really excelled and had our most profitable years in 2002-2003. As downloading stuff became more prominent, we saw our sales decrease more and more each year. Now we're at the point where we realize, 'how are we going to combat this?'"

Some, however, aren't as quick to point the finger in the direction of online freeloading. Michelle Ferraro of Black Market Activities argues a different angle, saying, "Any slow growth in sales in the music industry today can be attributed to the economic slowdown that the United States is experiencing rather than with the prominence of illegal downloading." She continues, adding, "It is possible that this economic slowdown could cause a surge in illegal downloading. The simple truth is if consumers have less disposable income to spend on "luxury" items, they might be more tempted to obtain them illegally."

Other labels even suggest that the influx of online music has helped their overall business. Both Metal Blade and Chicago's Seventh Rule, representing opposing extremes of size in the world of independent metal, argue just that. Metal Blade founder Brian Slagel comments, "Actually, our sales have been up the last few years. The current metal scene has helped us to achieve this. Certainly the digital world has helped to spread the word, but more so from fans on sites like MySpace and Facebook." Seventh Rule owner Scott Flaster reiterates a similar view, saying, "We are hitting year five and honestly, things keep getting better. The online exposure is good as the interweb allows us to reach into the areas our bands aren't touring. It's not like we have locked down a distributor for India or the Middle East." These positive views, however, appear to be in the minority, as the overall reaction from labels in the hardcore and metal community is slanted toward the agreement that illegal downloading has triggered an overall decline in record sales.

One specific occurrence leading to decreased sales is the pesky and almost impossible to regulate event of album leaks. For larger labels, this occurrence is like an unavoidable ritual in the album release process. Slagel estimates that the average Metal Blade CD leaks onto the Internet two weeks before the release date, although some have been known to sneak out even earlier than that. Vallee adds to the hopelessness of the situation, saying, "One way or another it's going to get out there sooner or later. That's just the way it is. So it's just a matter of holding it until the last possible minute and hoping that it doesn't get out until the week of release."

Although some labels have turned toward new copyright protection technologies such as watermarking, album leaks have still persisted. "I have used watermarked promotional discs in the past, but I think their effectiveness in preventing downloading presents a conundrum. Watermarking is expensive and often times few watermarked discs are produced, maybe 50 to 100," comments Ferraro. "It is hard to say whether the absence of a leaked record is due to the deterrence created by a watermarked disc or to simple statistics: the fewer discs that are serviced, the smaller the probability that a record will be leaked."

The promotions department at Deathwish has a different way of dealing with the unfortunate situation. Hollis-Vitale offers some insight, answering, "We believe that advanced press is less important than saving an album from leaking. We do not send promos to press any more than four weeks in advance of a street date. This makes it hard to have advanced, even timely reviews -- but it's better than having the whole record available for download two months before it comes out."

But the smaller players in the music community – the Gilead Medias, Seventh Rules, and Teenage Disco Bloodbaths of hardcore and metal – don't appear too worried about the prospect of album leaks. When asked if his label witnesses album leaks, Flaster enthusiastically replies, ""Never checked! All our promotion is sent out months before a release date so I am sure it can happen, but it isn't anything I would lose sleep over." Jonah Livingston, the brains of DIY operation Teenage Disco Bloodbath Records, provides an even blunter response, joking, "I haven't done anything to 'combat' leaks because, honestly, no one cares enough about my bands to be in any sort of a rush for leakage." From the responses on album leaks alone, it appears that the increased online availability of music, even in illegal formats, actually holds some advantages for the smaller labels.

But weighing the pros and cons of the distribution of illegal music online is not such an easy task. Most labels struggle with defining the line between helpful and harmful. John Strachan of Prosthetic Records acknowledges both sides of the argument, saying, "It hurts the music industry, but at the same time, it's turned a lot of people on to music they would have never heard before. I just wish kids would use it as an outlet to find new bands, not to say how many records they have on their iPod."

Both Slagel and Ferraro emphasize the necessity of viewing music business, as, well, a business. "I do feel that the Internet and the communities help music greatly," Slagel comments. "However, there is a lot of money, time, and jobs that are out there to create this music. If these things do not exist then the music will not exist." Ferraro offers some more insight on behalf of bands in the community, saying, "For bands with a record contract, even on the smallest of labels, illegal downloading can be detrimental to the success of the band. Record labels need to make money to sustain themselves and to invest in new talent. While 99% of bands will tell you they make music because they like to, it is no secret they also want/need to make money to continue to function as a band."

Other labels respond directly to listeners in the community. Hollis-Vitale openly confronts those who run sources of illegal online music, adamantly stating, "These blogs that post things for download, while putting the name out there, are being incredibly detrimental. If they were posting a stream of a few songs, or even a download of one song – that would be different. Instead, they are giving away something that does not belong to them. The vast majority of people will not download a record, love it, then immediately go out and buy it." She continues, saying, "By downloading music for free, I can safely say it directly affects both the label and the band in a negative way, and I really wish that more bloggers and fans of music would realize this."

But the idea that illegal music distribution is indeed 100% detrimental isn't actually shared by all. Flaster takes an entirely different, more positive angle, saying, "It would be amazing if these communities wanted to license some music from me. I would be willing to work on the cheap."

Adam Lee Barlett, owner and operator of Wisconsin's Gilead Media, provides a more surprising take, arguing, "Many artists don't realize they would be nothing without file sharing and illegal downloading. And you know, I've been working for a music distributor for almost five years now, and a record shop four years before that. I've never seen more people download than those who are actually involved in the music industry -- working for labels, stores, whatever. Can't have your cake and eat it too, folks."

Information Overload

Labels aren't the only ones being affected by the massive quantities of illegal music available online. This overflow is reshaping how listeners demand and process new music, and it represents yet another challenge for labels in keeping up with constant evolution of music in the digital age.

"I know growing up in the age of walkmen, then discmen, you brought one or two tapes or CDs out with you for the day," says Livingston, getting a little nostalgic. "I had a few favorite tapes and just jammed on them over and over, learning them inside out. Now I have thousands of songs on my computer and iPod. Obviously I'm exposed to all sorts of music I'd never hear if I had to pay Tower Records (RIP) prices, but at the same time, I couldn't tell you my favorite song off of many of the digital albums I listen to. Not because I don't appreciate them, just because I'm listening to so much that single albums and songs don't have a chance to sink in as much as they used to."

Hollis-Vitale adds, "In this day in age everything is instant and fleeting. Your new favorite CD could be overshadowed by another new favorite CD within a week. I am exposed to new music all of the time, mostly through the Internet, and I just click and click and find new favorite bands on MySpace."

Others, like Ferraro, describe a backlash-like effect from the large quantities and ease of availability of new music in today's community. "As a consumer, I suffer from intense information overload when it comes to the availability of new music. I don't think I'm alone in saying the abundance of new music available evokes hermit-like tendencies in me. When I become overwhelmed with the amount of new bands, I stop seeking out new music and retreat to old favorites or new records from bands that I already like."

Barlett offers a similar view, saying, "It has also watered down my love for a lot of music. The scope of what I truly enjoy has been slimmed because new music is everywhere. Instead of enjoying most of what I hear, life has turned into wading through the shit to find a small nugget of something I really enjoy."

Some labels view this availability as an opportunity. Slagel recognizes the challenges that the digital music age has created, commenting, "I think it does make artists have to make good music. Since many people can get it for free, it needs to be good for someone to actually buy it… If you really love the music you hear, you will support it."

Downloader Rationalizations

Listeners are constantly dreaming up new angles in which to justify their acts of illegally downloading music. Perhaps one of the most popular arguments is that "Bands don't make any money from CD sales -- they make it from touring and merch sales." Such a blanket statement is bound to hit the nerves of those involved, but the responses offer incredible insight into the challenges of operating a modern underground music label.

One would assume that all labels will have a similar reaction, but as with many of the other downloading related topics, the stances are varied. Slagel and Ferraro provide the perfect example, initially disagreeing, but ultimately arriving at a similar conclusion. Slagel argues, "That is completely incorrect. Bands still make a lot of money on CD sales. Many bands, especially those just starting out, make almost all of it from that. Big, gigantic bands who have already been successful for a long time make less on CD sales. But indie bands, again especially new ones, need this source of revenue to exist." Ferraro provides her angle, saying, "That is absolutely true, however, it represents a very shortsighted view of how the music industry really works. Labels make money from CD sales. This money is used to fund new releases, artist development and touring. To anyone who has used that statement to rationalize an illegal download: Keep illegally downloading music, but when your favorite bands don't put out anymore records, or can't afford to tour, you have no right to post whiney comments on Blabbermouth."

Vallee suggests other implications of listeners using that justification for downloading, taking All That Remains as an example. "They might not be making any money off of a hundred thousand record sales, but if those sales weren't there, they wouldn't be on the major tours they're on to make the money on the merch and have better guarantees. So obviously, when everybody's booking tours, they look at the Soundscan numbers. So if those sales aren't there to back it up, you're not going to get the bigger tours." Now the only question is this: will recognizing this inherent connection between CD sales and the ability of bands to profit from touring actually deter listeners from justifying illegal downloads from their favorite bands?

There's another popular downloading rationalization that argues in favor of "trying before buy," i.e. illegally obtaining the music before making a purchase. The responses to this justification are even more heated, with strong support from both sides.

Ferraro vehemently opposes the practice, saying, "I agree, sometimes you like to try things out before you buy them, but when you go to a show the band doesn't let you wear around their t-shirt for the night so that you can decide whether you want to buy it or not. Likewise, when I go to Target to buy cat litter, the store doesn't let me take it home and let my cat shit in it before I decide whether I want to buy it." She continues with a more direct angle, saying, "Bands make so much music available from their records before the release date that it's impossible to not know what to expect from a record when you purchase it… Labels aren't trying to trick fans. We don't purposely post the tracks from a record that sound like Slayer, when the rest of the record sounds like Taking Back Sunday, and then laugh all the way to the bank when you spend $14 on a CD that you hate. We're not evil!"

Livingston is skeptical of the "purchasing" end of the rationalization, commenting, "I think the idea that people download an album, end up loving it, then immediately rush out to buy a physical copy is largely a fairly tail. I know it happens rarely, but every once and a while I'll check to see how many people have certain TDB releases on file sharing services and it decimates the number of physical records I've sold."

Others view this practice as a regulatory measure, and suggest that such actions may help music in the long run. Slagel touches on this, saying, "I think it is a great thing that people can hear the music before buying it. That keeps the quality of the music up and the listeners benefit from that."

Barlett is even more enthusiastic: "I 100% approve of this practice. It is like a bullshit measure. In the past a band could put one or two really great songs out there with a record full of filler… essentially ripping off the listener by delivering them a record of garbage. Who enjoys being let down by a record that sounds nothing like the one or two tracks you heard and loved? The try before you buy mentality has given the listener the power to weed through the records that are trying to just rip them off and support the artists that are truly putting the effort into creating something beautiful and meaningful."

Flaster takes an even more unique route, suggesting that this practice is, in fact, nothing new at all. "Some of my favorite albums growing up were listened to on copied tapes made by friends. I also owned a dual-cassette tape deck for this same purpose. The CD burner eventually replaced the dual cassette deck, and now we have computers that can store it all. Has anything besides the technology really changed? If I was never given a copied tape of The Number of the Beast I probably wouldn't even be having this conversation right now! Decades later I swear I have bought that album twice on LP and once on CD."

The Dreaded Legalities

Everyone has heard the tales of the Recording Industry Association of America suing individuals for astronomical figures, often sending college students and liable parents into financial ruin. However, recorded music, even on the independent scale, is still a copyrighted commodity. Have the independents considered any types of legal action to curb widespread downloading?

"There really is not a lot we can do at our level. We just try and use the technology as best we can and look to put out the best music we can," responds Slagel. "I would not sue individual downloaders -- that really makes no sense. Why would you sue your fans? I do not think the indies will follow suit on that and certainly there would be a backlash. We do have to protect our rights, but going after individual people is not something we condone."

In fact, opposition to suing individuals as a method of regulating illegal downloads might be the only stance that metal and hardcore labels share on this complicated issue.

"Earlier this year, I watched a lawsuit destroy Middian, an amazing band and awesome people," begins Flaster. "They did nothing except try to be a band and release awesome music. Look up the case if you aren't familiar, but there definitely is no room in the indie community for lawsuits and random legality. Is there even enough money floating around to pay the legal fees?"

Ferraro echoes the views of Slagel and Flaster, but also recognizes the opportunity for the betterment of labels. "I am a big proponent of small government. I don't think that there should be any federal regulation of any part of the Internet and that includes sites where people engage in file sharing. We are trying to have a capitalist society. Illegal downloads should force labels to market creatively to keep consumers interested, otherwise labels revert back to Tin Pan Alley-era complacency."

The Rise of Independents

Despite a rather concrete correlation between illegal downloading and decreased sales, independent hardcore and metal labels have not been hit as hard as the majors have been, thus opening the door for the independents to crack the charts far more frequently than in the past.

"There's no doubt about it. Sales are down [for everyone]," comments Vallee. Compare the number one album on Billboard in 2002 versus 2008. It's drastically different. And those diminishing sales allow a lot of our bands to break into the top 200."

Slagel also provides similar insights. "With the downfall of the majors, they cannot afford to have smaller niche genres on their roster. That has helped indies who do have a strong niche. So that is one reason why you see the bands more on the charts."

But if downloading and Internet promotion has leveled the playing field for the majors and independents, are the days of hardcore and metal existing as a thriving underground scene dwindling? Without the umbrella of mainstream culture and with the increased accessibility of independent music, is it possible that the passion and intimacy will wane?

"Not really," says Ferraro. "For every one independent band that achieves mainstream success, there are 20 other equally talented bands in the same genre that are still selling 7-inches at "mom and pop" record stores, playing 200 capacity bars, and being ignored by the mainstream press."

Livingston also isn't too worried about the increased exposure. "That could definitely bring more people into the 'real' independent music scene. How many kids started with Hatebreed before finding out about underground hardcore? And I don't see that as a bad thing. People who really care about music -- or anything in life -- will prove they care. Those that are into it for fashion or girls or whatever bullshit will weed themselves out."

Flaster, however, offers a word of caution. "Last year when we released the first Indian LP in The Sycophant series, the band played a record release show, and the show got a write up in the Chicago Tribune. The show sold out which was awesome, yet upon arriving and going to the front to get my passes, I was greeted with someone shoving me backwards and shouting, 'Hey man, I was in line before you!' Intimacy, right? Perhaps that was a sign of success more than any Soundscan figures could show."

The Path from Here

We are, without a doubt, in the midst of a tumultuous, yet very interesting period of change in the world of hardcore and metal. Illegal downloading has caused a ripple effect, touching everything from CD sales and audio mediums, to bands' financial strategies, to changes within independent culture itself. The extents of these effects are far from proven, as the incongruity of opinions from some of the scene's most influential labels can attest. But despite these varying views and recommendations for actions against illegal downloading, the call for support from fans is undeniably unanimous.

With the likelihood of being sued by an independent label for digital piracy being just about nonexistent, one might argue that labels are waving the white flag, and in the process offering the green light for downloading. But every label understands the need for the community aspect in the hardcore and metal scene. After all, this closeness is what has driven most to the world of underground music in the first place. But in this chaotic period for hardcore and metal labels, fans need to recognize that community support has been the foundation for the scene in the past, and that illegal downloading has the potential to erode away this essential structure. Everyone – bands, labels, and fans alike – is equally important in our independent community, and if this tripod of support is permitted to wither, so too will underground music.

"We're all human. Everybody's going to [download]," adds Vallee. "Everybody's going to check things out, but at the end of the day, just buy something. As long as people are giving back something and helping the scene stay alive, fuck yeah. That's really the main point."

Zeke - Death Alley

2009-07-02T15:29:00.000-07:00

Aces & Eights Records
(2001)

While Michelle won't be needing this one, I can't think of better background music to celebrate the 4th of July with. There is something undeniably "American" about Zeke, sans the historical romanticism and proclivity for mayonnaise sandwiches. Playing a brand of lightning fast punk-rock steeped in blues roots, it sounds like Motorhead swapped beer-guzzling for meth-smoking - which I would argue, is also undeniably "American." That is not to say it's a disheveled mess. Exemplary in tightness of instrumentation, leads aplenty blaze the fretboard E to E (estimation) with such a precision and fervor that leave Zeke peerless, not to mention incomparable, to anything currently related to punk. Allow me to reiterate: this shit rips like a pack of choppers in a circle pit. Diehards will dispute the placement of Death Alley within the hierarchy of Zeke releases. But I believe it to be the band's finest work, capturing the piss 'n' vinegar of their early years with a much needed upgrade in production.

I don't often indulge in the idiocy of patriotic dogma. But if you don't like Zeke, get the fuck out of my country.

Download

And on an unrelated note, Happy Birthday to Larry David. One of the most hilarious dudes ever. A true Jew through and through. Can't wait for the new season of Curb Your Enthusiasm with Jerry and the gang.

Bit Wars

2009-06-27T21:33:00.000-07:00

Wii Salute by the Angry Video Game Nerd

What side of the line were you on? I was a Nintendo kid. As sad as it may sound, I couldn't imagine my childhood without the NES or Super NES. Tecmo Bowl, Contra, Double Dragon I & II, Excite Bike, Bionic Commando, Super Mario Bros. 3, Final Fantasy II & III, Secret of Mana, Super Metroid, Super Mario RPG, Ken Griffey Jr. Presents Major League Baseball...too many good ones (and good times) to name them all. Unfortunately, once I bought a Nintendo 64 and found that there were a grand total of five good games for the system, my loyalty shifted towards Sony. I left the console wars with the PS2, using the system mainly as a DVD player throughout most of its lifespan, and only recently buying games for it, since they're so cheap now.

But with respect to the Bit Wars, I would say that while I was a Nintendo loyalist during those years, I didn't hate Sega. In fact, I was pissed that a lot of dope games for the Genesis never got a Nintendo release. I would have shit a brick if Streets of Rage, Joe Montana Football, or Eternal Champions had hit the Super NES. Fortunately, I had a friend - one whose name and person I can't remember - who rolled with Sega and got to play those and other gems. What I'm trying to say is that even though there was a war going on, people could still appreciate what both sides had to offer. So forget these X-Box flag-wavers who basically constitute a division of free marketing for Microsoft. You aren't representing anything other than your parents' cash-flow, which is what payed for your console and games. You are spoiled fucking nerds.

Grey Area - Fanbelt Algebra

2009-06-23T21:17:00.000-07:00

Victory Records
(2000)

Burning adolescence. A time when music enraptured and literally answered all of life's problems. The doldrums of school could be remedied by a few chords. Blasting your favorite album was as good a reason as any to get in the car with friends and drive aimlessly until 2am. A good record store was both a necessity and the holy grail.

I have tried to find this in the music of today. I cannot. This may have less to do with a current lack of artistic quality, and more to do with a nostalgia associated with the sounds that comprised my formative years. In other words: maybe I have become an old, jaded curmudgeon.

Grey Area's Fanbelt Algebra happens to be one of those records that fires up the way-back machine for me. To the unfamiliar, this album might not resemble much other than a generic punk/hardcore release destined for obscurity in the dollar bin. But remember the relativity of experience that comes with being a teenager; quite early on in my punk rock odyssey, there was a freshness about everything fast and melodic.

I see no point of going into a massive amount of detail concerning Grey Area and Fanbelt Algebra. I can't seem to come up with a description of either that is worth phrasing. Each time I try, I just end up getting lost in reverie of old, unable to reference much in terms of specific characteristics - and I have the CD lying next to me. The first paragraph is the most honest representation of the music I can give, which might be a better description than any conventional inquiry. I hope.

Download

(Or here's a preview.)

King Diamond - Abigail

2009-06-16T20:36:00.000-07:00

Roadrunner Records
(1987)

The dilemma of modern metal: though infinitely better than the suburban aggro which nu-metal imposed on my youth, the heavy music of today often fails to create anything beyond faithful offerings to genres that were forged 25 years prior. Make no mistake, there definitely exists a place in my heart for the throwback metal band. But as more and more groups continue the endless rehash of already-twice-recycled ideas, a saturation point has been reached. The best course of action to take in this scenario is to return to the source material. Because true classics never fade.

King Diamond's Abigail is a second-tier masterpiece of traditional metal, lacking the notoriety of a British Steel or a Number the Beast. But to claim any inferiority on the grounds of quality would be misguided bogosity. Abigail represents heavy metal doing what heavy metal did best in the 1980's: being unashamedly heavy metal. Reveling in all its excess and cliches, the album conjures up a time when skilled axemen weren't too modest to rip gratuitous solos with the backing of huge arena-style production. Or when it was okay to go nerd for lyrical themes involving fantasy and whimsical horror. Though I was too young to know of Abigail at the time of its release, through a shared heavy metal genealogy I find appreciation in an era gone by.

Then there is the voice of King Diamond. Harnessing one of the most distinctive falsettos in metal (perhaps second only to Rob Halford), his great range regarding both melody and theatrics can simultaneously impress and amuse (a combination of elements paramount to traditional metal). And there should be an emphasis on "amuse"; the King's vocals are frequently overdubbed in threes, each taking on a different part of the given melody, creating a hilariously grandiloquent one-man choir. Laughter is inevitable concerning King Diamond. But if you cannot find the raditude in a dude in face paint that screams in the register of a banshee, pull the stick out of your ass.

Ridiculous and totally metal, Abigail plays like the alternate soundtrack to Castlevania. A definite classic that should not be overlooked. So grab the chain-whip and get to stepping.

(Jathan, I'm looking at you on this one.)

Download

Narrows - Gypsy Kids video

2009-06-03T10:24:00.000-07:00

This one caught me off guard. Total cadaver carnage with such nihilistic (and creative) gore as to avoid B-movie campiness, extending into what I shall dub corpse art. A bit disturbing, yet still found myself watching - and smiling (?!). Look out for the scissors and blood regurgitation. Definitely won't be seeing this on Headbangers Ball. Dedicated to Cameron Currier, with love.

The Killing

2009-06-01T22:21:00.000-07:00

Directed by Stanley Kubrick
(1956)

Even with a relatively small filmography, the early work of Stanley Kubrick still finds itself the victim of neglect. It is no exaggeration to claim that most people couldn't name a film of his preceding Dr. Strangelove or Lolita, let alone to have watched one. How unfortunate, in that his debut full-length feature film, The Killing, captures a future legend's rather humble, but obviously capable beginnings.

A heist in the heart of noir, The Killing unfolds with a team of criminals' plans to stick a (horse) racetrack for $2 million. Through schemes involving bullheaded thuggery, inside connections, a corrupt policeman, as well as both keen precision and timing, the collective lays out a complex but seemingly foolproof plan. Of course, with the essence of every film noir being humanity's exploration into its self-defeating heart of darkness, there exists a foil to the mugs' full realization of happiness in the jackpot. In archetypal fashion, the foil shows itself as the greedy broad of one of the men involved in the heist - she, having her own ideas as to where the shares of the loot shall be allocated.

The Killing can be seen as comparatively conventional by Kubrick's standards. Though this may be in part due to the suits at MGM, who undoubtedly had a heavy influence on the final cut, and to whom Kubrick was surely too green to give the finger to at the time. Other traces of probable studio meddling can be found in the overly-explanatory narrator, melodramatic acting, and the shamelessly cheap recycling of footage - reoccurring two to three times throughout the film.

But the roots Kubrick's cinematic vision are in place. From a technical standpoint, some great tracking shots are present, seamlessly transferring between the separate rooms of a building; shots of this nature would become the director's trademark in later films such as Paths of Glory and Full Metal Jacket. Kubrick also pulls off what is perhaps one of the more difficult techniques to authentically execute in the moving POV shot, as a wounded character stumbles through the unreal aftermath of bullet-ridden corpses from a deal gone bad - a grisly realistic scene, even in black and white. This first-person styled camera work most notably reappears at the end of The Shining, where poor Danny attempts to outrun a sadistic, hatchet-wielding Jack Nicholson through a maze of snowy hedges: a likewise surreal setting, infused with a disquieting tangibility that is effectively achieved by shifting the viewer's perspective to that which is no longer objective and removed.

Regardless of its conventionality, The Killing altogether entertains, being a fair degree grittier than what the genre normally produced. And as a precursor to the director's notorious later investigations into the darker avenues of life, the conventions of the classic film noir, restrictive as they may be, thus provided Kubrick with a choice foundation from which to expand upon.

Spread the wealth

2009-05-31T12:38:00.000-07:00

I'm going to start occasionally uploading music onto this blog. Don't expect any massive posts for leaks of new releases. Just some stuff from my own collection, as well as some good finds snatched up from other blogs. Along with the audio files, you'll still receive the standard analysis of the artist/album at hand. To kick things off, I'm adding download links to both the Trash Talk and Daycare albums I posted on back in February. So check those out.

If you have any problems downloading, please let me know. Being new to this, I'm sure I'll goof something up.

Myspace endnote

2009-05-22T19:38:00.000-07:00

While I posted a brief farewell bulletin on the deletion of my Myspace profile, there's a little more to it than what was contained there. The post did hint at my dissatisfaction with the growing corporatization and marketing schemes of Myspace. I mean, I get why companies would want to extend their influence into that arena. But I guess I'm an aging purist who remembers the early years of Myspace when you could sign in without getting assaulted by advertisements for the new T-Pain album and receive a message from somebody you didn't know - and I don't mean porn or garbage noob bands.

Speaking of Myspace's involvement in music, my feelings are mixed. It is a convenient manner of checking out new artists. And I fully support it as an alternative to forcing bands to shell out loads of cash for an overblown java/flash website; it's got the essentials: songs and tour dates. Though I do see an overall downside to this convenience. In terms of discovering new artists, it contributes to the overall disposable nature of music by making it too accessible; listen to a track by a band - don't like it - band is wack - next (and the process repeats). The art of appreciation gets lost when the product becomes too easily attainable, which in turn increase the number of band jockers/shit-talkers who form their dubious opinions upon insufficient evidence. To be fair, these issues of convenience and disposability in music are much bigger than Myspace, being deserved of a more in-depth exploration separate from this entry.

But the reason I killed my profile has more to do with the virtual social networking aspect of Myspace. Or lack thereof. I, of course, only speak from my experience; there are assumedly others who fully utilize this service which Myspace provides. But for me, in the end, Myspace deteriorated into a sort of graveyard. The majority of 140 or so "friend's" profiles were more like tributes to past friendships - ones that will most likely not be re-established - rather than a way to keep in touch. So if you are reading this, you can probably count yourself as one of those whose headstone I am not referring to.

Part of me felt like I was trapped in a piece of science fiction. That if I didn't pull out of the simulacrum soon, I'd become forever dependent upon communication by virtual means. That there would be no definite separation between the human and the computer. While I'm exaggerating a bit here, I did develop this compulsive need to constantly check my profile for new messages. I figure that I should try to curb that compulsion towards more constructive activities - like reading a book, riding a bike, pushing weight, or maybe even having a face-to-face conversation with someone.

I don't want to come off like a technological nihilist. Technology is good if it improves the quality in some aspect of life; the fork and knife, excellent upgrades in the category of food consumption. But problems arise in defining the slippery slope of "quality." Most people will blindly substitute "convenience" (making another appearance here) for "quality," not taking into account that ratio is not a constant 1:1. Communication on Myspace, as I found, suffered from a loss of quality by way of convenience. It was an acceptable system for sending whimsical Chuck Norris jokes, but not in the forging and tending of human relationships. The convenience factor, if anything, has an isolating effect: so many "friends," and nothing to say. The issue is not one of aesthetics. There are severe limitations upon a communication more or less fixed outside of real time. Rapid-fire interjections like "shut up, douche" and "my bad, I didn't realize your brother was actually a retard" are necessary to establishing a basic connection with another person, and they lose their potency when trapped statically as "comments."

Those be the facts, albeit presented in an incoherent mess of text. Summary: disconnect from technological convenience when it threatens to cheapen your humanity.

See you on Facebook.

One Liners

2009-05-17T23:27:00.000-07:00

I don't watch CSI Miami, but these David Caruso lead-in's are golden.

Narrows - New Distances

2009-05-14T22:53:00.000-07:00

Deathwish Inc.
(2009)

First inclination dictates that something should be said in relation to how this debut LP compares to the band members' past endeavors. The plural isn't really necessary here, since everyone just wants to know if New Distances lays waste a la Botch. They can rest assured, because if they weren't familiar with Narrows, they would have a have a hard time not believing Botch had reunited for another recording (subsequently defecating in their trousers). Angular riff dissonance, ebb and flow groove, inimitable vocal carnage. All elements are present to recreate the glory days of a past when metal, punk and hardcore could blend into an entity that overstepped its respective components, but without losing the aggression of each root influence. To be fair, the approach here is not entirely a rehash, as two guitars are incorporated into the mix this time around, allowing for more sonically complex layers and textures; both "Sea Witch" and "Gypsy Kids" are exemplary of simultaneous point/counterpoint interplay between six-strings. But for mere satisfaction, it doesn't get any better than "Newly Restored," which pulsates with the crushing force of a giant's footsteps - one who shares an undeniable kinship with Tacoma's finest.

Those still petitioning the empty sky for a Botch reunion would be wise to check out New Distances. Although a few wonderments short of the classic status of We Are the Romans, Narrows gives plenty to get rejoiced on. At the very least, all are blessed to have the pipes of the former Botch vocalist gracing ears once again. (Vital life sustaining elements: fire, water, Dave Verellen throat.)

Download

Get in the van/plane(s)

2009-05-08T14:48:00.000-07:00

Boston, Massachusetts hardcore band Have Heart has just kicked off what has to be the most ambitious, massive touring schedule I've ever seen for a band of their stature. While they indeed are the current bee's knees of hardcore, this is straight Van Halen. Take a gander at this beast.

Asia
07/05 Shanghai China @ YuYintang
08/05 Wuhan China @ Vox Club
09/05 Guangzhou China @ 191 Space
10/05 Hong Kong China @ TBA
11/05 Manila Philipines @ Bay Park Center
13/05 Bangkok Thailand @ Overtone
15/05 Jakarta, Indonesia @ Studio Hall Bumi Wiyata
16/05 Kuala Lumpor Malaysia @ MCPA Theater Hall
17/05 Singapore @ Fad Media Studio

Australia
20/05 Perth, Australia @ Rosemount Hotel
21/05 Perth Australia @ YMCA HQ
22/05 Adelaide Australia @ Underground
23/05 Melbourne Australia @ Arthouse
24/05 Melbourne Australia @ The Castle
27/05 Canberra Australia @ Tuggerangong Youth Centre
28/05 Annandale, Australia @ Annandale Hotel
29/05 Sydney Australia @ The Fitz St. Ives
30/05 Brisbane Australia @ Princess Theatre
31/05 Byron Bay Australia @ High School

South America
13/06 Bogota, Colombia
15/06 Lima, Peru
17/06 Santiago, Chile
18/06 Iba, Chile
20/06 Buenos Aires, Argentina
21/06 Sao Paolo, Brazil

Europe
25/06 Germany München Feierwerk
26/06 Italy Vicenza Centro Tecchio
27/06 Germany Durmersheim bei Karlsruhe New Noise Festival
28/06 Germany Essen Pressure Festival - Club Edition
29/06 France Paris Le Peniche Alternat
30/06 France Toulouse Le Caravan Serail
01/07 Spain Barcelona PUERTO HURRACO
02/07 Switzerland Luzern Sedel
03/07 Germany Wiesbaden Vainstream Beastfest
04/07 Germany Münster Vainstream Festival
04/07 Holland Hengelo Innocent
05/07 Germany Hamburg Rote Flora
06/07 Sweden Örebro Kulturhuset
07/07 Germany Berlin Cassiopeia
08/07 Ireland Dublin TBA
09/07 Austria Wien Viper Room
10/07 Slovakia Kosice Khoi Khoi Club
11/07 Romania Cluj Roland Garros
12/07 TBA
13/07 Croatia Zagreb Mochvara w/ Comeback Kid, Defeater
14/07 Slovenia Ljubljana Gala Hala w/ Comeback Kid, Defeater
15/07 Hungary Budapest Dürer Kert w/ Comeback Kid, Defeater
16/07 Germany Schwenfurt Alter Stattbahnhof w/ Comeback Kid, Defeater
17/07 Germany Rosswein JUHA
18/07 Belgium Herk de Stad Rock Herk
19/07 UK Southampton Talking Heads
20/07 UK Sheffield Corporation
21/07 UK Aberdeen Korova
22/07 UK Manchester Moho Live
23/07 UK London Underwolrd
24/07 Germany Köln Underground - Allschools Birthday Party
25/07 Belgium Maasmechelen Moshvalleyfest
26/07 Czech Republic Pilsen Fluff Fest

Africa
29/07 Johannesburg, South Africa
30/07 Johannesburg, South Africa
30/07 Durban South, Africa
31/07 Gobarone, Botswana
01/08 Zimbabwe

Canada
16/08 Quebec City, QC
17/08 Montreal, QC
18/08 Toronto, ON
19/08 Sudbury, ON
20/08 Thunder, Bay ON
21/08 Regina, SK
22/08 Winnipeg, MN
23/08 Calgary, AB
24/08 Edmonton, AB

Central America
30/08 Iba, El Salvador
31/08 Guatemala City, Guatemala

United States
8/14 Philadelphia, PA
8/15 Portland, ME
8/26 Seattle, WA
8/27 San Francisco, CA
8/28 Anaheim, CA
8/29 Phoenix, AZ
9/2 Austin, TX
9/3 St. Louis, MO
9/4 Chicago, IL
9/5 Romeo, MI
9/6 Covington, KY
9/7 Nashville, TN
9/8 Birmingham, AL
9/9 Jacksonville, FL
9/10 Atlanta, GA
9/11 Raleigh, NC
9/12 New York, NY
9/13 Hartford, CT
9/14 Poughkeepsie, NY
9/15 Erie, PA
9/16 Syracuse, NY
9/17 Albany, NY

Fucking Zimbabwe?! How do you book that? I want to go to the Seattle show on 8/26 to see how ragged these guys are by that point. Nevertheless, a great band and hopefully they'll fare well in spreading the good vibes worldwide.

Zao - Awake?

2009-05-03T20:01:00.000-07:00

Ferret Music
(2009)

Another Zao album. At this point fans of the band should know what to expect: Dan Weyandt's scathing vocals over the heavy grooves of a revolving lineup of musicians. This much Awake? achieves, as there is no shortage of that now classic metalcore breakdown which Zao helped pioneer. Though there are enough subtle nuances to keep things interesting. The bridge of "1,000,000 Outstretched Arms of Nothing" comes to a molasses crawl of bass guitar before Weyandt lays down a few lines of well executed spoken word, while "Reveal" nicely separates the crushing breaks with an ethereally discordant picking sequence. The standout track here is easily "Romance of the Southern Spirit," a remake of an older song, this time infused with a melodic hardcore vibe akin to old Shai Hulud.

So it is unfortunate that Awake? marks the return of sing-songy clean vocals - an element that Weyandt [a] got away from on the excellent The Fear is What Keeps Us Here (thank you Steve Albini) and [b] pockmarked otherwise decent albums in Self-Titled and The Funeral of God. But when it's acknowledged that Tim Lambesis of As I Lay Dying had a hand it producing this album, speculation over whence the sappy choruses spawned from can commence with accuracy. In the wake of this unsavory inclusion, Awake? is still a solid release from a veteran band who continues to piece together chords with enough of the heavy to keep heads banging.

That should be the end of the review. But it is not. If this album was completely isolated - from the band who wrote it, from their past records - then it would stand as is. But there are circumstances relevant to this release that alter my perception of it.

Before the release of Awake?, Zao announced that they would not tour full-time in support of the album. Anyone who knows anything about the music business understands that this is where most artists earn their living: on the road. This signals that the band is not a means of subsistence for its members. Also, anyone who is familiar with the metal/hardcore scene knows that the community is not very forgiving towards bands who experiment too far outside their already defined perimeter of sound. Zao themselves must have realized this on their 2002 "farewell" tour when they neglected to play a single track off of their then recently released and less-than-metal Parade of Chaos, instead constructing a surefire setlist mainly out of the staples Where Blood & Fire Bring Rest and Liberate Te Ex Inferis. (I was at the Seattle show and am not complaining.)

Without the monetary and critical pressure that comes with being a "full-time" band, the avenue for artistic freedom and creativity becomes much wider. This is theoretically speaking, of course, because Awake? does not represent the ideal. While being a decent Zao record, it still a by-the-numbers Zao record. It fails to do anything drastically different, or better, than previous albums. Yet, the band were in the position for an unorthodox script-flip, and baulked. They cite artists like Neurosis and Queens of the Stone Age as influences; this release would have been the perfect chance to incorporate them.

This is not a call for Zao stop mixing metal and hardcore and put out some totally avant-garde noise shit. But damn. They've been in the game too long to miss the opportunity to mix it up - whether it be in terms of form, style, or production. Maybe next time, dudes.

Coming Clean

2009-04-21T19:41:00.000-07:00

I am perhaps best known to my friends as the guy who listens bands whose members stab each other to death and consume the victim's brains. As kvlt as I am, I did not grow up hermetically sealed within the northern darkness of a Scandinavian forest. I am a product of the suburbs. So it is only natural that I have a strong, though often repressed, proclivity towards pop-punk.

Allow me to clarify that I'm not talking about socially acceptable bands like The Movielife (who bring the ruckus). It's time to come clean. I am an NFG fan. There's no use lying about it. During my adolescent years their self-titled release received heavy rotation in my discman. Subsequent releases were more inconsistent in terms of quality, but nevertheless enjoyable.

Below is a video for a new NFG song. Jordan's vocals are as sackless as ever. But maybe they're easier to stomach on account of the Madball shirt he's wearing. And I'm down with that. I refuse to further hide my affection. I am fucking into this.

Doubt

2009-04-14T00:02:00.001-07:00

Directed by John Patrick Shanley
(2008)

Upon watching the trailer, the audience's understanding of what this film is about has already solidified. A pastor, a boy, a church, controversy, outrage - of course it's child molestation. Well maybe. We see all the incriminating evidence attributed to Philip Seymour Hoffman's character, Father Flynn: the progressive outlook on the church, a sermon on "doubt," long fingernails, his perhaps excessive warmth towards the boy in question, etc. As he digs in his heels to oppose multiple accusations, so grows our fervor for justice, while our vision for truth narrows exponentially.

We, the audience, align ourselves with Sister Aloysius (Meryl Streep), whose crusade against Flynn begins long before any rumors of pedophilia; his sermon on "doubt" raises her suspicions, and the word of a possible relationship with a student merely gives her an occasion to begin the witch hunt. While the mystery surrounding the offense fuels the plot, figuring out whether or not Father Flynn did what he has been charged with doing is beside the point. Flynn was guilty before we stepped into the theatre; it was just a matter of figuring out the trivial how he gets caught.

This incessant need to peg the pastor as a child molester morphs the screen into a mirror. When the ambiguity of the facts sets in (it might take a bit), we are left with nothing but our own preconceived notions and the means taken to ensure that these notions are correct - which includes domineering and fabricating, as demonstrated by Sister Aloysius. Instead of reveling in the apprehension of the supposed criminal, reflection upon inner turmoil is necessary: when passing judgement on a situation, can the truth of the matter actually be found? Hence the last line of the film by a tearful Sister Aloysius: "I have doubts. I have such doubts."

Quite the assumption has been made in believing that the majority of viewers will find Hoffman's character to be guilty for most - if not all - of the duration of Doubt. I do not feel it is unfounded to do so. General tendencies exist. And as Father Flynn says, "Doubt can be a bond as powerful and sustaining as certainty. When you are lost, you are not alone."

NCAA Basketball Championship

2009-04-06T21:18:00.000-07:00

That wasn't even close. You have to hand it the Tar Heels for straight-up whooping tons of ass. I'm glad that bug-eyed white kid Hansbrough got his redemption. I wouldn't want to see him cry tears of sadness over something as arbitrary as throwing a ball through a hoop.

To the players from both teams who don't go on to the NBA, I'd just like to say that I hope you enjoyed your short time as mini-celebrities. Perhaps you'll be able reclaim that status playing over in Kazakhstan. If not, better rethink that General Studies degree you're currently going for...

Time-tested

2009-04-02T18:25:00.000-07:00

I don't want to come off like some Converge fanboy or groupie, but I felt compelled to post this. Below is recent footage of them playing "The Saddest Day," which is perhaps the most epic hardcore song ever written - running almost eight minutes long. It was originally released on Petitioning the Empty Sky in 1997, meaning it's 12 years old and still doesn't sound dated. I hope they continue to mix in a lot of this older material into their future sets.

Propagandhi - Supporting Caste

2009-03-26T20:46:00.000-07:00

G7 Welcoming Committee/Smallman Records
(2009)

Stagnation often comes across as a necessary and accepted component of modern punk rock. When the Ramones played songs consisting of no more than three chords, it was in reaction to the superficial excess of egoist instrumental wankery that plagued music at the time. It must have been fresh. But at this point you have to ask yourself - do I really need the new NOFX album? Classics will remain classics, but in 2009 the style is stale like two day old shits. If only there were a way to make punk rock interesting again.

Actually, the self-proclaimed "prairie skids" in Propagandhi have been proving that the genre can cultivate forward thinking for some time now. Beginning with their third album - Today's Empires, Tomorrow's Ashes - the band established itself as an indomitable wrecking crew; songs were downright vicious, at times bordering on thrash metal, while still anchored with strong melodies. In 2005 they released Potemkin City Limits, trading some of the ferocity for a more expansive approach, complete with unorthodox chord progressions as well as few somber passages that just do not exist on a Pennywise album.

Supporting Caste strikes a fine balance between both the aggression and progression of its predecessors. "Night Letters" breaks out of the gate with a superior technical prowess of acrobatic fretwork and impeccable turn-on-the-dime tempo shifts. The following title track displays the band's clear understanding of dynamics, utilizing a hushed refrain in the bridge before once again exploding into blitzkrieg. A hearkening back to their melodic punk roots is evident on "Potemkin City Limits," which has a catchy chorus reminiscent of their work on Less Talk, More Rock. But even the more "traditional" songs are arranged with enough structural variance as to avoid becoming 90 second afterthoughts. The only thing really missing from Supporting Caste is the rollicking closer that was present on the previous two albums. ("Purina Hall of Fame" rips so fucking hard.)

Lyrical content runs the gamut of leftist politics, social injustice and animal rights. Not new territory by any means, but there is a certain eloquence to Propagandhi lyrics which transcend the expected profanity-laden one liners.

"The human impulse to explain hijacked: a controlled flight into terrain to ensure no passenger ever makes any connection between the proscription of mystery and their malaise. Tidy pairings of inverse binaries."

Sometimes there's stark imagery.

"She said she just turned six. She's got some good jokes for a kid. She's working hard to avoid a woman bleeding from her teeth. Her life goes on despite the fact her mom sleeps fucked-up on the cement."

Sometimes it's pretty simple.

"You're not really mad at Iran or Afghanistan. You're mad at the fact your wife can't stand you anymore."

Thankfully, all is not gloomy and cynical. "The Banger's Embrace" is a jovial ode to the Propagandhi's favorite metal band, Sacrifice, exuding a spirit so ripe with endearment that you cannot help but smile in remembrance of those initial bands that first induced the raising of a fist.

Supporting Caste shows Propagandhi adding another milestone to their catalogue. Taking relatively long breaks between releases has proven not to be a hindrance, but rather the time necessary to craft both a sonically and lyrically engaging punk rock record. In a sea of bands who release pedestrian records every other year merely to justify another touring cycle, let us hope that Propagandhi will return in a few years.

(A liner note highlight in the form of a borrowed quote: "You're supposed to be fed up by now. Let's turn the system upside down. Get up!" ~The Coup with Dead Prez)

Download

Ha Ha

2009-03-22T23:00:00.000-07:00

Upon my daily viewing of lambgoat.com, I encountered the following at the bottom of the page in the "Unconfirmed Rumors" section:

Botch will reunite for a set of weekend shows in the Alps (ok, not really).

People tend to exaggerate their reactions when recounting scenarios to others. Make no mistake. My heart almost exploded. I let out one of the indiscernible exclamations ("ngha!") right before I hit the parenthesis.

Dead baby jokes are cool. This is cold blooded.

Be warned...

2009-03-18T19:20:00.000-07:00

The beast hath awakened from slumber
Hear its ululation
Behold!
Awesome terror awaits...

Who's That Knocking At My Door

2009-03-10T21:01:00.000-07:00

Directed by Martin Scorsese
(1968)

Along with writer/director John Cassavetes, Martin Scorsese's body of work ultimately revolutionized American cinema, presenting flawed characters in complicated dilemmas of relevance to the times - moving away from the more whimsical theatrics of the preceding Hollywood melodramas. Which is why, as pretty as it is to look at, Who's That Knocking At My Door stands out for its conceptual brilliance.

The main conflict the film explores is the apparent futility of a religious and/or romantic morality in the midst of ever-changing modernity. The main character J.R., played by Harvey Keitel, is our romantic. He's a Western enthusiast (claiming everyone should love the genre) of a Catholic who constantly slums it with his friends around the streets of New York. Within this circle of friends there is a brotherhood - a familial arrangement. While egos are challenged, words exchanged and dramatic exits made, most any misunderstanding can be cleared with a drink and a movie. Though there clearly is a pecking order (not as defined as in Goodfellas) to this motley crew, one which is made evident in a scene of inebriation where one friend taunts another with a handgun. J.R. and others' reaction to the scene is like that of associates in juvenile mischief, backing away with cowering laughter. The gun turns out to be loaded and is fired, though not at the bullied, but at bottles of alcohol scattered about.

There is an insanity to the lighthearted nature in which violence is depicted in this scene; an unreal ignorance in the fact that no one else intervened. This is modernity redefining social relationships. The presence of an excessive force changes the dynamic of a communal setting, where power can more easily be usurped. The force itself can be characterized as romantic by the westerns J.R. and company watch; good overtaking bad with all guns blazing. But when the simple narrative structure of a John Wayne movie is removed, violence becomes more difficult to enact justly in the static chaos of everyday interpersonal communications. And while this may come off like a whole lot of steam to be blowing about a scene which doesn't actually contain any mass violence, the depicted event and unobservant naivete are, at the very least, perturbing.

When away from his guy friends, issues stemming from J.R.'s religious morality arise. On the Catholic doctrine, J.R. doesn't appear to have that great of knowledge of the rituals required of him - outside of what not to do. This problem is illustrated subtlety in a scene where his "girlfriend" (unnamed, played by Zina Bethune) uses a ceremonial candle (those ones with the Virgin Mary on them) for a practical room lighting. J.R. corrects her, saying that the candle is special and can't be used for that purpose. She accepts his answer, but not before pausing briefly in a manner expectant of further explanation upon the candle's proper use. This is an explanation that J.R. never gives, and it illuminates a lack of understanding in what he practices, as he merely goes through the motions of avoiding missteps in ritual protocol.

The rift between traditional morality and modernity becomes greater as J.R.'s intimate relationship with his girlfriend grows. In a conversation with her, J.R. explains the difference between a woman and a broad: a woman being the type to marry and a broad...at this point, an excessive sexual fantasy begins, showing J.R. give it to what are basically whores. This gross contradiction comes to a forefront when J.R. finds out his girlfriend is not a virgin, as she has been raped. J.R. cannot process this fact. His traditional religious morality will not account for an anomaly. It does not account for gray areas; a woman is either pure or impure. So it comes as no surprise that he becomes angry when he hears of her "impure" state, calling her a liar, stating that rape is just a phony alibi to cover up her being a slut. Eventually J.R. reaches a sort of resolution on the matter, apologizing. Of course the apology is loaded, complete with his forgiveness. (She refuses.) He cannot grasp the notion of circumstance. Instead, everything comes back to sin, which implies a willful violation.

In the closing scenes, the futility of J.R.'s morality receives full cinematic expression. While praying in church, surrounded by religious iconography, he asks forgiveness for the event that has just transpired. As J.R. prays, the viewer is assaulted with an array of tight close-ups of a statue of Christ, revealing the various wounds on his body from crucifixion. Underscoring the scene is a catchy radio hit of the time, trivializing the apparent sincerity on screen; even the presence of these prominent symbols, J.R. has no idea of what he ask forgiveness for - other than that he feels he needs to ask it. The inconclusiveness of repentance solidifies as the film ends with J.R. standing outside of the church, making plans for the following day with one of his buddies.

Throughout this exposition I've frequently used the word "modernity" in association with some of the issues in the film. But because things like violence and rape have existed since the dawn of humanity, I think the word "reality" can be substituted with more accuracy. Reality is what crushes the faulty ideals of J.R., throwing him into an endless circuit of sin/guilt/repent. Who's That Knocking At My Door suggests a reevaluation of morality to attempt combat this self-defeating cycle and move towards a more coherent existence.

(Did I mention this was Scorsese's first film? It's hard to tell. For the most part, shit looks tip top.)

Tony Brummel and a loss of innocence

2009-03-04T22:57:00.000-08:00

The controversy surrounding Victory Records founder Tony Brummel is hardly breaking news. The rumors along with direct words from unhappy bands have been circulating for years now. I always considered a lot of it hearsay, because it's not like I, or the few friends I have who like hardcore, had any direct involvement with the guy - outside of buying some of the albums his label put out. Below is a link to one former Victory employee's tell-all confession, detailing the horrible experiences he had working for the label. Again, this information is not new. The article itself is a year or two old. I missed its initial release, so I've had a bit of a nasty revelation.

http://www.motokoaoyama.com/about-the-pagoda/ramsey-deans-the-horror/

It bums me out to see the corruption unveiled behind something that I at one point had a certain amount of respect for. I'm not some OG in the game who cut their teeth on the Cro-Mags and Judge. My introduction to hardcore was through the Victory Style Vol. III compilation, with records from Hatebreed, Snapcase, Earth Crisis, Strife, Grey Area, and others soon to follow. While I believe that the importance of the knowledge of the pioneers cannot be understated, and thoroughly enjoy those bands, the 90's sound is my shit. Too many fond memories to get into here stem from listening to albums which brandish both the Bulldog and "Raybeez" logos. But if you haven't moshed in your bedroom by yourself while listening to "Last Breath," you just wouldn't understand.

The blame doesn't reside with any of the bands, obviously. They were the ones who got screwed. But it's still embittering to read this stuff, as it tarnishes the legacy I (perhaps foolishly) ascribed to Victory Records.

Can you have a loss of innocence at 25 years of age? Apparently so.