Give Me One Good Reason

First things first: It’s been about a month since my last update. Apparently whatever God’s plan is for the rest of my life, the immediate version of that plan involves a lot of “Applied Feast of Famine Theory.”

While that sucks for me as a writer, it’s pretty awesome for me as a person who prefers eating over not eating. I went from jobless and scrambling for work to… working three jobs and reminding myself that “jobless and scrambling for work” is always around the corner, so I’ve decided to enjoy the work while I have it. How’s that for lemonade, buddy?

Did you notice that? That’s called, “Puttin’ a shine on it” or maybe, “Looking at the silver lining.” Y’know, something unflappably positive. Don’t worry, I’m still not sure I trust it either.

Anyway, I don’t have some huge, epic and soul-scraping blahg to run by you, and I don’t want to just blab something out there for the what-what-what of it. Cool by you?
Good.
(That’s what I thought! *pretends to be held back by arms*)
I’ve had one prevailing thought occur to me lately, maybe more so due to this last month of feeling like I needed to touch base with something other than “Dress, Drive, Work, Drive, Sleep, Repeat” - which has literally been my daily existence since the 23rd of April, 2010. It’s May 24th as I write this.
That’s not a good existence. That’s not really living, in my opinion. It’s just… being alive. Not really what I think God had in mind with Psalm 16, particularly this part:

“…In Your presence is fullness of joy; In Your right hand there are pleasures forever.”

It doesn’t say, “In Your presence is exhaustion, delirium and hanging around with people who are nowhere near as beautiful as your wife.” Just can’t imagine that this would be the destiny I was called to… which got me thinking:

How does one stay interested in living if there isn’t a reason, a justification, for all the shit one must go through… in order to keep on living?
It’s a dirty question but seriously… why? I mean, if it’s all work and eat and sleep and if there is nothing after this to look forward to (or to fear…) what is the point?
I touched on this thought process once on the Stavesacre song (from the Bull Takes Fighter E.P.) called “A Handful Of Words” and… no one has given me a legit answer. Here I am now, working like crazy to try to get through this crazy time in my life in one piece, with no real goal ahead and no time to formulate some semblance of a plan. I can’t help but wonder if, were I to believe there was nothing after all the work… wouldn’t I have to ask, “Why bother?”
Seems like a valid question.
Gimme one good reason this is all worth it that doesn’t lead to more questions…

*Note!*
The next few paragraphs were added after the blog initially posted because I realized… I write these things because I love to, but I’m still learning. One thing I’m learning is - surprise! - not everyone knows my thoughts, so in the future while writing I’ll try to keep that in mind! Good grief.
Ummmm…Oops?

Okay:

I have a reason for living, and that’s the whole point. I suppose not everyone knows that. (Wow… sometimes, I really suck at this! It would be more embarrassing if I weren’t laughing at what a dud this piece ended up being when not privy to the inner-workings of my mind.)
Well: I live because I know there is a life after this, and that God actually does have a plan for me. I believe this, and therefore I can face the challenges of each day (turns out, not many are “challenge-free.” Who knew?) That is why I don’t understand those who don’t have that feeling of purpose. It is, in fact, impossible for me to comprehend, actually.

Oh, and regarding work - I suspect there is a certain amount of God having some fun with me. I worried, worried and then worried some more, and the whole time I believe He was telling me to stop telling Him how to do what He does. “Oh, so you wanna doubt Me and question whether or not I’m gonna provide? Okay, suit yourself: Here’s more work than you can shake a stick at.
TADAAA!

Now will you relax and let Me handle this? Good. You just sit there until I call your name…”

Okay, I think I’ve covered what I missed… I sure hope I have. I would spend more time obsessing about this but… I gotta go to work!
By for now.

-m.

Briefly:
I have to say (after all that!) PRAISE GOD for answering my call. It’s been a month or two now and living by faith has me feeling all Elijah! (”Hey man, don’t shoot the birds!”)

Next bloggy I’m shooting for: “Script Fixer” - first up for fix? LOST, obviously. I haven’t even seen the last episode, which aired tonight, and I’m telling you… they didn’t pull it off. Something tells me the end of LOST involved ice cream sandwiches and a drum roll.

Great moving to the beat music that makes me feel like I’m in a modern-era Michael Mann film?
SPOON’s Transference

Last but not least… The other night while working the door at a small bar in Long Beach, I saw a guy drive by in a cream-colored Mercedes, sittin’ on 20’s and booming his stereo. Not that surprising… until I noticed the Papa John’s sign, attached to the roof. Weird or is it just me?

I Made Us This Mix Tape

Let’s talk about music.
For a lot of us life is, honestly, kind of crazy at the moment.
Not crazy as in “Wild n’ Crazy,” but crazy as in scary. Terrifying, actually. So much so that stating such an obvious fact is essentially unnecessary.
It’s crazy and scary in a million different ways and I see it all around me. For the first time, really the first time in my life, it’s crazy and scary for me.
I can’t afford to be comfortably unconcerned like I was as a teenager - this is happening to me.
As of this moment, as I’m writing:
I’m out of work and have never had this difficult a time finding a gig.
I think my teeth hate me. The house is just a matter of some paperwork - we are losing the only thing I’ve ever (kind of) owned.
And of course, everything is breaking. Cars. Promises. Friendships. Cats.
(Yes, I’m the bad man who somehow splashed flea killer into his cat’s eye the other night. At 3:00 am. You probably heard about it. It was… bad.)

So… let’s talk about music.
In times like these, the right music gets me into “Listening Mode” - a good to place to be, because these days prayer requires a lot of it. Why not pause for a minute - all the busyness in the world isn’t gonna change much - and take a little time to listen to the sages of our past and (occasional) present. Maybe just… let them do what God gave them the gift to do:
Help us sort it out.

Simply put: It’s Mix Tape time, people.

I have some serious rearranging to do - and a lot of it requires waiting and patience and oddly… less thinking. Not “less thinking” as in “turn-off-your-brain-less thinking,” but more like “admit-you-can’t-just-figure-it-all-out-less thinking.”
I’m not sleeping well. I go to bed late and wake up early. My stomach often hurts.
Thanks to some good brothers and sisters, and the Great Companion we are blessed to know, I know what I have to do. But there is such a long way to go! What I’d like is a little wind at my back. A little lift.
A little hope.
If you’ve ever felt the same…
Check out this mix tape I made for us!
My theme: HOPE!
(No, not “Autobiographical”. So maybe I have linked it before. Sue me.)

I originally built a playlist and just hit shuffle - like the kind of whack surveys that come around once a year on facebook, circulate for a few weeks and then lose all appeal - and decided I was being lazy. I mean, next I’m dropping:
“17 R@nD0m Silly Ques†ion$!”
or:
“How do you know me?”
Face it - we go that direction and in no time we’re down to, “What’s your favorite color?”
So, I had to get it to a length that would fit on a cassette tape - no easy feat when you start with 30 songs!
I like a mix tape to be like a live show - Peaks. Valleys. Moods. Songs should fit together like they were written to go right where they go… grouped with intent. Of course everyone hears music their own way (you have seen American Idol, right? Yeah.) so… Here goes nothin’!

(In case you feel like getting all epic, you should be able to find all these jams at my blip.fm page, I’ll post them up in order at some point Friday, April 9th.)

Enjoy…

1. Down To The River To Pray - Alison Krauss, O’ Brother, Where Art Thou? Motion Picture Soundtrack
It’s called… getting your mind right.

2. Wake Up - Arcade Fire, Funeral
Unbelievable song, unbelievable trailer. (No time for movie critiques today…)

3. Caught By The River - Doves, The Last Broadcast
“Son… what have you done?”

4. Lost! - Coldplay, Viva La Vida
“I just got lost. Every river that I tried to cross, every door I ever tried was locked..”

5. Empire State of Mind (feat. Alicia Keys) - Jay-Z, The Blueprint 3
“That boy’s good!”

6. Ventura Highway - America, Homecoming
This downshift puts me back to where I started out, a kid sitting in the front seat of my old man’s pickup, headed to the beach. If you hit 101 North at just the right time:

“Ventura Highway… in the sunshine…”

7. The Only Living Boy In New York - Simon & Garfunkel, Bridge Over Troubled Water
“I’ve got nothing to do to-day… but smile.”

8. Daddy Sang Bass - Johnny Cash, Live At San Quentin
You can hear Johnny’s a little “under the weather” but… the man is basically leading a Gospel Choir in a prison for crying out loud.
“Oh the circle… won’t be broken.. bye & bye Lord, bye & bye!”

9. That Lucky Old Sun (Just Rolls Around Heaven All Day) - Ray Charles, Ingredients in a Recipe for Soul
My attachment to this song is purely due to it’s placement in the film, Joe Vs. The Volcano. Ultimately it’s a movie about a guy who’s just… had it. Unfortunately, he’s such a loser that in order to finally do anything about it, he has to be given no other options.
Plus… Ray.
(And yes, I’m fairly certain I’ve used this before but if the shoe fits…)

“That lucky old Sun… got nothing to do… but roll around… Heaven all day…”

10. Break My Fall - Plankeye, Relocation
“I lack the strength it takes.”
One of the last songs that the great Gene Eugene left us, working with the fellas to bring out what I’ve always considered their best stuff. I know this song, because it was written by people like me… who are people like you. You can trust it.

11. Don’t Give Up - Peter Gabriel, So
“So many jobs… so many men… so many men no one needs…”
And no amount of worrying is gonna change that. God knows, we wait.

12. Recovering the Satellites (Live) - Counting Crows, Recovering the Satellites
During a particularly troubling time in my life, this song was on the player in the Stavesacre van so often that the guys had to ban it. Still reach back to it when I’d like a little lift. It’s not just the lyrics really, it’s as much about the feel - the song goes… up.

13. Come to Jesus - Mindy Smith, One Moment More
I have no idea what her intentions were when she wrote this, but I know what this song has done for me in times of trouble.
“Worry not, my son.”

14. In Exile - Thrice, Beggars

“I know I don’t belong here, I’ll never… call this place my home. I’m just passing through…”
I mean… what else is there?

Oh, yes. One of the greatest songs and performances of all time:
15. Bad - U2, Wide Awake In America (Live)
This is the finale because… it’s beautiful.
It takes me away from small things - the performance is great, but the interaction with the crowd just feels huge. I know my challenges are as many of yours: Individual. We just gotta deal with it because no cavalry is coming. But… aren’t we all in this together, too?
We pray for each other. We encourage each other. We ask around about each other. When I hear the people in this song singing together, it reminds me of that. And yes, it brings some comfort and a little wind at my back.
HOPE it does the same for you.

Okay, that’s it.
Your turn.

P.S.
As to last weeks Post-o-Rama:
Politics schmolitics.
Here’s mine in a nutshell:
I think the Left and the Right would all appreciate it if each of us would just choose a side so the carefully constructed arguments and criticisms can remain relevant and they can all get back to their golf games.
Ever get the distinct feeling that none of ‘em care?
Meh. Getting worn out on the whole mess.
I write what I write on the off chance that someone else out there might be going through some of the same trials and experiences as myself. When I get sidetracked on silly nonsense like political affiliations or “This Suit Said…” it’s a waste of all our time.
So…
Let’s talk about something else!
Like… your Mix Tape. What you got?

Neo-Politicos: Thanks for the Enmities!

“Hypocrisy: prejudice with a halo”
- Ambrose Bierce
(American Writer, Journalist, Editor and gigantic Cynic, 1842-191?)

Dear, Ambrose,
What would you say today?
Sincerely,
m.

*ahem*

Here we are, awkwardly resting on the precipice of the yet another question mark for my time:
Health Care Reform.
And in true Modern American style, everybody’s pissed off about it.

Are the money hungry insurance companies finally being put in their place OR… are they jamming us up again?
And… which side of the debate should I align with?

I have a facebook home page full of comments from both hand-wringing “conservatives” and defiant “liberals,” and the 25- and 50-comment threads full of their passionate rants about whichever side of the debate they fall on. Plenty of comments ending in either a sardonic (and somehow, often misspelled???) “Comrade” or some inference of socialism - or in condescending comments equating a lack of support for Health Care Reform to warmongering or racism.

I can’t help but wonder if anyone else is noticing what I’m noticing:
In the Digital Age (unless you prefer “Age of Information,” whatever) it’s becoming increasingly clearer that we’re all getting a little… meaner.
Consider marriage. Race. Environmentalism. Sexual preference. Diet. Even… Smoking.
Having any strong opinion on these and similar topics can get people pretty riled up, but I think it’s worth noting how the conversation has become somehow more extreme. (And I don’t mean the Mountain-Dew-snow-boarder kind of extreme, but in the Mountains-Of-Afghanistan-waterboarding kind of extreme.)

So… have we as a people benefitted?

I mean, all these people seem to think they know what’s best for the American people - how’s that working out for us?
How does either side react when the other side questions or challenges them? Are we in a time where a healthy dialogue begins or… do people start building walls and tying lynch ropes in their minds, like in days of (not that) old?
Just a thought.
Probably nothing, right?

Take a look at this:

And this:

Now picture Martin Luther King Jr., Mahatma Gandhi, Alice Paul or Ronald Frickin’ Reagan - fresh off his unlikely renewed popularity - circulating either of them for their causes?

So… how’s our progress?

I’m afraid something weird has happened… and we all watched it in slow motion, like being just a little too late to stop your glass of water from falling off the table. Unfortunately it’s more abstract than a glass of water, so it’s a tough one to put my finger on. I can say one thing about it without a doubt:
I kinda don’t want to listen to any of it.
And it’s their faults if I miss something worth listening to.

I recently read an article (linked by my current favorite thinker David Dark - you should definitely be reading The Sacredness of Questioning Everything, btw. I don’t know him, but I blame his book for this blahg. Sorry, Mr. Dark - hope you’re not mad) on “gender-theorist-turned-philosopher-of-nonviolence” Judith Butler, in which all sorts of well spoken words and light-years-ahead-of-me brain power were on display. Without getting into much detail - read it for yourself - I found myself a little perplexed. I agreed with essentially all she had to say about “grievability” until the discussion laid out at the end of the article touched on a demographic that as far as I can tell, has been poorly represented on genocidal levels. Yet I can tell you… If I were to question this person’s standpoint in a public forum, I doubt I would find compassion from both sides of the argument, which I find odd because both sides claim to be so friggin’ great.

The whole thing makes me want to say:
Y’all get the Heisman:

(Haha. Chief fans.)

Liberal. Conservative. Progressive. Red States, Blue States, Purple States and so forth.
Meh.
I’d rather take residence in the Beige State… is there one?
Do I need a label to get through this crazy time? If, in order to be heard or respected or even to have one of these Eloi deign to a conversation, I have to be part of one of these so-called open minded factions… isn’t there a red flag in there somewhere?

I think both of ‘em just wanna be right - err - “correct.” I don’t think either the so-called “Conservative Right” or the so-called “Liberal Left” give a rat’s ass about me, especially since I don’t wear a badge from either team on my sleeve - but it looks like this is Prison Rules, and the independents get picked off first. If I ask a valid question, should expect a straight answer, or a rhetoric-charged reply that’s really a statement to someone else rather than an answer to me?
Why should I be taxed 3 times for every dollar I make?
Will I be able to drive on the roads if Ford Motor Company built them?
When does life begin?
Will the law protect me if I have less money than someone else?

I’m able to ask these questions in an honest search for truth.
Are you able to answer them in the same way?

If you find yourself firmly on one side or the other, I don’t think so. I really don’t.

Paint it any way you want, for people allegedly so concerned with justice… what they say and what they do aren’t adding up, because my voice doesn’t count unless I use their megaphone.
Wow. My heroes.
Again:

“Hypocrisy: prejudice with a halo”
- Ambrose Bierce

Hey all you Punk Rockers: What happened to questioning authority? Or… are only certain authorities questionable?

Little did the Descendents know just how right they’d be:

I want to be stereotyped,
I want to be classified.
I want to be masochistic,
I want to be a statistic.
I want to belong.
I want a Suburban home, Suburban home, Suburban Home, Suburban Home!

Descendents, Suburban Home

Here’s my official statement: Right Here.
Seriously. I can’t remember the last time I heard so many people explain so much, so differently, so loudly while actually communicating so little. (Kind of stole that from these geniuses.)
Beyond of course, which side they fall on - that part is usually pretty clear.
I have decided: I’m on my side.
Not because I don’t care - and definitely not because I’m afraid my opinion will be unpopular - but because I’m still trying to educate myself as to what just happened (which certainly makes me a little uncomfortable, seeing as it’s sort of already gone down) and I’m too damn tired to pretend to know it all.

Politics: A strife of interests masquerading as a contest of principles. The conduct of public affairs for private advantage.
Ambrose Bierce

Congratulations, Know-It-Alls: I care less the more I know.
Seems like the general consensus is that everyone is pissed off, no one got all they wanted and everyone seems to think Obama got ‘em good in some way. This tiny lil’ story is certainly not going to make many people too happy… but how could a cynic like myself possibly read anything these days without being distracted by the distinct feeling that whatever I was reading was total horseshit?!

What did good ol’ Brother Bierce say?

CYNIC, n.
A blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they are, not as they ought to be. Hence the custom among the Scythians of plucking out a cynic’s eyes to improve his vision.

As always, feel free to comment here!

Haiti, Meet Mr. Grouchy Pants

Mike Lewis - World Traveler
(Had to print that for those who don’t know - can’t have you thinking that’s me, I’m way better looking.)

Okay!
So, I thought those of you brave souls who got suckered in by my FREE BEER headline from the last post helped pitch in might be wondering what’s going on with my friend Mike Lewis. (Add him - you’ll be glad you did. Especially if you contributed… there are photos and updates from the trip now! You can actually see your greenbacks at work. Nice, right?)

In case you don’t know what I’m talking about and would like to be a part of something awesome: Mike Lewis has taken a trip to Haiti in an effort to put actual feet on the ground and help, read about it here. Did I mention you could pitch in? (C’mon, it will be a lot more rewarding than your third viewing of AVATAR, and can even be for the same price!)

Well, thanks to Bill Power (because ol’ Grouchy Pants Lewis got my email address wrong the first time) that is now possible. I’m not sure that I shouldn’t have edited this, but I picture a guy trying to bang out an email in whatever brief exposure to internet access he can come by so… let’s just deal with it. We should probably give him a break, he’s not typing this from the comfort of wherever I’m writing or you’re reading so… we’ll be fine.
Brace yourselves - and thank you for taking the time to… care.

Hey everyone

I’m alive in Haiti, rained all night so everything is wet but that also meas it’s cooler and less dust. The people I’m camped with are Hard Core they came here 5 days after the earthquake. With little money an bags of supplies, they are not with any organization, and they are working next 12 countries who sent in workers some who are here with no pay. None of these people have training of any kind and two have been with out work in the US and they toil here pulling bodies from a fallen hotel where 200 wheny missing and 70 where Americans. These people don’t know where the next supplies are coming from and they do deal making everyweek to get rides into town, for supplies they funded by te random peope like me who come camp with them and bring funds and supplies thanks to all of you. They are not with any church or group they are people like you and I who heard the call and made there way to a country killed by earthquake. This a level of service I don’t understand and they inspire me to do more, work more, and learn to hear the call. Your funds you sent an supples you sent are going to several projects 1) water filters to make clean water for 14 camps of people each camp has 500 to 1000 people who are homeless and wait for UN support. 2) I have toys and all the supplies you sent with me going to and orphange run by Yogi nuns who operate the poorest orphange I have ever seen, these wemon do the Hard work they themselves are sick becuase the kids are sick, but they hold them and love them one 2 yr old I met was starving and they have been nursing her back from the edge of death becuase of malnutition she still can not walk or talk. But aide is not reaching small NGO like this one who reach so many people though as a christain I don’t share the Yogi belief system we walk common ground in the belief if saving peoples lives who have been taken by poverty. Everytime I go on a trip like this one I’m reminded that gods call is to serve people. So my probelms in life always get knocked down to perspective when watching people who have nothing fighting to hang on to the chance if a life, puts buisness, bills, ad our silky American probelms which don’t amoun to a thing when you see what Real need looks like.

So, now what?
Well, there is still plenty to be done - and knowing Lewis, probably a lot more than is immediately obvious. You can still donate to:

This Shirt Changes Lives

(And while you’re at it, why not join up? All the cool kids are doing it.)

Almost as important as you actually doing something to help, spreading the word would be most appreciated. How hard is it to just…
Pass it on?

And now, those of you well adjusted can call it encouragement (if that’s you, LUCKY) or you can see this next bit for what is more comfortable for some of us: The Ol’ Obligatory Guilt Paint Job On Our Tender Dear Hearts!

The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.’

Matthew 25:40

(hahah. Sorry. You can blame David Dark for that. I’ve been doing a lot healthy questioning lately, and unfortunately it has led to some very annoying self-examinination - although in truth, just how much of an inconvenience is writing a blahg? - but more on that later.)

As always… comments are more than welcome here!

By Our Love

Don’t worry, I’ll be brief.

(For the record… any colored text is a link… we all know this, yes?)

You probably did the text message thing for Haiti, right?
You might have even donated to Red Cross by way of the Big Red Button.
Maybe you donated during Hope for Haiti, potentially after watching John Legend’s beautiful rendition of Motherless Child.

But haven’t you wondered… where all the money goes?
Haven’t you ever wondered how it really works?

Here’s your chance - but time is short so… let’s do this.

My good friend, the Eternally Grouchy and Occasionally Hilarious Mike Lewis, is going to Haiti and he’s bringing your $$$ with him. He’s going to be bringing medicine and supplies to people who need it; he’s also bringing American currency to Haiti as apparently trade is coming back around on the streets but currency out there is a rare commodity.

He’s promised to blog about the trip as much as is possible from out there, but obviously there won’t be much chance of that happening in “American Facebook Time” - he will, however, be documenting the trip and posting it up once he gets back. He’s leaving in less than a week so cough up some of that coffee/beer/ciggie money and make this happen!

Seriously, come on. Don’t you wanna be a part of this?
As many of you know, I’m out of work currently and looking for a new gig. However, while I’m doing that I still get to drink clean water, take showers, sleep under a roof on a bed and eat food that is good, fresh and healthy. (Well, let’s be honest - not always exactly healthy…)
Now do me a favor - and you can be mad if you want, just… be mad later - ask yourself this question:

Can you really enjoy a $3 or $4 coffee knowing that you weren’t willing to the price of 5 days worth of that to people who are in real, measurable and undeniable need?

I can’t.

I believe God has a plan for my life and that I don’t really have anything unless He’s given it to me, so I’m donating some cash.
You can too, and we both know it.

This is what I need you to do, my dears:

1. Start a PayPal account if you don’t already have one.
2. Make sure there’s some dough in it.
3. Send as much of that dough as you can spare to Mike by signing in to your PayPal account, clicking the “Send Money” tab, filling in the “To” form with: mike@thisshirt.org and following the prompts.
So easy.

While you’re at it, you can sign up for the project he and my boy Bill Power are putting into practice, This Shirt Changes Lives, which takes part in situations just like the one in Haiti and gives actual support, care and money to those who need it. The price of membership starts you helping actual people in need immediately.

I’ll close (mostly) by saying this: Most people have love in their hearts for their fellow humans. A great deal of that love was on display immediately following the earthquake near Port-Au-Prince. But I believe, and I think you’ll agree once you thing about it for just a second, that the real challenge is keeping that love on display after emotions have run their course. Now is the most important time to support and…

Love.

“Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” Galatians 6:9

“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” John 13:34,35

“Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” John 15:13

If you care to comment on this post… do it here!

Half of My Life is Over

Half.

Over.

Yes, I have turned 40.
I’m basically a Zombie, and not a cheeky/quirky Zombie created by a director as sardonic social commentary, just… half dead.
That title could actually state, “Half of My Life is Over… at best.” (according to these fascists.) So, honestly, like my buddy Chris White says,
“It really is all down hill from here.”

40.
Forrrrrrrty.
4-T.
Four-Tee.

As a young punk rocker, not even the adults that I liked were over 40, unless they were named, “Grampa” or “Gramma.”
Now, my best friend in high school is… a grampa. Wow.

Obviously, such a major milestone did not pass unnoticed.
Fifi put together a nice little evening for me the Sunday prior to the actual day (Jan 13th if you must know. Cash is always appropriate. k thx bai.) and I got some awesome gifts. Then my actual birthday came and things got a little iffy.
She had my 40th pretty well laid out; I had the day off and everything. We were gonna go see this little movie called Avatar on some plain ol’, everyday, run-of-the-mill theater called an IMAX. Have some dinner, relax. Very birthday-y kind of birthday.
We hit a slight snag when, upon waking, I checked my email.
Hey, it’s my B-Day, let’s see who says something funny.
The first subject that I saw in my inbox was the name of the restaurant I mentioned in an earlier blahg, titled Lot the Bar Manager. My heart immediately started pounding. My wife was downstairs, waiting for me to get up and enjoy the day she had planned for us. As I read on to find that I would be looking for a new job soon (The Neat Year Continues!), I could actually hear my heart beating.
Like, with my ears.
I am forty years old and jobless.
Seriously?
I can’t be having a panic attack. I don’t really know if I even believe in them.
Ugh.
Okay, regroup. Kinda saw this coming but… like this? Today? Not really.
I attempted to keep it to myself:
I’ll just tell her tomorrow. We can still enjoy today. I only turn 40 once, and she really wants it to be a good time… and so do I, dammit!
Hard to really express how that went down, honestly. She’s the nicest person I’ve ever known - you can’t just pretend to be in a good mood around her. So when I finally went down stairs to open her gift, I lasted about 9 seconds. She was all excited to show me a Vegas trip she’d purchased for us, and as she was explaining it to me I just sort of crumbled and spilled the beans.

For the rest of whatever life I have left to live, my 40th birthday will be remembered for my wife’s tears.

Happy Barfday!

Well, needless to say, the day was a little less light-hearted and fun than we’d anticipated. As a child, my mom told me that presents & parties & what-have-you are less likely the older you get. She told me birthdays would be “less important.” What was she actually trying to tell me? That as you get older, the likelihood that something horrible will happen on your actual birthday would increase? Thanks, ma.
Still, I was with my girl. Life could be worse, right?
God has a plan, His will ultimately is righteous, etc.
This whole pesky “faith” business can really get under your skin, but whatchu gonna do?
I had plans. But hey - no problema. Time for new plans.
No. Big. Deal.

Now, one might read those last bits and think to oneself, “Wow, this guy is really dealing well with having the rug pulled out from under him.” If that is the case, let me say,
“Thank you, to the Academy.”
(Get it? It’s because I’m acting. I’m putting on an act. I’m like Meryl Streep.)

Because I’m very much not fine.
I’m freakin’ pissed off and frustrated.
Maybe a little scared.

I was trying to build something and I took a pretty big leap to be a part of it.
I wanted to.
I knew God did not want me where I was, but… did He want me here for… this??? As I mentioned on my facebook, the lyrics to Keith Green’s “So You Wanna Go Back To Egypt” had been playing over and over in my head leading up to this final showdown and subsequent life overhaul. To be truthful: Egypt (aka My Life as a Nightclub Bar Manager) was looking pretty good.
Why did I do this again?

If I thought that I’d find some comfort in sharing my sad little story with some of my friends, I thought wrong. Because as wise men once said, “Things are tough all over.”
Sure, people are sympathetic. Sure, some of my friends were even upset at the way things went down.
But ultimately: No one wants to hear it, man.
I mean, you just read all that, so if you’re still with me, you clearly at least care a little. But would you choose to hear about this particular subject ever again? At some point… ya gotta move on. Everyone’s got problems - but unless you live in Haiti how can you really be cryin’ about… anything?

So, if it’s time to stop cryin’ and dust myself off… now what?
Maybe there’s an opportunity here.
I feel disappointed, somewhat discarded, definitely disrespected, but really: Can’t I take anything out of this experience? Does it have to go down as such a fatal and final black hole in my life’s history?
Hard to tell when I’m so close up, honestly. It’s too close, too personal, and has taken up essentially every aspect of my life since it started. Maybe I need a little perspective?

Based on 40 years of living, there is one thing I’ve actually learned and applied to my life:
Time Tells All.
Maybe this situation will be clearer in a few years.
Actually… probably.
Maybe it was time to ask myself how things really are, as opposed to how I’d hoped they’d be. Even better, maybe it was time to ask myself what aspects of this whole mess I could have avoided had I just paused long enough to really examine what I already know.
Here’s something I know:

Friends + $$$ x expectations = Disaster Formula 101.

Too much pressure involved when you don’t want to let your friends down. What might be a difference of philosophy with a total stranger becomes something far more personal, far more painful when a friend is involved.

This should have been obvious from the beginning but I don’t think I wanted to see it - also probably a factor in this situation and those similar.
Maybe with a little real contemplation - some weighing of potential outcomes - this might have been avoided.
Well, again - probably - is more like it.

Things don’t always work out the way you’d like them to.
Fact.
Also a fact:
Things usually work out better if you don’t just plow right ahead with them because it “feels right/seems right/the timing is right,” and so forth.

Wow.

That kind of felt good.
Like a workout that stretched long unused muscles. (What? I have some. I do.)
What else is there?
I’m not talking about looking back and saying, “Wow, wish I’d have known that.” I’m talking about looking back on questions debated - in some cases for months or even years - and finally coming to absolute answers.
I’m talking about widely accepted beliefs proven wrong or right after some real time has passed with which to test those beliefs.
I’m talking about myths being proven to be myths… or not.
Fears being quenched… or realized. Good decisions and bad ones.
Time.
Perspective.
I’m telling ya, once you start looking at life from that perspective… it gets a lot clearer.

What else have we learned?

Glad you asked!

Lets start easy, then work our way forward (See that?? A little lesson I learned after years of doing the opposite. See how good this works???)
Like this:

It’s stupid to stand around and wait for the next number to drop after you’ve left a roulette table.

No, Britney Spears really isn’t the next Madonna. (I called this one, btw.)

Telling your kid to “Go to school in case you need a backup plan,” is horrible advice.
Worst. Motivation. Ever. Try this instead, “Go to school so that you are comfortable in your own skin while you pursue what you really want to do - it’ll help you keep your passion sacred, and might even prevent you from making stupid, desperate decisions.” Then, let your kids find out there is no pot o’ gold at the end of the Pipe Dream on their own. Either way it’s brutal, but this way it’s more sudden, jarring and brief. Think of the adhesive bandage analogy you’ve told anyone contemplating how to approach an impending confrontation. You can’t “soften the blow” of disappointment when it’s on that level - but the dread of hearing your parents say, “I told you so” that plagues the back of your mind while you pursue your dreams effectively kills whatever minor joys there might be along the way and may ultimately ruin whatever opportunity comes their way so… knock that shit off.

The Rich get richer, the Poor can make a little money helping them enjoy it. How many instant-millionaire mortgage brokers do you know that are still livin’ it up?

The cast of True Romance contained Brad Pitt, Gary Oldman, James Gandolfini, Samuel Jackson and Christopher Freaking Walken - but Christian Slater and Patricia Arquette were the stars. A little time tells a lot, jus’ sayin’.

Sinead O’Connor might have been a little crazy, but when she tore that picture of the Pope to pieces, she was dead on.

The birth of Digital File Sharing really was the end of music as we knew and loved it. And by “as we knew it” I do mean, “We knew it as a living, growing, potential-ridden opportunity for people incapable of great athletic feats or born without silver spoons in their mouths… and now it is dead and available only to those who have very little need of it.” Nice job, thieves. You’ll never know the experience of gettin lost in an album of any kind… and it serves you right.

Verses in the Bible like Proverbs 23: 1-3 are there for your protection, not to make you uptight.

The number of MySpace (’member dat???) and/or facebook “friends” on your page really doesn’t count for much worth measuring for marketing, promotion and/or personal edification in any real, concrete capacity. Sure, there are moments, but as to longevity and consistency… c’mon.

Speaking of friends…
“Finding” friends on facebook begs the question: Why were they lost?

Miss any one right now? Why won’t you just… call ‘em?

Please feel free to add your own “Time Tells All” observations… here!

All This… And My House Too! (Neat Year!)

I’d say that this year is now officially closing out as… kinda lousy.
I’m typing right this moment with no soul - since the piece I was working on went bye-bye without the possibility of retrieval like, 2 minutes ago. Neato!

Okay. Time to step back, regroup, take a deep breath and… start over. I’ll be back. (Who am I talking to again????)
26 December, 2009 @ 9:10 by m.

Okay, back in the saddle and… I will not be defeated!
Let’s just say the sooner I get through this, the better off I’ll be. Maybe this will be the flapping of butterfly wings to send a Tsunami of Happiness throughout the world? Or… maybe the six of you who read this and myself can just (in purely platonic fashion) “pool our collective loathing” and feel a little better.

Ouch! Did you feel that?
Yeah - it was 2009, kicking all our tails up and down “Wall Street and Main Street!”
Some headlines:

Real Estate Bubble Officially Pops - Gets Some On Everybody

Basically, unless this guy shows up with 100 dudes in yellow jumpsuits and a bunch of flat screen TVs at every house in America (he can start with mine) we’re all kinda hosed. The Short Sell is somehow our best option… how neat of you, universe. Good thing I never installed the granite toilet seat!

The War is Ending… Someday. (Like all things: Life, Social Security, the Sun, etc.)

Single biggest let down of the Obama administration, for me. (We’ll get to all the hand-wringing and finger-pointing in a minute. Be still, Eager Beavers.)
I don’t get it. Now, of course the most I know about the war in Iraq is Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2 and the beginning of Iron Man so… I probably shouldn’t be the group spokesperson (-Daniel Tosh-).
I don’t understand the latest surge.
Apparently I don’t understand what an Exit Strategy is, ’cause it doesn’t look like we’re exiting anything.
I don’t understand why no one tells us, really tells us, what’s going on. (Hey News People: YOU SUCK!)
I don’t understand how we can open up windows in the universe, but not the hills of Afghanistan.
I’m renaming the war in Iraq: The Family Trip to Magic Mountain.
“Mom, when are we gonna get there?”
“Five more minutes, son. Five more minutes.”

Michael Jackson Dies, World Mourns Man They Would Never Hire As Babysitter

Meanwhile Iran was having a revolution, fyi. There’s something really sad and “ironical” about the death of Michael Jackson, all the money tied up in the mass public mourning of such a revolutionary artist and… an unknown girl named Neda, being shot dead in the street to start an actual revolution. Covered this earlier in the year but… it’s a nice set up for:

Michael Jackson Dies, Black Eyed Peas and Adam Lambert Still Making “Music”

Yeah, that’s right. I think the Black Eyed Peas make awful music and Adam Lambert is ridiculous.
First of all, “tonight’s gonna be a good night” and “let’s get it started” are the latest rungs in the ladder heading on down to the Shittiness In Music Cellar. “All along the watchtower”? Nah - we don’t do that whole “depth” thing anymore, Gramps. The way we’re headed, the theme for 2010 will be, “Gub.”
And as for Adam Lambert… well, what did you expect, Universe? If music is only about image - it sure as H-E-double hockey sticks ain’t about music - what else could a television show that claims to be about music burp forth but this monstrosity?
Oh, wow. He’s so controversial. Let me remind you of that performance with KISS on AI, and Paul Stanley’s enormous gut. Just… let that float around in your head for a minute.
Okay! Now that we’re on the same page, please remind me why you’ll buy one single song from this guy?
p.s. He lost to the dude with the acoustic guitar. I don’t even think the sisters down in West Hollywood really like his music. To quote Buddy from the Kids In The Hall: “I still refuse to believe Liberace was gay. I just don’t want him to be.”
Androgyny is the new Bell Bottoms. ‘Nuff said.

Country Spends Money It Doesn’t Have - Blames “New Black Fella Who Moved In”

Sorry folks, but I gotta tell you I saw this coming.
“Be careful what you wish for - you just might get it.” - Mother Theresa
I liken the last election to riding a beach cruiser down a long steep hill during rush hour - you don’t realize how much trouble you’re in until it’s happening.
I mean, you didn’t think George Bush was really that stupid, did you? (Okay, I might have.) Maybe he played everyone with his Hee-Haw President Frat Boy thing - but I’m thinking all the while, he & his cronies were ringing up a tab they had no intention of paying then laughing like Snidely Whiplash when they settled on the target of their Billionaires’ Prank. (You do remember that all these so-called “bailouts” started… before Obama was in office, right?) “Buster” crashes the party in triumphant victory… just in time for the cops to show up. (Did John Hughes write this? Let’s hope so… because in the end, the The Team That Carved a Skull Into a Desk always wins. P.S. Rest in Peace, you great man. John Hughes 1950-2009)
Let me ask you something: Do you really - honestly before GOD and BABY JESUS - think that John McCain and Sarah Palin would have steered us down any other path than the one we’re currently on? Now, if you still say “No” to that question, lemme ask you this: If Sarah Palin were a Black chick from the South Side of Chicago, would you still think she was so “approachable” and “like you”?
Yeah. I didn’t think so.
Over simplified? Maybe, but I’ve never understood the judgement of a Pres five minutes after he moves into the White House. Just seems a little too much to believe - “Hey guys, I’m here! Lemme fix what’s been broken for four years! Got it! Now what? This is so easy!!!”
Now, we have “The First Black President” in office - a distinction I hear more frequently as the days go by - and everyone that didn’t vote for him has suddenly forgotten the last eight years, or even the last 20 for that matter - like the Good Ol’ Boys were in there just feeding the dog and picking up the mail or something. (Oh, and in case you go making the mistake that I have any specific political affiliation - as much as 3 of the 6 of you who read this would love to do - doesn’t the Whitewater scandal ring sour in a whole new way all of a sudden?)
C’mon people.
It seems that some people are just hoping the guy destroys the country in order to justify… what?
So they can say, “See, I told you so!”
No? Too much? Well, let me ask you this: What did you think about Bush’s critics? Bill Clinton’s?
Yeah. Got it.

You wanna blame somebody for the recession?
You can start with me.
I haven’t owned a damn thing, all my life.
Didn’t come from money.
Never “came into some money.”
Never had a rich uncle die or hit the lottery.
I’m just a guy from Fresno who tripped, fell and was grabbed by God just before falling into a bottomless abyss then placed gently on my feet in Southern California. I work for a living. (A lot. I work a lot for a living.)
I “bought” a house when the opportunity presented itself, because people said, “buy a house when the opportunity presents itself.” I watched all the shows on HGTV and dared to dream that I might have finally found my chance to build on something with the future in mind.
And now I’m paying for my insolence.
“Get back down there, Morlock!”
I got the interest-only loan, worked more to pay it, hoped that I could fold that into something more stable with the equity that I would be gaining by finally owning something… and then our place lost about 30% of it’s “Equity?” and the Doomsday Clock started ticking on our last year before the loan ADJUSTS. (Much like the question mark that is now synonymous with the word “equity,” the word “adjusts” should now be accompanied by the rhino from James and the Giant Peach, black smoke, and thunder. For now, all-caps and bold will have to do.)
So, there you have it. The Villain in this play has been identified. Gotta give Daniel Craig an actual villain to battle - this isn’t the Happening. Who can karate chop the economy? You’re welcome.

Okay… now that all the doom and gloom has been aired, let’s enjoy some levity!

Movies!
Loved Sherlock Holmes, District 9, Duplicity (how this movie went nowhere is beyond me… maybe should have had more Blue Cat People), Coraline (and pretty much anything that Neil Gaiman does), the Hangover (minus the… eww) and… Star Trek. Star Trek. Star Track, whatever. It was awesome and if you didn’t watch it because you’re too cool, please don’t ever go to the movies with me.
Still waiting to see The Road, Zombieland, Food, Inc., the Messenger, Avatar (seriously, that was me - the one person who hasn’t seen it), Fantastic Mr. Fox, Up (yes, seriously. I’ve been busy!) & “9,” and the Hurt Locker.
Have no interest in seeing Nine (The musical. May I ask… why? And what’s up with all the nines?), Precious (I lived in Fresno for all of the 70’s, lets just say I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this movie already and it bummed me out then, too) or The Blind Side (We’ve ALL seen this movie before. Maybe next they’ll make Webster into a movie.)
Didn’t care for Inglorious Basterds(sic), to be honest. There were moments (the bar in the cellar, all the stuff with the Tiny Nazi) but overall the movie just seemed a little too straight forward, and seeing as this was a Tarantino movie, that totally confused me. Where were all the back story bits and timeline juggles that I loved so much about Kill Bill, Pulp Fiction and Reservoir Dogs? Why didn’t someone just shoot the Tiny Nazi?
And Where the Wild Things Are… hmm. What to say? I wanted it to change my life. I grew up on the book and am a pretty legit Spike Jonze and Dave Eggers fan. Thought this might make for an interesting combination, plus… Gandolfini. C’mon. It just… didn’t completely jive for me. Seemed really, really quiet all the time. And I don’t care what anyone says, that Karen O soundtrack did nothing for me. Like I’ve said before: This got me a little spoiled.

Speaking of Music:

Well, we all know where my heart lands on this subject, so let’s really just cut to the chase: No new music at all came out in 2009. Sorry. Check back in 12 months.

Unless you consider this music:

Seriously, it was pretty bleak. Aside from a few distractions - Baroness‘ The Blue Record was a highlight, as was Regina Spektor’s Far. It’s nice to see groups pull off two albums “in a row” that are full of great songs with great hooks and real depth - and equally sad to see that literally no one in the “media” has made much of a fuss about either of them. For every Lady Gaga - who, I’ll be honest, I don’t despise (this was hilarious) but I also could live without - there are literally 1000’s of Fever Rays out there. (Okay, maybe be not - she’s pretty amazing - but you get my point) Great music that just doesn’t stand a chance in the current machine. But, there is a little hope, despite what the pic at the top of this Blahg says: This article by Dave Allen, (seriously, READ IT) shared by my friend Anthony DeBarros who is awesome, states most of my feelings pretty well. At first, I thought,
“He puts everything on the artists to change the way things are! How is that fair??”
But then… I thought about it for a minute. Hasn’t that kind of… always been the case?
Look, call it laziness, call it complacency, call it entitlement - call it whatever you want.
Call it: The Reality of How Things Are.
The days of gazillion dollar record deals and Tour Busses for Everyone! are OVER. Let it go. Funny though, I think those of us who never really tasted that life are the most resistant to let the dream go. But… there is no choice but to do so and then… make something NEW.
Be the Artist you claim to be - if you’re gonna claim to be that, be that.
These are the facts:
1) If artists don’t take this moment to seize control of what they do and make it work for them, they may have to wait for the next big shift, and that could be ages and it could be a shift back towards… someone that isn’t an artist controlling everything.
2) Anything that makes an artist stretch and risk and fear (at least a little) is, historically speaking, artistically healthy.
3) What we had before, only worked for a few souls… and we hated those bastards!!!!

So… try.
Do something different.
Fail.
Succeed.
Flounder.
Want it.
Anything but… standing pat, wishing you could go back.
Why long for someone else’s days and dreams… you never had?
Happy New Year.

Okay… now that we all need a nap, I’ll leave you with my vote for Song of the Year:

Hope the next one is a little brighter!
As always, you can follow me on Twitter here and you can leave comments here.

Crucified in the Land of Thor

Fifteen years, schmifteen years!
In 2009, it is official: The Crucified has rocked the Land of the Wikings.
There were hair-windmills. There was sweat. There was stumbling. There was an odd odor in the dressing room. There was an unexpected encore that could only be met with a song not meant for encores. Whateve’s - that’s how we do it!
Seriously though: There was intensity and I think some of the people at the show actually had… fun. Imagine that.

“Apparuhnntly the best fing to do is”:
Break up, don’t play for a decade and a half, don’t practice, don’t sleep and don’t spend any time around your band-mates.
Go to Norway.
ROCK.
So easy.
Obvie.
Yes, we had a couple shows this year, one a bit more satisfying than the other, but this was essentially our first real gig under what I’d call “Normal Band Conditions” - panicked, stressful, slightly unorganized - in almost two decades. We had a blast - and those Scandinavians were all about it. Which is weird because, in case you didn’t know it: The Crucified is not cool. Let’s keep some perspective here.

And: There was Norway itself.
Cold? Yes. How Cold? Ever see this?:

If you answered yes, then you know what follows… and why this is awesome:

I’d like to express why I love going over there so much but in all honesty… I’ve already tried like, 28 times. If this weren’t digital, there’d be eraser guts all over the place and a hole in the paper. After all those tries, my conclusion: I’m making it too complex when it’s simple, really - musically, it’s a lot safer a place.
What do I mean? I mean no one there is gonna give you a hard time if you just wanna get down. Doesn’t really matter what music it is or who it’s supposed to impress - people over there just seem to enjoy the jams as opposed to what some snob “more enlightened person” might say they’re supposed to enjoy about the jams.
Hope that makes sense, I really do.
An important distinction to make: most of these folks are just into what they actually like or, more important, what they hope will happen next. There’s a lot less worrying about what is “cool” - big difference.
(Is there a more tired routine than being cool? Good gawd, what happened??? Did everyone stop aging at 9 and no one told me???)
Besides, like I said, The Crucified is not cool, lest anyone forget.
Anyway, it’s a lot easier to have fun. The contrast between that environment and the one currently prevailing here in the states is strong: for the most part, over there you have people focusing on passion and expectation, over here there’s a lot of focusing on one’s own reaction to what has already happened. Like I said, safer. More fun. Yeah, definitely.

An added bonus: being around such an atmosphere of free creativity just… gets on ya.
I had amazing conversations with amazing people about what amazes them. About what is… again, what is next. I mean, for some 15 years or so the Crucified has been all about the past for me but I have to say that this trip… something changed. I got to wondering about options and approaches and the ways that I might be able to just let go and do something without fear.
Wait. What?
Where did this come from?
There I was, with The UnCool Crucified - risen from the dead, roaming through the Norwegian night, and dare I say it… feeling creative.
(To David and Emil: 1000 thank yous. And to Ivar: You sweat a lot - but you’re welcome anytime. Please buy a proper stereo, soon.)

Now look, don’t translate this as some sort of declaration - the Crucified will do what it do when it do. We had a blast and I think it went a long way towards encouraging the four of us to consider… more. There were times when I thought, “This is pretty freakin’ cool.” But… no one’s making any plans.
We’re also not not making plans so, take that for what it’s worth.

Highlights…

…Bellew, Chaffin, Minier and our good friend Ken Sheahan trying to decompress in the room at the hostel whilst reading broad-sweeping indictments on the country of Poland, written by near-geniuses on the hostel bunk beds:

…Breakfast with some weird Mustard & Vinegar Fish Jelly whilst sitting next to an albino who elected not to utilize the community shower. Sorry, no photo or scratch n’ sniff. Trust me.

…Hanging backstage with the dudes I haven’t hung “backstage” with in ages, loosening up before the show whilst Ken (as The Crucified) and I did the Twitter thing.

…When Norwegian bikers called “The Holy Riders” say they all live in “The Cave”… they actually mean they live in a cave.

…And of course… the show itself.

Lowlights…

…Funny how the world can seem so small when, one day you’re chatting with a person 17 hours away, and the next you’re in a different country with no Sprint Cell service. (Yeah… that’s right. Hey Sprint! YOU SUCK!)

…US Airways really should look into seats for people who aren’t 4′ tall.

…Fuzzy lil’ ol’ ladies who try to lane jump you at 5:00am…

Oh! Almost forgot: If you find yourself traveling a lot, or even just a little, and you need a backpack, you really should check out Voltaic Systems‘ solar powered bags. That’s right, solar. Power. You know what works everywhere, despite the lack of an outlet or the right adaptor in some tiny little country?

THE SUN.

Look for this…

This bag is ridiculous! Holds my 17″ Powerbook and holds a charge in a little battery pack inside forever. (I’ve never drained mine completely - every time it’s in the sun, the cell charges) It comes with all the adaptors you’ll ever need… they even sent me one for my Palm Pré that didn’t exist when I first bought the bag. (The bag I use won’t charge a laptop, but it will charge my iPod and BlueTooth, which you’re not supposed to plug in anywhere in Europe, even with an adaptor… they have a bigger one that charges laptops, but I’d call it a “future purchase.”) Check it out… you won’t regret it.
(No… that wasn’t a paid commercial. I freakin’ love that thing.)

Okay, briefly:

Heavy Rotation:

Baroness is good for you.

And in the interest of keeping the Scando-ness of this post, formerly of Honey is Cool, Fever Ray:

Till next time, tak!

As always… you can leave comments here!

Lot the Bar Manager

Hello, dear friends.
I’ve missed you.
Sorry for the absence: I’ve been on the hustle trying to pay for this idiotic and ill-advised condo purchase.
But… I’m much better now. Weighing the options, a “short sell” (whatever that even means) looks like the most realistic and lesser of the “Eternal Financial Devastation” categories. You homeowners know what I’m talking about – if you don’t know what I’m talking about, you were probably smart enough to not do what I did: Buy a place to live. Silly me.
Anyhow, part of the most recent massive shift in identity for yours truly has been time and the lack thereof in my previous rut.
Put shortly, I’ve been working too much at a job I hated.
My epiphany: If the role you play at your job ever makes you feel like this man:

Then you should quit doing that job immediately and just trust that God knows stuff – because you will go from feeling like good ol’ Tom Hagen one day to… Lot.
With the doors latched.
And all the lights on.
Curled up in the fetal position in a pool of your own tears.
Your “Hottest Club in the O.C.!” will just be, “A bar job in Downtown Sodom, across from the airport.”
That was me: Lot the Bar Manager.
I would describe that life as “a progressive dismantling of one’s dignity.”
Turns out, people really do think they’re the Godfather - even when they just own a club in Irvine that can’t pay its bills. But that’s another story…
Back to how it happens. How one becomes Lot the Bar Manager.

You start off getting into the restaurant biz because it’s flexible job field allows you other pursuits while still being able to pay rent. (Like… Rock n’ Roll)
You wait some tables, you meet some people. You learn that Ranch dressing (or the lack thereof) can turn people into monsters.
You notice the bartenders make the most money in the shortest amount of time, which would allow you other pursuits (Like… more Rock n’ Roll) and possibly… “a better life.” You also notice that bartenders are rarely chewed out by grouchy people who should probably just eat salad instead of dipping their fried sausage burgers into herb-sprinkled mayonnaise. (Again with Ranch dressing?)
You finally get behind the bar and work as often as you can because you have these other pursuits and this “better life” but it all costs money. You laugh at the poor bastards who are still stuck kissing ass to the Ranch Eaters.
Life seems to be picking up for at least… five minutes.
You pick up another shift or two.
You buy a condo because you can finally afford to pay a mortgage instead of rent and, “Hey, the government will give you a tax break as a homeowner…”
Then… you have to pay the mortgage. Time to pick up more shifts.
You discover the reason bartenders make all that money is that for 4 straight hours they deal with people who wouldn’t last 4 straight minutes in any other scenario – people who will grab a total stranger (you) by the arm, while that total stranger is serving other more patient total strangers, and scream,
“HEY!!!!! HEY!!!!! RIGHT HERE, RIGHT HERE. I’LL TAKE A RED BULL AND VODKA!”

I had a slightly hilarious little video to play for you here, something to put you “in there” but… it’s too awful, so forget it. Let’s just say the formula for being “in there” is:
A New Haircut + Club Promoters + “JÄEGAH-BAHMS” x 500.
Welcome.

You realize these people, The Screaming Drunk Grabbers, are who you spend most of your time with because of the mortgage and that this is your job forever and that you kind of hate it.
You realize that you should be releasing some of the pressure by expressing your frustrations through those pursuits you love so much… and then some Screaming Drunk Grabber shoves his credit card in your face and you think the only way to properly express how I feel right now is to jam that credit card into that gaping, screaming, whining mouth…
Then you count the money at the end of the night and forget how much you hated making it (until you’re trying to make it again) because now you can pay the mortgage.
You count the money at the end of the night and forget to write about what you just went through.
You think, “I could work more,” because a mortgage is just a sick trick by some evil Man in a Darkened Room with a Cigar designed to make you lose your mind.
(The word “equity” should always be presented as a question: “Equity?”)
You realize that because mortgages and food NEVER STOP and you’ve now needed to work toward a little job security, maybe a little more control of your environment (enter “Management” status) that you haven’t pursued any of those pursuits in…
Ages.
You find yourself now fully devoted to doing something that it turns out you hate – and the things you love doing, the things you wanted to do more of so you did this, those things that should be outlets for you to let off steam about this stupid thing you now devote ALL OF YOUR TIME TO – are not really being done any more and you are now a PROSTITUTE.
Anyone remember the Bible school story about the frog in the pot?
Turns out, when the heat rises hot enough to cook the frog, the frog doesn’t die… it becomes a Bar Manager.
Turns out the pot isn’t full of water or even a nice au jus – it’s actually a stewing mix of cesspool-grade debauchery, depravity and douchebaggery.
Turns out the pot isn’t a pot at all, it’s Sodom and Gomorrah.
Hence: Lot the Bar Manager.

So, I quit.

I’ve traded in my Boston Shakers, bottle opener, Screaming Drunk Grabbers and 1:45am booze peddling for a remote control, DirecTV, football, pizzas, beer and little kids winning silly prizes.
I went from managing a Lounge to a Parlor – a pizza parlor.
And I feel… awesome.
I now work five days to make what I did in two or three but strangely… I don’t feel like I’m working as much. Maybe that’s because I don’t have to swim through the cesspool in order to make it.
And since I don’t feel like my soul has been extracted on a nightly basis by some rusty tool from one of those SAW movies, I actually want to do stuff.
I have the energy to pursue those pursuits I’ve pursued for so long.
Gonna play some Rock n’ Roll.
Gonna write out what’s in my head.
Gonna go out to a restaurant, order a double cheeseburger wrapped in chicken-fried steak , double-dip it in Ranch dressing then go home and watch the Godfather… and laugh myself to sleep.

See you soon.
m.

The Digital Tower of Babble

That’s right: Not Babel.
Babble.

Ever get the feeling that things are just spinning out of control?
What is at this point an overused punchline in dumb Rom-Com’s (You know: The muppet on the screen blathers “He texted me so I myspaced him but he didn’t Twitter back!”; The muppets at the film studio all coo, “Oh, that’s so hilarious and current!”) is also my reality: I can’t- no, better- I don’t want to keep up with all this shit.
I’m sorry, it’s too much (typically useless) information from too many sources - with not enough time to process it all.
I’m considering just… shutting it all down.

Now, I know… this isn’t new territory. But at least I’m not Tweeting about Twitter so back off man.

Anyway-
We’re learning bad habits and we don’t allow enough time to recover from them.
Patience, already dangerously close to nonexistent, is now being tested to the limits because instead of an actual phone call (or heaven-forbid, a letter sent in the mail) we now just click and expect immediate results. If you’ve ever felt relieved that you’d spent “quality time” with someone because you sent them a text message, it may be too late.

Attention span?
What’d you just ask me?
Yeah, forget it. Everything demands attention rightthisminuterightnow. I mean, there are actual people who live life right now expecting immediate response to any and every message - and who get genuinely worried/upset/pissed off/insulted/etc. if there isn’t an immediate response.
Ironic twist - there’s no need to worry because, hey, some bright and shiny new toy will probably distract them from their anger and they’ll be off your back for at least long enough to text/email/tweet/IM you about their new toy… and yes, the cycle will begin again.
Hope we have enough toys to keep this up.

Sincerity? Do you even need to ask?
How much can someone actually mean something when they send it out to no one in particular? And if you call someone stupid or irrelevant or amazing or iconic but you don’t sign your actual name… how much can you really mean it?
You’ve heard the term, “Give him enough rope, he’ll hang himself,” right? Well, this rope is digital and endless. While all of the above issues are intertwined, I believe the overall lack of sincerity is the central cord in the noose.
I just don’t think it’s possible for everyone to mean it all.

Every instant message; every last minute text; every comment; every note on a Facebook “Wall”; every Tweet - how can all of this be sincere enough to actually matter?

Technologically, everything is so advanced - how can we resist? Every form of entertainment and time-passing is so much more real than what we’ve known. We put a lot of time and money into this stuff… and these advances do in fact bring the world closer. But for all the benefits that the digital our digital Work of Wonder has brought forward, I can’t help but think of a certain Tower… built so high. I’m not so sure we’re building this tower to reach heaven, we’re certainly trying to reach some form of ultimate autonomy.
We can talk to anyone at any time and from any where… and we don’t even need bricks and mortar.

There’s good and bad to all of these advances - that’s the pinch. I actually take advantage of many of the technological progressions of our era but… I spend a lot of time with people who wouldn’t be able to live without them. That’s… amazing.

Top 5 Most Awesome & Simultaneously Most Horrible Recent Inventions:

5. HDTV
It’s at 5 because I hate it the least - in fact it’s only on the list because I love it too much - and would shut it down last.
Shark Week in HD? Worth every second invested.
Raider game in HD? Worth every second invested as long as we win.
But… I Survived in HD? Can they not get one single person with good skin on this show??? If you’re gonna spend an hour listening to someone tell a horrific story about the human monster they survived, the least the director could do is secure a nice cleansing scrub. Maybe more air-conditioning in the studio. (Look: The stories are riveting, just… stop dragging it out. I know the world is terrifying - I don’t need to see the Frankenstein-stitch scars from the stab wounds in dude’s neck while he’s telling me what I already know… in HD.)
Unfortunately HD has now spoiled my eyeballs rotten - I see any sporting event on a regular TV and I’m instantly frustrated. But pretty much anything else - except Jon & Kate-like banalities - comes on the TV in HD and I’m hooked.
Next thing you know… it’s tomorrow. And there are crumbs everywhere.
I say it’s awesome because it’s awesome, and horrible because it’s awesome.

4. MySpace
“Why only #4, Mark?”
I’ll tell you why: Because it’s no longer a problem, really. I already did that addiction, that panic, that “hustle” - and I’m over it. Just like pretty much everyone I know. Millions upon millions of pages of bad HTML (Tell me I can “learn” HTML in 15 minutes by going to some website and you’ll just have to forgive me for not believing you.) and poorly uploaded videos means that opening most any MySpace page eventually became too much work. Now a days, it’s just a digital festival of unsigned bands - something I’d avoid in real life. Online… so much easier to just… not.
Horrible because it was once awesome.

3. Facebook
Coming in at 3rd place, just ahead of it’s former rival, Facebook has now surpassed MySpace in so many ways for me that I can’t even measure them. It’s quick, it’s simple and it actually does perform the function of keeping you in contact with people you’d actually like to stay in contact with. Also nice: No more “We have similar tastes in music, thought you might like this, too!”
Problem with FB - why it’s both horrible and awesome at the same time? - it’s too much a part of the day’s zeitgeist. (yeah, I know) People actually get mad at you for not using it… so you do and then… you kind of can’t help it. You’re in it. You’re wet. Get a laptop and FB page and an HD Deadliest Catch marathon we’re back to “How is it tomorrow?” and all the crumbs.
Plus… Mafia Wars. Texas Hold ‘Em. Hello.

2. Twitter
This was a tough one - mostly because I’m trying to determine if it’s 1 to 5 in awesomeness ore 1 to 5 in shittiness… or some kind of combo. Hang it. It is what it is.
Twitter is… so dumb. I use it, so I know. It’s idiotic on almost every level. Never before has so much information that no one wants been so available. “I just went to the bathroom.” I use the network because it’s easier to update the Facebook status from my phone… and also to follow some very important updates. Like this one from Jerry McDonald:
“They did it in public, so I can write about it. Russell flips to McFadden, who hands to Nick Miller on reverse to the left . . .”
You know… important stuff.
Look, you can say something to a lot of people quickly - you can
But yes, the absurdity of updating the Universe on every trite event of one’s life is not lost on me. I get it. But here’s where it gets weird: That’s not the dumbest aspect of Twitter - at all. And no, it’s not the lingo. Tweets vs. Twitter and all of that - c’mon, it’s not that hard. You want to know what it is? You want to know what it utterly unacceptable about this service?
Tweeting about Twitter.
Imagine this: Imagine my entire blahg were about… blahgging. Imagine an album of songs about singing. A work of fiction about… works of fiction.
Not exactly compelling.
This guy is a major offender - and it’s not just because he’s a Bronco Sympathizer, although I do hold that against him. It’s that he just can’t stop Tweeting about Tweeting and it really tweets me off! Unfortunately, to get the updates on the footballs I gots to wade through the dumb dumb stuffs.
And all those issues I mentioned earlier? Impatience, lack of attention and lack of sincerity? Yeah, this is kind of… where all those meet to become one in a big mashup of gross.

And now, for the grand finale, the apogee (or whatever…):
NUMBER 1.
Well, I gotta tell you: this kind of settles it. This list is a 1 to 5 of awfulness, 1 being the worst because this little invention is where all this crap started:

1. The Cellphone
AKA The Leash.
AKA The Excuse.
(As in, “What’s you’re excuse for talking during this movie I paid $12 to get into? Oh, you’re on your phone.”)
Once upon a time I resisted. I resisted as long as I could but it was futile. Now… I am a slave. I wear a leash that stretches… across the world.
The cellphone is great for more reasons than I have the patience to list here and horrible for twice as many - but mainly it’s horrible because there is no debate, there is no “Nah, I don’t get those things” or whatever acceptable reason still remains for people to not Facebook or subscribe to HD service or whatever.
Cell Phones are not optional.
I’m not even kidding: I don’t know anyone who doesn’t have one. Maybe FiFi’s grandma. Maybe.
These little curses have taken over the world and are to blame for pretty much every other thing there is that leads us to impatiently hurry, not pay enough attention, and communicate in shallow and insincere bursts. Be it hand to ear in traffic or stopping a conversation with the person in front of you mid-sentence while you answer your BlueTooth - we can’t get off the phone.

And let us not forget the “other” aspect of the mobile phone that makes it that much more of a nightmare: Texting.
Curses!!!.
The text message is responsible for a constant stream of interruption, willful or completely out of one’s control. Combine the fact that without any universal way to communicate all the tones in the human voice, by default the text message almost always leads… to more text messages. The abbreviations, the jargon, the sheer number of them… the surge in text messaging over the last few years has made even the most shallow emails seem like long forgotten windows to the soul.

And it all wraps up in that damn phone. Don’t deny it. It’s probably sitting right next to you right now, isn’t it? Did you just stare at it? What, ‘fraid it might know you’re talking beside it’s back?

I’ll be honest with you… I started this entire blog because I wanted to bitch about cellphones.

Now that I’ve done it, I’m surprisingly unsatisfied. Maybe because I know that it just doesn’t matter.
No one cares.
People love this crap.
We love the distractions… and I fear our dependence on them is at this point irreversible.
You think the terrorists are still aiming at our… planes?
Haha. LOLZ. LMAO.
All they have to do to send this country back to the Dark Ages is turn off the juice. Wanna keep yourself safe from Al Qaeda?: Go camping.

What would we do without all of these basic necessities bells and whistles?
Not sure.
Turn off the phone for a day and tell me what you think.

P.S. If you think that Universal Health Care is some sort of Commie Plot - SHUT UP.
If you haven’t watched SiCKO yet and you’re still talkin’ all that nonsense, I just want you to know that I know you’re a sucker.

Just When You Thought It Was Safe: Festivitis Relapse

Let’s see: What could I possibly cover based on the last few weeks?
You know what needs more coverage?
MICHAEL!
Because I have so much to say that no one else has said, right?
Wrong.
I’ll repeat what I posted on my FaceBook: I find it odd that the entire world – or at least, all of LA, which is basically the same thing – made such a show of mourning a man they would not trust to baby-sit their children. Jus’ sayin’.

Will Steve McNair be remembered as the warrior we used to watch on Sundays – even when he didn’t play for our own team – or as a man who shoulda been home with the wife? Not to speak ill of the dead, but I adore my lady and have a difficult time deciding how to mourn a man I didn’t know when I’m aware that he left behind a wife and children to deal with the fallout of some highly questionable choices. There’s the tragedy. But the NFL would have us all “move on” to another subject. Why? For the same reason Michael Vick will be suspended for four games upon his return: Can’t have anyone talking about anything related to the NFL unless it’s all roses and white bread. We can’t have Vick’s return over shadowing the (surely) triumphant return of Tom Brady or even the potential unretirement of Lord Favre.

It seems that when our so-called “heroes” have fallen, people just… lose it. Maybe… we need to pick new heroes? Might want to start with someone you actually know - add more as needed.

There is another tragedy brought on by all of these celebrity deaths that no one but a select few seem to be mourning: Right when the American Media Juggernaut was just beginning to pick up on the situation in Iran, a few iconic figures died, with their collective celebrity literally covering just about every demographic imaginable. The news went from some hard-fought-and-won attention about the violence and the all out revolution in Iran to an occasional ticker item at the bottom of the screen – wouldn’t want to distract from the poignant and integrity-filled wisdom of Joe Jackson, now would we? Who is going to “remember” Neda if they never hear of her? (Warning – that links to video that is certainly not for children, nor is it for the faint of heart.)
I guess it’s true – if the American Media doesn’t hear it, a tree falling in a forest really doesn’t make a sound. In case you’re not paying attention, China: this means you, too.

Okay, seriously… enough. Serio. Ernsthaft. Alvorlig!

I’m moving on because I have to but I want you to know that the triviality of what I’m about to cover hurts my earballs:
Music. Music is… boring.
Really, really boring right now and I’ll tell ya one reason why: The shows suck.
I wrote a blahg last year around this time titled, Festivitis. When I wrote it I honestly never anticipated going back to any festival again. Then… life happened.

Let me just say that unfortunately for the performer and the concertgoer in me, Cornerstone ‘09 was my reintroduction to Festivitis – and I had a pretty brutal outbreak. Apparently it’s like LSD – one can have a relapse of it years down the road. Maybe the harmful agents stay stored in your fat cells - that would explain why my latest relapse was so strong, I have plenty.
Like all viruses (at least, according to the science that I’m using for this next statement) Festivitis is always morphing, changing, adapting. It used to just cause extreme and traumatic sweatiness and discomfort - this latest strain hits the host with a severe case of apathy.

I hadn’t been in so many years and was really looking forward to it – more so than I’d anticipated. I was looking forward to familiar faces, familiar smells and even familiar drum circles. Then… I got to Cornerstone festival and a dirty mall broke out - who knew you could be so dirty after having not done anything at all worth noting? Had I not seen the pics on Facebook ten minutes after the fest, I might not remember that we’d ever played there later on.

The Stavesacre show was a great experience – even my harshest critic, Wifey, was impressed. (More on why I think the show was considered to be all that later.) Like Bellew said in the DVD that came out with the new E.P., “It sounds like we mean it.” Unfortunately, our show was only about an hour and a half of the festival – like an island of soul in a sea of, “Meh.”
The Crucified’s show was what it was – I’m not gonna lie, we were pretty tight and what have you, but it was a little awkward trying to really feel seventeen songs that were so much a part of my past the day after playing Stavesacre’s set full of music that I’m still passionate about right now as I write this. (I think August 14th with Demon Hunter & Living Sacrifice should be a little easier to focus on… plus, L.S. will be debuting material from their new album, “In Your Face, DEVIL!” - who wouldn’t be psyched for that???) Again – the show was a kind of an island in a big, boring sea of… what were we talking about again?
Oh, yeah. Anyway.
I’m also not saying that David Bazan’s show wasn’t great, because it was, or that the Living Sacrifice show wasn’t great, because it probably was (I was on a plane, but if I had to put money on it…) – I’m just saying that not much from the festival will stick with me, and that’s kinda sad.

Me and the Stavesacre boys used to dread C-Stone for all sorts of good reasons – the mud, the flies, the heat, the rain, the walking, the ruining of shoes, the constant repetition of the same conversation and exchange, etc.
Somehow… none of those reasons really applied to this year’s festival! And what’s worse than hippies?
When hippies are replaced with hipsters!
Believe it.

The weather was pleasant by C-Stone standards and the mud was minimal while we were there. I’ll be honest… I was kinda looking forward to getting smacked up by the heat or dodging the rain, just for old time’s sake. Plus: we were ready for it! Two hotel rooms and A/C cranked all day long while we’re at the festival. It was set up to be the best Cornerstone ever!
This year the old familiar heat, mud and humidity would have been a welcome relief, if you can believe that, anything familiar would have been welcome. It was such a strange experience – none of the comforting aspects, or even the annoying ones, were present. When held up to all the times I’ve played that place in the last 20 years, this one will be filed in my head as, “That One Time We Played Whenever That Was.”

First of all: Used to be that if you were lucky, when you got to Macomb you knew someone who had a hotel – or if your manager/booking agent cared at all about you & your sanity, they had a room or two booked for you in advance. But you had to have that handled months in advance, because if you rolled up on Thursday night of the festival there would quite literally be No Room Left At The Inn. (I’ve only slept on the grounds once – trust me, you’re motivated.) Once you got your hotel situation taken care of, it was all good. After the shows, there would literally be 20 or 30 bands - at least portions thereof – hanging out at the Days Inn. Even at the overflow “hotel” at the college, which was just like… Army barracks or something. There were bands on tour together, bands who had toured together in the past and hadn’t seen each other in months, or just… bands meeting other bands. It was a big community tailgate party, and it was fun. Bar-B-Q or pizza, there was plenty of food around and people hanging out talking stories and catching up.

Stop Me If You’ve Heard This One (of particular interest given the New and Improved Modern Bellew):
One year at C-stone, Bellew and I were going to meet Dirk and some of his buddies at their hotel room. We were standing outside the door, which was quite crowded with all sorts of the vegan/vegetarian types typically associated with mid-to-late 90’s Hardcore types.
A girl comes out to invite both of us in to have some pizza. She proudly declares, “Yeah, come on in. We have plenty of pizza for everyone. It’s vegetarian.”
Bellew smiles and says, “No problem. Be in in just a minute - but, hold on, I gotta go snap a baby squirrel’s neck first - something has to bleed before I eat.”
Her jaw dropped open and nearly hit the ground. Bellew just stood there, smiling. The deafening silence in the room was matched only by the avalanche of laughter I was helpless to contain.
Now… Bellew’s a vegan. Go figure.

I was looking forward to seeing what the new crop of bands came up with to keep themselves entertained in the off time. I once saw the paint job on MxPx’s van permanently destroyed when someone doused the whole thing with flour in the middle of the night; Stavesacre placed at least half a can of sardines and a couple eggs in key places (the vent on top of the van!?!?!? Never did get my props on that one) on the old Roadside Monument van; I seem to remember a trailer full of Adult Diapers… the list really does go on.
If any of that happened this year… I missed it. Maybe they have a booth designated for hijinx now?
I know things move on – I like that they do. But in Not So Fine ‘09… something was missing. Sure, maybe some people aren’t coming due to the recession, but I’ll tell you what I think the overwhelming issue is – and it ain’t that complex:
It’s Overkill.

The hotel was my first indication that something was funky. You could get rooms during the fest. Not even close to sold out. There were open rooms all over the place. There was NO ONE hanging out at the hotel except the two bands I was in and some of the crew from the encore stage where Stavesacre played. Aside from that, you’d have never known there was a festival happening just 20 minutes of rural back roads away.
It was… depressing, honestly.
Even the little gas station next to the hotel – aka “Where To Get Beer” – was closed and empty. That gawd-awful “Hardees” at the turnoff looked like it was closed… but it wasn’t, it was just empty. What gives?

Gather ‘round chiddren!
Once upon a time the best thing about the festival was finally being able to see some bands! Now, the problem with the festival is… all the bands. My good buddy Steve Dail said that he counted eighteen “Generator Stages” (as in, “Dude, we’ll just get a generator and do our own show in the back of your truck/at our campground/on a piece of wood!”) on the way from Main Stage to the Encore Stages.
Eighteen.
I don’t care what festival you’re talking about or how many people are playing at each of these “stages,” it really does not matter: I guarantee there aren’t eighteen bands in any given year that you, me or anybody “just missed” and really need to hear. That’s of course, a statement made with the idea that only one band is playing on each of those stages – not a chance. With all those stages, somehow there are enough bands to play on them for all but about 3-5 hours of sleepy time. It’s all Too Much Information from moment one – so even if some band turns out to be good, chances are they’ll be lost in the great wave of Nameless Faceless Bands That Should Be At Home Practicing.
The ratio of festival attendees to bands staying at the festival trying to be “discovered” has got to be about 50/50. The fact that so many of these bands are attempting to be discovered by playing the same cover of As I Lay Dying’s, “This Is Who We Are” (Hint… AILD can pull it off, your band that’s been together for three months? Not so much. Call it tough love.) is somewhat ironic, but nowhere near as much of a bummer as the cacophony that ensues when it’s happening from all four points of the compass simultaneously. Were I actually trying to watch a band on one of these stages it would be quite simply… hopeless.
Hey guys, next time – because of course, your band will still be here next summer after a year’s worth of touring and demoing out your material, perfecting your craft… right? – think about why the actual stages are so far apart… and give it a try. If there isn’t enough room for all of this crap, let the best band win.

Even the age-old tool of hype that labels spent so much time perfecting all those years – “buzz” – has been replaced with a constant barrage of flyers and hand painted signs because… there ain’t any more record labels!
I can hear the conversation now… “Should we print some stickers and advance CD’s, try and get them to the target demographic? Nah… who listens to CD’s anymore? Let’s just put 5,000 flyers up inside the 120ºF hot boxes known as Port-o-Pottys and call it a day!” Cause you know, when you’re holding up your trousers with one hand to keep them from the Organic Dipping Sauce that is somehow on the floor of every one of those damn things (Maybe the solution to what ails Rock and Roll is a pair of glasses and better aim?) and your other hand to stabilize yourself while standing up to do whatever you came to do, that flyer for “I Am the Crimson Swashbuckler” or whomever just catches your eye, you know? And the first thing you think when you leave that Box of Disease is: “Oh yeah, they’re playing at the “Jimmy Cracked Corn” stage. I’m there.”

I mentioned before that the Wifey said Stavesacre played a pretty great show. I’ll be honest – I heard that a few times, from completely different people. It was nice, humbling, encouraging but… Stavesacre discussed this amongst ourselves and came to a very honest conclusion:
We’ve played better.
Not being a jerk, being totally serious – we’ve definitely played better.
So why was this show so good to the few others who saw it?
Maybe the comment from Sam, the guy doing monitors, was a clue: “It’s just nice to have a pro band on here every once in a while.”

Look: Stavesacre is old, everyone knows this. We had our window and it’s about as close to being shut and sealed forever as it could be, but Stavesacre isn’t really the issue here: It’s the music.
People, the music is boring.
Maybe we stood out because we sounded different or approached our sound differently?
I hope that was it. That would be worth knowing. That would be a nice legacy to leave behind.
Or is it too out of vogue to want to leave anything behind in the first place?
There ain’t much sacred about music right now – is a great painting more or less powerful if the artist is there to describe every detail as he’s painting it, every nod to every influence, every flaw? Is anything surprising any more?
Nothing is really special – anyone can do anything at any time. Has that equated to a better overall music scene?
What about the next year of music will be so revolutionary as to transform next summer’s into something better, rather than worse?

You want to hear my description of the festival I waited 7 years to return to?
It’s too much of a not that good thing. A title fight of nothing but undercard matches.
Better: Imagine a five or six day-long fireworks show consisting of nothing but Piccolo Pete’s.

It’s a sad thing because you know what: Cornerstone used to be the standard. When compared with the lousiness, the marketing overkill, the boredom of all other festivals, Cornerstone was special. Now… this year, it just kinda felt like a festival in Illinois.
Sound fun?

Because I can’t find this year’s version of it, which was phenomenal:

Quickly:

On heavy rotation:

Loving the new Regina Spektor album, Far
Check out, “Laughing With” and “Human of the Year” - amazing lyrics, melodies. All that annoying stuff no one likes about music.

I’m still not supposed to admit it, but I love So You Think You Can Dance? - maybe because there’s really no faking it on a show that would cost the average watcher his or her achilles tendon in either foot if they attempted most of the moves at home. Plus… Wade Robson is a freak. And occasionally, the play some pretty decent music, too.

Also: I’m sure this has nothing to do with it, but I can’t stop listening to this song right now:

Hope you got through this all, as usual… for comments, please click here!

Sarah Palin, Ahmadinejad, and… the Reunion of The Crucified?

14 years after playing our last show, the Crucified has risen from the dead. (Kind of)
The setting: Calvary Chapel Golden Springs - church home to Raul Ries, the first and only guest vocalist on any Crucified album - in Diamond Bar, CA
The occasion: Musical accompaniment to the testimony of Sonny “Whosoever” formerly of P.O.D. (also formerly of dreadlocks that had to weigh like, 13 pounds)

We arrived at the usual rock club hour of *ahem*… 3:30-ish in the afternoon. In other words - 3 hours after my morning coffee. It was so early for me that after we played our set - which was separated into two parts by Sonny’s testimony and a brief altar call - I ate my lunch.
The sun was out, shining and actually… kind of a nice touch. That church is on a big ol’ hill in Diamond Bar, and actually boasts what might be the only nice view in Diamond Bar. (Unless dirt and weeds are your thing - in which case you could move to my home town of Madera, CA for a lot less Green $tuff) We arrived at different times but that was probably the only thing about the day that seemed unconnected.
It was a big day for me - but not because The Crucified is back together.
We’re not really back together, anyway - people can start talking about that when and (a big) if we start writing music again. Till then - it’s a lot of fun, but we’re mostly looking forward to putting out some of the music we always felt got the shaft in a way that all four of us can look back on without minor vurp sensations.
No, the day was special because… I got a little faith back.
(Just a little, bleeding hearts - don’t get all weird on me.)
Seriously, I wasn’t sure what to think about this trip straight into the Space Monkey’s gaping maw, rocking my Red Shirt and eager to show my sand. I had reservations - after all, it was at a Calvary Chapel, where I have had… let’s just say, history. Were they gonna corner my band and start praying over us or speaking nonsense that they’ll later tell us was tongues? Will some guy ask me how my “Walk” was? Will they stage a book burning upon my arrival? Will they say something crazy to a friend who’s never been to church before - or potentially worse - a friend who hasn’t been in years?
I wasn’t sure, and it started off a little shaky.
I came out of the “green room” - standard, pee-wee Sunday school classroom, little toilet and everything! It was hilarious but clean - and some guy came up to me, with that look…

Calvary Guy: “Hey brother. Listen, umm… we can’t have, uh, y’know… smoking on the grounds.”
Me: “Uhh… okay? Who… what? Where?”
Couldn’t think of who was smokin’ out there - this ain’t a Stavesacre show! (teehee)
Calvary Guy: “Oh, hey! No problem man… just… I didn’t want to offend you, you know? Some kids here are recovering from smoking and I’d hate to have this be any more difficult for them…”
Me: “Oh! Yeah. I gotcha. Well, let’s see.”

Outside, one of my old friend Klank’s circus buddies, named Sinbad, was havin’ a square. (Yes, I said: CIRCUS)
Slightly awkward conversation followed, Sinbad stamped his smoke and it was all good. Only slightly awkward. Seriously. Sinbad didn’t even get offended, he just said, “No problem.” I’ve had those conversations before - they can get uncomfortable. However, in a refreshing change, it didn’t mark the beginning of some downward spiral like these things have in the past, and I really appreciated it.
Dare I say that the entire event was… *American Cultural Christian-speak Alert* a blessing.
There were so many old friends and old faces that I literally could not keep up. (I tried to introduce my wife to everyone that came up and said hello, which was idiotic on two fronts - 1) She’ll never remember them all; 2) I didn’t remember a lot of the names myself. “Hey… brother. This is my wife…”)
That’s always tricky - There’s the faces you know and recognize but it might take a second for your gears to click - but you actually do know each other so it’s not big deal. Unfortunately, standing next to that person is usually a guy will roll up and start talking stories, reminiscing about people you never actually knew and giving one-armed hugs and knowing grins but who gets all butt-hurt that you can’t remember. My apologies to all who feel the fell under the latter category - my brain only holds so much.

“‘Member that? Those were crazy days, man!”
“No.”
“Aww, man… yeah. Crazy.”

Anyhow, the truth is… most of the people I saw were sights for sore eyes - so much so that it was at moments overwhelming. Lots of the old Garden Grove/Church-of-the-New Order to South Bay/Sanctuary-era-of-the-Crucified worlds colliding. Lots of faces I remembered from shows that happened over 15 years ago, now with little ones in tow. Dirk is old news, but seeing him along with his old Focused buddies Tim Mann, Jason Parker and Mike Merryman - plus multiple members of the various Ed’s-era hardcore bands (ask Bellew if you can’t figure it out yourself) made me a little dizzy. And while the show was great, I think the reunions were special. And… hanging out in a church all day with people who actually mean you no harm wasn’t bad either.
Then…
The C.H.U.D.s came out. (it will never get old)

I came home and checked out my facebook page to see if any pics or videos from the show had been posted, only to see legitimately worried posts from friends with families and loved ones in Iran, where riots were erupting all over due to the rigged “re-election” of President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. I asked Wifey to turn on the news, hoping that the shining beacon of American Media would save me from an ignorance-fueled near future, but couldn’t find anything.
I mean, of course not. There was something far more pressing:
Bwave Sawah Pawin got her widdle feewings huwt and she wanted mean ‘ol (genius) Dawid Wettewman to apowogize for being such a big, mean nanny-boo-boo.
That was it.
Iran?
Nowhere to be found.

And the narcissistic Americans all screamed:

Who cares about those loonies, anyway???

A brave woman’s, *ahem* unscathed family name has been tarnished! STOP THE PRESSES!
So let’s get this straight: The most powerful country in the world (…right?) with the single most powerful media in the history of mankind is being held hostage by a failed Vice Presidential candidate who is up in arms about a (misappropriated) joke from a late night comedian while the very same genocidal dictator she was so concerned about when there were still votes to be won, has taken by force an election from an entire country who is desperately trying to exercise the democracy we’re attempting to establish by means of the war she supported in the country right next door - and she wants to talk about getting her feelings hurt from a joke?
In the middle of a massive recession, there is a movement to Fire David Letterman - who still has a job entertaining us by keeping her name in the press - for a joke?
Sticks and stones are literally breaking bones and she wants us to care about a joke?
And… we do???
Do I have that right?

During the election, when votes were needed stat, Sarah Palin:

Ahmadinejad may choose his words carefully, but underneath all of the rhetoric is an agenda that threatens all who seek a safer and freer world. We gather here today to highlight the Iranian dictator’s intentions and to call for action to thwart him.
He must be stopped….

The world must awake to the threat this man poses to all of us. Iran is responsible for attacks not only on Israelis, but on Jews living as far away as Argentina. Anti-Semitism and Holocaust denial are part of Iran’s official ideology and murder is part of its official policy. Not even Iranian citizens are safe from their government’s threat to those who want to live, work, and worship in peace. Politically-motivated abductions, torture, death by stoning, flogging, and amputations are just some of its state-sanctioned punishments.

And worth noting:

It is said that the measure of a country is the treatment of its most vulnerable citizens. By that standard, the Iranian government is both oppressive and barbaric. Under Ahmadinejad’s rule, Iranian women are some of the most vulnerable citizens.
If an Iranian woman shows too much hair in public, she risks being beaten or killed.
If she walks down a public street in clothing that violates the state dress code, she could be arrested.
But in the face of this harsh regime, the Iranian women have shown courage. Despite threats to their lives and their families, Iranian women have sought better treatment through the “One Million Signatures Campaign Demanding Changes to Discriminatory Laws.” The authorities have reacted with predictable barbarism. Last year, women’s rights activist Delaram Ali was sentenced to 20 lashes and 10 months in prison for committing the crime of “propaganda against the system.” After international protests, the judiciary reduced her sentence to “only” 10 lashes and 36 months in prison and then temporarily suspended her sentence. She still faces the threat of imprisonment.

So we’re all clear: Iran is attempting to rid themselves, by way of democratic vote, of the monster named Ahmadinejad - the main contributor to the threat we all heard about when votes could be won by warning people of threats. That very same Ahmadinejad, whom Sarah Palin said herself was one of our biggest enemies, rigs the election and sends his police out into the streets to kill anyone who opposes him. Meanwhile, Sarah Palin - so aware of Ahmadinejad 9 months ago - says nothing.
Well of course, she’s been busy: Who else is gonna cash in on the Victim Ticket because David Letterman did what he’s been doing 5 nights a week for decades?

Look: I get it. The media follows the story. I understand that. My focus here is what’s happening with the benevolent Mrs. Palin. The audacity required to make a mountain out of a molehill while there is a literal volcanic catastrophe happening across the street is the stuff of legend!!!

For every person who’s given me that blank, stunned look when I say Sarah Palin is nothing “like me” - here’s why.
She says what her demographic wants to hear. And while the politics of fear weren’t powerful enough to win her and McCain the election last year, there’s no time like the present to start the campaign trail utilizing the politics of martyrdom in order to get back to the spot where the easier, more prefabricated politics of fear can take over.

Well, now I have something I’m offended about: I had a great show and this narcissistic fraud derailed it while she spun some “insult” to the very same family she’s used to advance her career into the beginning of a campaign that won’t start in earnest for 3 more years!! You haven’t heard the last of me, Palin!

Do Americans - including Christian Americans - actually care that another group of human beings are having their liberties stolen by force? Is it possible that the change we’d all feel safer to see happen is being thwarted by The Tyranny of Evil Men, while we’re over here misapplying poorly executed jokes and throwing fits?

Okay, enough.

Briefly:
Why does Taco Bell give you no Hot Sauce unless you ask, then… 3 pounds of it when you do?

Now that Kobe has his ring without Shaq, all you Lakers-goggle wearing fair weather fans might as well start counting down to the day when you’ll forget why you stuck that goofy flag out of your SUV window so long ago. He’s gone.

So You Think You Can Dance? is the best reality competition on television aside from The Amazing Race. Dudes do watch it… but why don’t they feel comfortable admitting it?
Well:
I’m an out of the closet SYTYCD? fan - and PROUD OF IT.

Speaking of television that no one watches: Pushing Daisies is officially doneski. Way to blow it, world!

I thought that Benjamin Button movie was great until hey had to use an actual little kid and the whole illusion was lost, but Blindness is the worst movie I’ve ever seen. Do not watch it in an attempt to prove me wrong - you’re welcome. I’m certain it qualifies… for this.

Heavy Rotation: White Lies‘ To Lose My Life; House of Heroes‘ The End Is Not The End - particularly the songs “By Your Side” and “Ghost” and… Jim Gaffigan’s King Baby - you will laugh, hard.

Blame American Idol

I subscribe to exactly two magazines.
Ligonier Ministries’ devotional study guide, Table Talk and the mildly sarcastic but highly entertaining, Entertainment Weekly. I get the occasional episode of HM in the mail, but as regular subscriptions go, Table Talk and EW are the only staples in the home of the Salomons. Salomen, if you will. Anyhow, Table Talk is what I read with my coffee, EW is what I read… when I feel like reading magazines.
I enjoy it because it’s quick and funny, with sharp humor and in my humble opinion, pretty decent taste most of the time. I share a lot of their opinions on movies and music. I’ve even been turned on to some solid books The Terror, Lush Life and Island of the Lost. (It was the first place I heard about that gigantic downer that landed on Oprah’s Book list for like, 3 years, The Story of Edgar Sawtelle, which was a lot like watching this:

- only with better writing and a lot more sadness. Thanks for that - ’cause the world needs more sadness.)

Anyway, I usually read each weekly edition from cover to cover, looking forward to the next week’s edition about two days after the one in my hand showed up in my mailbox.
Usually.
This latest edition has me… uncomfortable.
It started with the cover:

And followed with the story inside.

… Once in a very long while, someone arrives who doesn’t just dominate American Idol, but challenges and even changes it. Idol has always positioned itself as a portal to what ”America” (meaning, its particular viewers) desires in a newly anointed star. It’s no accident that each episode’s opening credits showcase faceless CGI humanoids striding toward their destinies. Idol stars are supposed to be blank slates, ”relatable” folk with extraordinary talent whom we elect in an orderly fashion and elevate to success.

Meet Adam Lambert. Adam has messed all that up. Adam is nobody’s idea of a blank slate. Adam is a surprise.

Essentially all that is a lead up to the “big” controversy: Adam Lambert might be gay.

“Wait a minute! This guy is… g-g-g-gay??? Well I NEVER! Somebody grab a rope!!!”

I live in Southern California - lived in Long Beach for a couple years. I worked in Hollywood.
Gay is not shocking. Gay doesn’t even strike me as especially… special. You want shocking and special? One night outside the Roosevelt Hotel on Hollywood Boulevard, a man ask my friend Margaret for a cigarette - when she held one out to him he got an exasperated look on his face, huffed and then lifted up two stumps. He was born without hands. “Can’t you light it for me?”
(How does one begin to…? Never mind)
That was kinda shocking. Gay? Not so much.

I could care less if dude is gay, straight or capable of card tricks. Seriously. It’s not my concern - I love everybody. I am uncomfortable with people telling me what I’m uncomfortable with, but this isn’t about whether or not I need some total stranger defining my character - we’ll save that for another day. The cover declares this guy the “most exciting” contestant in years - that’s what’s burnin’ my butt. For those involved, the conversation has officially changed and music has nothing to do with it. So… just what we need: Another image first, talent later scenario.
I liked it better when the artist had a great song, then I cared enough to actually find out that artist’s life beyond the music. Now we switch that around, and the reason we’re supposed to buy this kid’s albums is because… he’s “different.” Something seems fishy here.

He’s exciting, why?
Why, on this “singing show,” is this guy so exciting? I thought American Idol was about the singing, I had no idea it was a “portal” to the American soul. Why didn’t anyone tell me this?

This talk of Adam Lambert’s “specialness” and verve has very little to do with singing. On a show purportedly about undiscovered singing talent, at issue here is image and fashion… otherwise known as something other than singing. Again.
When are these people gonna learn?
“He has a big voice.”
Y’know, so have like 90% of the people who’ve ever made it to the finals for the show. The celebrities on TV shows talk about their charities in the same way: it’s an afterthought. Why is he any more exciting than anyone who preceded him? Because he looks like Pete Wentz with way too much foundation? Peter Parker with way too much foundation?

Appearing right before us is a very convincing example of why the music industry sucks.
It starts off being about music, gets sidetracked on image and then, like a child that sees a pretty butterfly, completely forgets the original point, too busy chasing after some irrelevant “angle.” Next thing you know, music is not even what we’re talking about anymore.

I used to watch American Idol all the time.
First it was kind of exciting - watching singers who’d never really had a chance before get the opportunity to be successful. It was occasionally hilarious, watching those people who sincerely thought they were great singers prove to America that they were not. Every once in a while you’d get the entitled kids, so sure of their future Star Quality after being fed years of lines from their stagemothers/snakeoilsalesman/stalkers “vocal coaches,” only to be systematically and irrevocably shut down. It lost some of its luster after the second or third idiot who showed up wearing a diaper or dressed like an androgynous wizard in order to get a shot at 15 seconds of utterly willful self-humiliation disguised as “fame”; the excitement was in full wane when all the actual singers with actual vocal coaches and a couple actual failed record deals (… or photo shoots) started lining up. Like most aspects of the music industry, it turned into a lot of posturing, a lot of “playing the game” and so forth.
The final nosedive into Lame Pond? While this “singing competition” devolved into a popularity contest that parents would feel comfortable allowing their 9 year olds to become involved with, it somehow remembered that it was at one time a “singing competition” - and as a result, it sort of half-assed it back to music. Quicker than you can say “Kelly Clarkson” we had a popularity contest for the kids and an Adult Contemporary Orgy for the parents.

AHHH! What they’ve done to the music… I’m sorry, but I call it quits when Barry “Staple Face” Manilow is supposedly giving people advice on how to be a Pop singer today. Add in those same 9 year old girls out there screaming their brains out for a man whose smile starts behind his earlobes? Gimme the remote.
(You wonder why every other one of them does lousy after they win this show???)
I mean… Andrew Lloyd Weber? Plus: At a certain point in one’s life, one must ask oneself, “Am I really entertained by the latest poorly executed Jim Morrison wannabe, especially when he insists upon staring ever-so-longingly into a camera?”

That’s a lot of dork to deal with on purpose.
After last season’s über Adult Contemporary, “Yay-We-Got-Chris-Daughtry-After-All!” finish, it just wasn’t that fun anymore, honestly. David Cook may really be talented, but he’s now contractually obligated to the dimwits responsible for this.

Oh hey, check this out.
(teehee.)

I’ve heard Randy Jackson say it over and over: “This is a singing competition.”
Really? ‘Cause it seems more like a high school election.
I’ve been aware that the show was more about image than it was about talent for a while now - one need only check out a couple seasons ago when this chick with a decent voice:

Finished ahead of this strange little dude with an amazing voice:

And yet here we are, with magazines like my beloved Entertainment Weekly giving their valuable cover space to Adam Lambert. All this stuff about the dude’s flamboyant personality and so very little about music. The article asks the question:

Can an openly gay contestant win American Idol?

The conversation has officially changed.
What if the dude is actually… good? Will we ever know?
What if he wins and his album doesn’t sell? What if he doesn’t win and it sells like gangbusters?
See the dilemma we’ve got on our hands? Music really has nothing to do with it anymore so essentially no matter what happens, this guy’s story is gonna be about whether or not he’s gay - with some singing sprinkled in for color.
It’s not exclusive to American Idol, by the way - but they’re an easy target so… I say blame them.
Someone’s gotta pay. Someone’s gotta set an example.
Someone’s gotta be the example if we’re ever gonna get music to matter again - why not them?

Where Have You Gone, Lester Bangs?

Did you see the Movie Almost Famous? Do you remember watching it and thinking, “Why isn’t music that fun anymore?”
It’s a legitimate question. Music itself is still music, so what’s the deal?
Well, the problem with the music ain’t just the music, folks.
Sure, the making-music industry is currently residing in the ICU on 24-hour life support, but what about the making-music-interesting industry? There may be no more huge deals sitting on desks in corner offices held by old, string-pulling Monopoly Men, waiting to drop such deals in the laps of any Next Big Things, but certainly there is no shortage of music being made. It can’t all be bad, can it? There has to be at least something to look forward to, right? The industry of those who are supposed to point us in that direction, of directing the flow of the next wave, should be jamming right now.
There’s good music out there waiting to be made part of our lives, but one crucial part of that process has gone bye-bye:
The Rock Writer.
We may ask where today’s Led Zeppelins or Beatles are (Hey, I’d settle for a new Nirvana at this point…) but what about this generation’s great “Documenteurs”? What about the people who bring the music home and help us find a way to fully embrace it?
What would the late Lester Bangs (portrayed by perennial badass Philip Seymour Hoffman in the aforementioned Almost Famous) be saying these days?
How would, “Lester Bangs on what American Idol means to the Music Industry” shake out?
Lester Bangs on The Jonas Brothers?
Bored actors with Pop Music vanity projects?
The commercialization of Punk Rock?
Creed?
(Here’s a great audio file posted at BoingBoing… listen and judge for yourself.)
As a lover and maker of music, I’m really afraid The Rock Writer isn’t missing - that character might just be… dead. Checked out with Mr. Bangs in 1982.
Or maybe today’s culture just doesn’t have time for that person anymore. Maybe The Rock Writer represents too much of an investment of attention, wisdom… intelligence? Or… is it something else?
Don’t get me wrong - there are plenty of people talking about music. Google “Music Blog” and you’ll find 230 million hits. Lots of folks out there saying lots of things - and loudly. Very authoritative. Very right. Just ask ‘em.

230. Million. That’s a lot of opinions being put forth as the Authority.
In my humble opinion, the Rock Editorial, with all of its informed opinion and critique - and more importantly, respect - has basically vanished off the face of the planet and been replaced by hundreds of millions of wannabes. One minute we had writers who studied the art of journalism and who were (hopefully) at some point challenged to think with a little objectivity, the next minute we had “anyone can do this.”
Oh, yeah!
So the question is really: What are all these 230 million people saying? Is anyone saying anything new or relevant or… are they just pushing more - lots more - of the same old thing? What is being said out there that will make music a better experience for anyone?
Or is anything being said at all?

“Talkin’ loud and sayin’ nothing.”
-James Brown

It really seems to me that we’ve gone from having a few voices that the masses could relate to, to a mass of voices, each with a few people who could “kind of/sort of/well, I don’t know, I guess” relate to.
Look back. Try and draw from the well of wisdom your old man tried to fill with good morals and work ethic: When something requires an art, a gift, a talent - do more or less people end up doing it? Can anyone do anything? Are we smarter today than we were 40 years ago? Does quantity win out over quality because we think we know everything now? Hmm. I don’t know - I think the information superhighway is shaping up to look a lot less like a progressive attack on the future and more like the 405 South on Friday around 5pm. Or maybe just a digital version of the Tower of Babel.
*insert play on words; cut to this picture:

annnnnnd… cue rimshot*

It’s like some sick, double-twist of irony - “be careful what you wish for” in full effect. Because bands don’t need labels to make albums anymore, there’s a glut of music being constantly produced; because anyone can write anything about anyone and scrawl it on the global toilet wall, we’ve got a glut of critics all trying to be the first to say something shocking - shocking, but catchy - something “Bathroom Wall” worthy.

Not exactly the formula for greatness, is it?

I think there are people out there who still take it seriously, but I think they get buried - right along with the good bands - under the millions of talking fingers that are tap-tap-tapping all over the internet. Maybe those people would be the target of Bangs’ wit today, who knows?
One thing is for sure: his passion would translate through whatever he was writing, because he was an artist, and those guys get noticed. (Eventually. Usually. Maybe.)
Ah, notoriety. Last - but certainly not least - those people who were good at writing about bands and Rock music used to get noticed. They even got paid to do it. Sometimes, they got to see parts of the music world previously reserved for the bands and those closely associated with them. Those writers - great communicators by nature - would then bring those experiences to the masses. They would be face to face with the bands, accountable for reporting what they saw.
If a writer was capable of doing a good job communicating those experiences, well.. the sky was the limit. If said writer was capable of uncovering some uncomfortable truth among all the readily offered information, well… that’s the way it goes when you’re dealing with a legitimate writer. He’s gonna tell the truth - painful or complimentary, regardless. But… if that writer misrepresented the bands or did them harm… he’d have to answer for it. Chances are he’d see the band (or at least a manager) again - we’re still talking about a pretty small community.
Funny how that changes things - when you have to see the person you wrote about face to face and stand by the words you’ve spoken.
This relationship was positive for those who were respectful and talented - but a big, fat negative for those who wrote things they shouldn’t have. Not so sure that same relationship is even possible with the nameless, faceless 230 million. It’s gone from an intimate and “small town” relationship to… anarchy.
Which brings me to the last issue that’s been chapping my buns. The lowest common denominator:
The Anonymous.
AKA: “Nameless Music Critic w/ Website, Comfy Chair, and Penchant for Snarky Commentary.”
AKA: “Hack.”

I think a total stranger named John Gabriel said it best with this handy diagram:

Where once there was an informed, intelligent and responsible literary artist trying to write something great, now there’s some sullen little turd who’s idea of “accomplishment” is to talk shit on people who actually accomplish things. Hacks.
Oh, Lester Bangs… where have you gone???

Now, if you’re sitting here reading this and thinking to yourself, “OMG. Another too-sensitive musician who can’t take criticism” and so forth, then let me stop you right there. While it would be somewhat childish, it would be accurate to throw the same logic back into the face of any Blah-gger spouting such nonsense (”Takes one to know one”) - but I’d like to look at it from a different angle:
I got the record that proves you’re wrong.
(Plus, when you’re born with yellow teeth, blue eyes and borderline red hair so the kids at school call you “Rainbow”- criticism is no stranger. What were we talking about? Oh yeah…)
Look, when you’ve been playing music for 20 years, chances are you’ve had some criticism that was tough to swallow. It happens. But I say that after 20 years of Rock and Roll, me still doing what I love = I can take whatever criticism comes my way and you can come up with a new excuse as to why your “internet zine” is such a downer.
You, Anonymous Blogger, would know this if… you had ever done anything yourself. I’m going out on a limb and betting… you haven’t. It’s fine. You’ll be fine. Just know that art is art - you can fake it only as long as you’re certain no one notices.
I’ve taken my share of “new” journalism. It can be painful. For 2 years of blood, sweat and tears, my band Stavesacre worked on what we felt was the definitive Stavesacre album, How to Live with a Curse. We were so excited when it was finally to released. Even Bellew, who wasn’t even in the band at the time said it was exactly that: The album we’d been trying to write since we started. The label we were on paid a guy to promote it, so he started sending it to all of his “contacts” on the web, and we started getting reviews like this, from an “online magazine” called Exoduster, in our inboxes:

Stavesacre
How to Live with a Curse
Abacus Recordings
Grade: C+/C
Miraculously, as you How to Live with a Curse progresses through its twelve songs, it just gets worse and worse. As the latest release in this Orange County-based band’s ten year career, Stavesacre are at their best with post-hardcore sounds a la a weak Quicksand…and at their worst with some type of pompous, man-rock Wind-up Records train wreck. Consistent with the opening sentence, the best songs on How to Live are early on, say the first song “A Reason to Believe,” but as soon as the slower moments of the follower “It’s Beautiful (Once You’re Out There)” you can see the forecoming doom. It is just down hill from there. The best part of the promo I have is that the songs are split up into 30 seconds tracks in order to prevent you from ripping it to your computer; an action that seems unlikely in any event. If someone would actually want to rip How to Live with a Curse, they should just be summarily executed.

Yay!
Irony: We’re still punishing the world with our horrible music, Exoduster.com is an empty link to nowhere. The thing is… the label only needs to read about 5 of those bad boys before they start moving on to another project, and so… another album, bites the dust. Happens every day. Every day.
Now, as far as I’m concerned, go on and say whatever you want to about me. I’m old, mean and I just don’t care anymore. Plus, clearly nothing you say can stop me (hah! SHAZAAM!), so at least I get to put my crap out there for you rat-types to gnaw on - maybe you should thank me. I would ask in return though, that if you have something to say, you show me the respect of a conversation so we can talk about how terrible my latest whatever is, person to person. Who knows, maybe - just maybe - you missed something. I’ll help you find it.

And hey, don’t worry - every groundbreaking band in the past has been universally received with open arms so, pile it on. I’m sure they’ll rise above and be stronger for it - be sure to ask ‘em.

At the end of the day it’s supposed to be about the music. I think we’re missing more than the Led Zeppelin of our times - we’re missing our Lester Bangs. We need someone to write about the music - bring it home. Make it part of our lives - not just sit there and slash and burn everything that comes across his desktop.
How many Anonymous Critics will the universe take in trade for one more of him?

The New Etiquette: Driving

 

Went to go see Corline with the Wifey the other night and was rudely reminded of my responsibility to at least this corner of the universe. “And what responsibility is that,” you ask?
Well, obviously my responsibility to spread the word on how to behave. Pretty simple, really.

 

We went to the movie on a night when we finally had the time and a good enough excuse to leave our comfortable Netflix-direct-to-XBOX 360 cocoon. Turns out 3-D is still cool. (Sort of like Glow-In-The-Dark T-Shirt designs. Unfortunately the majority of the people making movies refuse to go the extra mile to make cool 3-D movies - just like dumb bands and their boring shirts I can’t see in the dark. What? What am I talking about over here?) Anyway, I had been looking forward to the film for quite some time, being a pretty big Henry Selick fan (James and the Giant Peach, Nightmare Before Christmas. No, I am not a Hot Topic Goth.) and a massive Neil Gaiman fan. (Neverwhere is an easy Top 5 Book for me…)
Should have been a nice little night, right?

I was reminded of my first etiquette lesson by the ding-dongs who felt compelled to sit directly behind us - in the otherwise empty theater. They completely crossed the line when one of the three fiends decided to put her feet on the chair next to my head. (Really? “Hey lady, I HATE YOUR FEET. I HOPE YOUR FEET DIE.” Okay, maybe a bit harsh. But y’know, you’re lucky I wasn’t this guy, so don’t get too offended.)

It’s been quite a while since I did my part and obviously I was being galactically punished. I’m sure some faith in my ability to help us all was lost.
I’m sorry, galaxy. Won’t let it happen again.

The subject of this week’s “The New Etiquette”:
Driving and Driving-Related Monkey Business.
Yeah Magoo, I’m talkin’ ta you.

I live in a Freeway View condo, and as a result, the Freeway is a substantial part of my life. The On-Ramp & the Off-Ramp; the merging; the noise. It’s all a part of my daily life, and I’m convinced that it plays at least a small part in making me the slightly angry, sarcastic sweet, cherubic person that I am today.
Maybe I wouldn’t have been so annoyed by Lady Feet On The Chair if I’d have had a more relaxing and less precarious 5 mile trip from our home to the theater.
In order to get to my job (which, let’s be honest, isn’t always a trip I look forward to with joyful anticipation… it’s work, y’know) or almost anywhere south of me, I have to jump onto the 405 Freeway and immediately cross three lanes or I’ll be stuck going somewhere I don’t want to - and my usual 4 minutes late will turn into 24 minutes late and a lot of stress. Not sure you caught that first bit there, so let me state it again:
The 405 - America’s Busiest Freeway
3 Lanes.
Immediately.

I once saw a license plate frame at the Orange County Fair that read,
“YOU SAW MY BLINKER, BITCH.”
I seriously considered purchasing it, even though my mother would have disapproved on levels existing technology cannot measure. I went home that night to try and take off my current “Hula Ladies” plate frame (It was on the car when I bought it. Shut up. Plus: Yarn Hula skirts on the Hula girls) but after a solid half hour of not unscrewing the plate, I realized it wasn’t meant to be. Turns out, the plate at the OC Fair was quoting a Will Smith song - one potentially worse than any attempt at Rap music I’ve ever unleashed upon the masses, so… “win” by default.

Anyway, this plate frame appealed to me because I’ve said this exact phrase more times than, “Hey man, you been workin’ out?”, “Sounds like a Case of the Mondays!”, and “Oh no, you didn’t!” all combined and multiplied by 100. Sorry Mom, it’s true.
It’s a classic scenario: You need to switch lanes right now. You conscientiously turn on your signal in an attempt to switch lanes - and not get a ticket for an illegal lane change. The driver a couple car lengths behind you speeds up. You miss your exit. A buttefly flaps its wings. The sky falls.
Thing is: Nine times out of ten, the person speeding up doesn’t have to. They just do it because they’re a–holes, bottom line. They want to win, and you won’t get in their way.

Basically, this is my life, everyday - minus the Molly Hatchet:

Now imagine doing this over three lanes, every day you go to work.
Some of you are already preparing your replies, “Oh, you have no idea…” and that is a common response. The truth is, you really can’t tell someone how somebody on the freeway cut you off - potentially killing you, more likely just winding you that much tighter - without someone else one-upping your story.
Based on this scientific evidence, I say we as a people should not only ask a simple question, but should agree upon a common answer:
What do we do about this?

Beyond the Malicious Speed Up, there’s of course the Clueless Slow Down.
Never ceases to amaze me to see people attempt to merge onto a freeway - with speed limits rarely under 60 mph - going 40 mph. Now, you’re not only totally annoying the (certain) train of cars stacked up behind you, but you’re also asking us all to merge into oncoming traffic at the same Mr. Magoo speed. Why don’t you just ram me and get it over with?

Ever been cruising along on the freeway and find an SUV in your lane driving slower than everyone else? Ever pass that SUV and see a person texting while driving? The new law in California makes this illegal - so that will never happen again.
*beat*
Yeah.
If I pull around a person driving slow or erratically and see a phone in their hand, I find that a nice, long lean into the horn pretty much does the trick. It’s far more effective toward immediately ending the text session than some ticket handed out by a cop. It’s hilarious to see a phone juggled in your peripheral vision, accompanied by a look of pure rage immediately followed by terror as the person remembers they’re ON THE FREEWAY.

Of course, there are multiple issues that I could cover here, but the truth is: Just thinking about them is kind of pissing me off and probably doing the same for you. From the motorcyclists who thread the needle when traffic isn’t moving fast enough - genius; to the Beverly Hillbillies style of piling every bit of junk into Datsun Pickups with no sideview mirrors - thanks from the rest of us who get to dodge whatever bounces out the back; to the tailgaters riding your arse so hard they can change the radio station - congratulations, your impression of a pair of tighty-whiteys is spot on.
The list goes on… but the question remains the same:
What do we do about this?

I really don’t want anyone to die, I just want ‘em to… knock it off.

Please Stop Football Rock

HEY AMERICA!!! WHO DOESN’T LOVE FOOTBALL ROCK??

I know, I know - it’s lousy quality from someone’s living room and you have to move your sausage-fingered meat-sleeve all the way to the track pad to hit “Stop” on the player after about 2 minutes. Let’s not miss the point here:
Dear NFL, Football Rock sucks. Bad.
The question isn’t why does it suck (if you have to ask…) but why does it exist?

Wanna know who loves Faith Hill singing Football Rock? Roughly 96 Million people, that’s who.
Nielsen estimates that there are around 99 million TVs in America. The ratings are calculated by the essentially iron-clad (because-it’s-worth-billions-of-dollars iron-clad) system they have in place that says what portion of their “representative sample” tuned at the start of the show. Their system said 95.4 million people tuned in to hear Faith Hill say things like
“Hey Jack, it’s a fact
The championbeingcrowned (sic)”
and
“Everybody’s ready for the…
biggametonight.” (sic because that’s how she says it, that’s why)

96.
Million.
Yeah.

Moving along, we get Jennifer Hudson lip-synching to the National Anthem. ‘Cause why not? We’re fighting a war. Soldiers are dying. Evil lurks. But please, let’s not let a wealthy, successful and award winning teenager feel too much pressure - could be embarrassing.

In all honesty, that’s just… kind of expected. I’m not even really offended by the “pre-fabricated” singing - she’s walked a pre-fabricated career path, why not carry on in similar fashion? And before you start - YES, I know about her family - but if you’re gonna bring a bunch of Veterans to the game to hear the performance, you might want to go that extra mile. (as he writes from the comfort of his “office” while watching QUICK CHANGE and not getting shot at by people who really do just want to kill him…)
Anyway, all this is minor compared to… ugh.
*Ahem*
You know what I’m talking about:

Bruce Springsteen and Ewww Street Band.
I’m not the only one who is saying it. It’s not a fresh story. Anyone with half a sense of melody and/or drama could see and hear what a colossal DUD that Halftime performance was.

You could watch the real thing (again, apparently):

Oh, wait! There’s more:

Or you could just watch this.
Same thing, really.
There were all these moments during the show that I thought were building up to something and then they just… happened. Nothing.
Unless you consider a giant dressed up like a Clapping Saxophone Batman the highlight of any show, what was the payoff?
It was sort of like The Moon. (See #7) All the hype, all the press, all the “Okay! 1..2..3..lull.” All the… pfrrrrt.
The thing is… I was actually disappointed. I loved that “Magic” album. I thought it could be kind of cool to see “The Boss” - even though I only know about 4 of his jams. He’s Americana. The Super Bowl should be Americana.
But this?
This was bad. Less “Americana” and more “America?! Come on!”
One minute Bruce is hobbling across the stage.
The next? Crotch slide into the camera.
There were 2″ high jumps to… gentle strumming?
And who in the production office was like,
“Camera 4 on Clarence! OMg PEOPLE! SOMEBODY GET ME SOME COWBELL!”

Then (at about 7:25 of Part 2) there was the bizarre Disney moment with the referee and the yellow flag. It was just… weird.

U2 played the Super Bowl and it was cool. They looked natural. The Justin Timberlake/Janet Jackson thing was stupid (and of course, a weird boob was involved), but at least their appearance made sense. (Kind of. You could kind of make a connection, right? I don’t know! Shut up!) Of course, Prince played and it was better than everyone - but then the NFL got all freaked out because Prince acted like… Prince.
So now we get nice, tame, gentle Springsteen and it was… awkward. Why was it necessary?
The Epic Rock Show takes a while! We want to enjoy the ride! It definitely takes more than the 7 or 12 minutes they actually get to play in front of all those people.
If we’re gonna do halftime jams, let’s throw a couple one hit wonders out there and call it a day! I don’t even listen to much Springsteen, but even I know that the guy needs to get the crowd into it before… the crowd is into it.

Portions of that performance reminded me of this show:

Kinda lame & thrown together, bound to end with some drunk dudes in a tussle.

I guess I shouldn’t gripe too much, next year it’ll probably be Toby Keith.
Or… Collective Soul?

After all the negative energy, I now give you something positive:

An Open Letter To “Buster” Obama

Dear “Buster,”

Err, President Buster. On the eve (well… a few hours before) your inauguration, I thought I’d just write you a quick note, seeing as now that you’ll be President, you should have all sorts of time to read it. ☺

I voted for you. My wife voted for you. Many of my friends and some of my family voted for you. While I won’t attempt to speak for them, I will say that for me, I voted for you because… you did it different, and now I’m counting on you to follow through.

This is the thing: I had this long blahg about you all ready to go, but every time I read it, it just seemed like it was missing something. I realized (somewhat painfully, considering the time I put in on that thing) that it was missing something because it could never cover everything, so I decided that I’d take different approach: I’m intentionally going to be general and unspecific. Broad. Sweeping. All encompassing. Yeah, like that. Quite frankly after hearing so many unspecific speeches from you and your buddies over the last year, I think I’ve earned that convenience.

Now is not the time for 50 links to 50 different quotes from you and 50 other links to 50 other stories about you or that other guy who ran for Prez – ol’ what’s his name. (Sorry… couldn’t resist at least one.) We already did that dance. Now is not the time for me to break down my bullet point chart of causes. There have been plenty (Jello Biafra already did a way better job than I would have anyway, so please: Just go read his) and to tell the truth, we don’t have time for going over all of that again. Besides, I’m counting on you to know it all by heart anyway.
Now is the time for action, so…

“Action.”

Go. Do it.
Now is the time for you to simply be who you claimed to be. It won’t be a picnic, but it better not be that hard either, “Buster.”
You got us to listen. You got us to believe in you, so man, please don’t blow it.
We don’t believe in you as some sort of savior or anything weird, just… as our President. Our leader. We believe in you as someone who will represent this county with dignity and vision rather than indignity and outright cluelessness. Now is the time for you to back up all those well-written speeches & books and get down to the nitty and the gritty. We want to see some action, and you don’t get the opportunity to spin that off – because that’s what they do, and we didn’t vote for them, we voted for you.

Now is the time for you to make good on all the “Change” talk.
“Change.” It’s already sounding a little dry - please add water.
It’s a good word. It was a great campaign angle. But, uh… change is underway, so now what?

I know a lot people, most of whom never vote (and some who think all of you guys are straight up evil) but who, like me, bought into your bit about “Change,” and dammit… now you owe us. You owe us. Don’t get me to care, to defend, to fight for your cause and then turn around and call “do-over.”

You can’t take people who are not just not excited about much, but who flat out do not believe a word any politician says, get them all excited about something potentially great, then just… pffrrrt.
It wouldn’t be fair, and you know what: we might even hate you for it.
It would be worse than doing all the stuff that we knew good and well that other guy would have done. It would be a violation of the trust that got you where you are now. Basically, you would be worse than my old boss, and he was a total bastard – but at least he knew it. He claimed it, owned it. You, you claim to give a shit, and man… there’s no take-backs on that. If you try to do one of those take-backs we’re all so accustomed to by now you’ll be worse than the worst.
You’ll be the worsest. Worstest. You’d be… well, bad.
This person would be better driver than you would be a Commander:

Seriously, though.
If you let us down, man… I can’t even imagine how long it would be until someone could sell that “Change” crap again. The decline in value of that word would plummet faster than the value of an ill-advised solo album. If you turn on us, I could run against your “Change” campaign by waving a flaming bag of poo in the air and promising to deliver it to Bin Laden’s doorstep my first day in office, and I would win in a landslide. No kidding around.

We want real change. We even want to help. We want the scourges of this time in our history addressed, discussed and dealt with – as per your own words. Please make good on those words, because lets be honest – it’s a miracle anyone believed them after the last 20 years.

I used the pet name given to you by your mother – “Buster” – with the best of intentions. You told the story a number of times during the campaign, and I saw it as a link to your humanity, your history, your upbringing – a good thing. It’s a connection rarely made between our experience and that of our Commander in Chief – a connection made with respect to your position. I don’t need (or really want) a President who I can “sit down and have a beer with” – or one who will freely discuss his underwear preferences with me. How is that supposed to give me confidence that my President knows what the hell he’s doing?
I do want a President whose mother taught him the same lessons mine taught me. My mother (and/or father, of course) would be on my backside if I said I’d do something then went back on my word. (Fear the Look.) I learned the value of hard work. (Ephesians 4:28 – fear being a loser.) I was also taught the cost of a lie. (Fear God.)
You had a mother, whom you clearly respected. I’m banking on her having taught you the same things - and you having learned them.
So, Buster: Don’t let us down. Don’t let me down. (And her? That’s on you, brother.) You have a chance to be different – and we’re willing let you. Now just… do it right.
Sincerely,
m.

So… That Was ‘08, I Guess

Not So Sure I’d Call ‘08 “Great”

First things first: It’s my birthday. What’d you get me?

Anyway… Pretty much everyone knows that “Top 10” lists are crap. If they don’t come from David Letterman, 9 out of 10 are snotty, condescending nonsense or… worse. Logic dictates that if the grouchy old genius doesn’t do the “Top 10 Whatevers of Year Whatever,” you probably shouldn’t even bother.
Ahhh… and still, smug writers the world over insist upon making them.
“Hey, man. I want the world to share my Art.”
No you don’t – you want people to think you’re cool. (And you are, man. You are.)

By the way: what happens to people when they sit down to write these lists?
To fit in with all the highbrow critics, shall I list a few releases you haven’t heard yet? Maybe an album that you’ve been told you’re supposed to like, but in all honesty… you just can’t… do it? Should I grace you with my sage wisdom, secretly leaning heavily towards whatever I’ve been listening to over the last couple weeks (you know, once it’s safe and I know what all the know-it-alls have been listening to) then throw some random reference out that only kind of makes sense? (“No you simpleton! Fleet Foxes don’t sound like the Byrds, they sound just like the Beach Boys!”) While I’m at it, maybe I should name-drop a couple ironic mainstream picks (“Dude, Britney is back!”) or the obligatory Hip Hop artist. (“Lil’ Wayne! You don’t love him? What are you, square? Don’t ya like to party?”)

I mean, c’mon I could reel out a list of Top 10 albums, but how could you trust me???

Look. I believe any review of anything anyone has done, should be offered up a solid month after it’s exposed to the rest of world – at minimum.
Why?
Because, time tells. Time tells and critics (aka Those Who Cannot Do) are blowhards who somehow get paid to tell you why you should like this or that and it’s just stupid. Time tells and I say all the great music marks a place and time in the listener’s life. Yea, verily, so says me. If no time has actually passed and therefore no places have really been visited, no experiences have been had whilst listening, how can you know what is really timeless?

I also find it highly suspicious when a critic cites a group/artist, names them the next Dylan or a “Diva” (Congrats on your Diva status! You’ve been officially recognized as petty, shallow and narcissistic!), and yet no one I know has ever heard of them. Even when I ask around. 9 times out of 10 those “next Dylans” are nowhere by their next album. In totally unrelated news, did you know that the Strokes, Hot Hot Heat and The Hives all have had two albums come out since they first “broke”? Anyway, back to the subject: I swear – someone has to be paying for these Breakthrough Artists. A Monopoly Man look-alike was sitting in a dark room somewhere, pulling strings. That’s it. It’s not “an unexpected groundswell” – it’s some creep in a darkened, smoke-filled room with bags of money all around, plotting the next Unexplained Phenomenon. And I’ll tell you something else: If I go to iTunes and find less reviews of an alleged “groundbreaking” and/or “genius” artist (or artists… c’mon, please stow that nitpicking) than of my own stuff, suspicion ends and I get to callin’ bullshit. Lets just say that less reviews of your stuff than of a Stavesacre album qualifies you for Bartender of the Year way before Breakthrough Artist of the Year.

Maybe – just maybe – the reason so many “Top 10” musical lists are ridiculous is because… there weren’t 10 musical efforts that were all that great?
For me, ’08 was kind of a dud. The music side of the year had a lot to live up to from ’07, and to be honest ’08 (much like the scientists and their “advances” toward hair restoration) was a let down. Sure, there were a couple highlights (not at all like the scientists), but I’m really hoping that ’09 picks it up a bit because as of right now it looks as if ’08 might not have even happened. (Well, it happened all right. I mean, I lost all the equity in my FreewayView Condo, and that didn’t happen in a wormhole or something. It was Real-Time.) I’m speaking here in regard to Rock n’ Roll. Geez, am I gonna have to explain this every step of the way?
Granted, the only reliable source I have for hearing about new music is Greene Records, but hey – not all of us get serviced by record labels or crack promotion teams. (Did you hear that, Boss Man?) Maybe I should consult a Harvard law professor to determine if I’m justified in stealing some new jams. Y’know – for research.

The questions are simple: What album from this last year was better to listen to every day than The Shins’ Wincing the Night Away or the first Modest Mouse album I’ve ever listened to more than once? What album this year made me anywhere near as pissed off that I never learned to play guitar than Iron and Wine’s the Shepherd’s Dog or even José González’ In Our Nature? As for the ROCK: Find me a better Rock album from last year than ‘07’s self-titled by Graveyard or Baroness’ Red Album. Seriously. Oh, and apparently Maylene and the Sons of Disaster are the only metal band that understands SOUL and MELODY when they’re out there screamin’ and carryin’ on. (Note to the 500 metal albums that came out that last year – get yer shit together.) Will someone please tell me how we ended up with new Panic! (Yes, I know – don’t care) At the Disco and Fall Out Boy albums, but nothing else described using any variation of Punk Rock that didn’t make me start laughing? Oh well, New Maps of Hell will have to do for another year.
And lastly, can someone explain to me how the Vaunted Indie Rock genre got CRUSHED by exactly one song from Kanye West in the race to create the Anthem of 2008?
* beat *
(Y’know, don’t do that. You know what song I’m talking about. You bought the single on iTunes. Yes, you did. And you know the words.)

So…

Chances are, you don’t own Beg, Plunder & Curse by Colour Revolt. This is a problem. Of the precious few legitimate Rock albums released this year, I name this one “King.” The mix is basically flawless – crisp, balanced, interesting and dynamic – all the things that we’re supposed to be hearing from bands now that production has so few limitations. While the music is all that it should be (Please pay attention, dear aspiring artists) what I love most about this album are the vocals. Jesse Coppenbarger’s voice is better than yours. In fact, he’s better at singing than you are… at doing whatever it is you do. (Don’t get all mad, it is what it is.) It has character without being some tired bullshit gimmick – heaven forbid. For as much attention as TV on the Radio and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young Fleet Foxes have received, it actually pisses me off that I hear so little about this album. There are like, 3 magazines worth reading after purchase, and at least one of them, PASTE, took notice - let that be a lesson to you. Someone at Fat Possum should be out of a job and interviewing with me for a barbacking position. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to take into consideration how over-qualified you are for the job.
This is the thing: Just imagine if Radiohead stopped mumbling over loops (don’t get me started) and wrote some damn SONGS – then add in a little anger, the voice of a Man and you’ve got Beg, Plunder and Curse. There’s something else here that I can’t classify or compare it with but I think that’s a good thing. (Can you believe that no one with money has recognized what this band could be and exploited it? Gawd. Why is it that the cats with dough are always the dumb ones? I officially demand, on behalf of the band and without their consent, a placement in the next modern era David Fincher film. Based on this album, they’re creepy enough. (And I’m talkin’ major placement here, Fisher. Don’t get weird.) This was easily my favorite Rock album of the year. Plus, the title reminds me of a game I used to play with my grandpa.

I read about Bon Iver’s For Emma, Forever Ago on somethingsomethingwords.com and 15 other sites, and I wanted to hate it so much that I almost never did hear it. (Did ya get that, Record Executives? Getting these snotty little brats to slobber all over your latest investment “family members” can actually be counterproductive. Watch this, then get back to me.)
Seriously though, so far so good. It’s no The Shepherd’s Dog but it’ll do in a pinch – a little on the sad side, but I’d say it’s more “lonely” than it is “sad.” I’ve had it for a little while now and find myself remembering it when I want to listen to “something else.” I can’t help but think of Damien Jurado at times (think Now That I’m In Your Shadow but with some serious falsetto sewn in to the fabric) and I say that because the music makes me feel good the way only lonely music can. By now most people that are familiar with it know that Justin Vernon went all Walden on this thing, which just makes the lonely feeling of the songs resonate a little more – less depressing, more… cozy. If Elliott Smith had been hanging out with this cat he might have felt a little better, if that makes any sense. There are classic Folk elements, but those falsettos lift the music above such a boring classification – listen to “The Wolves (Act 1 & 2)” and tell me you can’t imagine Cee-lo Green (think “Crazy” – a.k.a. the only Gnarls song you really know) jumping in there for a little backing vocals. Maybe a small Gospel choir. (Man! I got some great ideas! Justin – call me. We’re gonna walk up the steps together! We’ll throw that Grammy in their faces! Yeah!) Plus, great hair. Not the beard – the hair.
This is a fall to sleep or drive cross country album, which pretty much makes it an all-season album. What else could you ask for?

Having out-right dismissed the Kings of Leon as Disgusting Fashion Rock, I have to say that their latest… completely changed my opinion. Great melodies, great mix and a lot less skinny jeans and white Bob Hope shoes, there are moments on that album where I think I might actually pay to see them play. After wifey bought the advance from Only By The Night, “Sex On Fire,” my stance was softened a little – I heard what I would call a favorable comparison to old Springsteen and thought, “I’m still not sure if I ever liked Springsteen, but I like this.” Dirk sent me the song “Closer” and it was such a good jam that I immediately bought the full album. It’s actually – ahem – kind of good, if a bit “samey” by the last couple tracks. Makes me want to go out and get in some moderate trouble – that has to count for something, right?

Also: See The Hold Steady for further ventures towards this conspiracy to get me to become an actual Springsteen fan. (If there was any justice in the world, Bob Seger would be getting some mention with both these bands and their neo-retro stylings, jus’ sayin’.)

Here’s where I get into trouble. I liked Viva La Vida. There, I said it. I have no Indie credibility or Cool Status to lose, so I risk nothing by admitting what all you hateful cynics won’t: This is the last vestige of legitimate Arena Rock, and quite frankly it’s missed. I won’t bother with going into details or descriptors – it’s unnecessary because anyone with enough balls to listen to something so mass-produced and yet still sincere, owns the album already. Need a little shove to come over to the uncool side of the street? Listen to “42” or “Yes” and tell me you don’t love this music. Plus, Brian Eno. Now if only U2 can manage to put out something with more than four good jams and an iTunes commercial, we’ll all be in a better place.

By the way: Just because I’m suspicious of all the hype that Fleet Foxes seem to be getting doesn’t mean I don’t like their new album. I haven’t given it nearly enough attention to really have an opinion – certainly not enough to say that it does or doesn’t warrant being on all these lists. I can say that when I first got the album I wasn’t immediately interested – seemed like a kind of sissified Neil Young wearing My Morning Jacket and kicking me in the Shins then running away on a Band of Horses. (Ta-daa!) Tell me you don’t hear something near that on “Ragged Wood” and I’ll take it back. There are moments that I’ve immediately enjoyed, and moments where I just thought… what? The fact that the first real song you hear, “White Winter Hymnal,” runs a melody so similar to one in The Byrds’ “Turn, Turn, Turn” doesn’t help my Spidey Senses from tingling, but I like good music so… patience, that’s all.

Quickly: I mentioned Iron & Wine’s The Shepherd’s Dog earlier. It has been elevated to classic status for me by now and possesses a lyrical mastery that puts most pretentious Indie types to shame. Any way, because I only watch the best shows, I watch CSI. (Only the Vegas one – please hold David “Howdy Doody” Caruso or the unforgivable waste of Gary Sinise that is the NY show) One of the more poignant of recent CSI episodes, “Goodbye and Good Luck,” begins with “Carousel” off The Shepherd’s Dog. Unfortunately it’s nearly impossible to see this happen, because those fascists over at CBS hate things that are good. (But if I could get a placement like that I would literally pee my pants and not be able to stop.) The song made the show that much better, which is pretty hard to do, and it brought a lot of well-deserved attention to Sam Beam. No doubt, some record executive is probably going to sue because they didn’t get enough money off the gig, but until then at least somebody got some. You can try and track it down… I have and now I’m tired. Go for it.
And since you’ve somehow read all this way, how about this:

Also, the Gnarls Barkley mention got me wondering what last year’s One Hitter would be. MGMT? “Electric Feel” is a great jam but aside form a couple tracks that album just seems like… a hobby. M.I.A.? “Paper Planes” is great if you smoke pot I guess but… I don’t. Entertainment Weekly has Robyn’s self-titled on two different “Best of” lists but, after my due diligence I’ve determined there must have been a misprint. (She was on a Snoop Dogg hit, for those of you who knew as much about her as I did. Doesn’t that just mean… it was a Snoop hit? Maybe I don’t understand the rules.)

What I missed and therefore am not allowed to have a condescending opinion about:
Thrice: The Alchemy Index Volumes III & IV – Gotta be honest, the whole Roman Numerals/Volumes thing has never been appealing to me. Might have seemed like a good idea at the time, but most of us know how that typically ends up. I kinda just don’t want to know. I think they’re great, let’s keep it that way.
The Gaslight Anthem: The ’59 Sound – Heard it a couple times, didn’t hate it but didn’t have enough time to decide if I liked it. Springsteen was never a huge fave, or did you catch that?
P.S. Just what the heck is going on with the Springsteen theme? It’s like “sailors” in ’07.

Other Awesomenesses:
Ricky Gervais is really funny in Ghost Town – don’t read the reviews, just rent the movie.
Plus: Kristen Wiig, obviously.
Don Cheadle’s Traitor was great and I’ll bet the majority of you still haven’t seen it – even though you can rent it for $5 and watch it on the ridiculously huge TV you bought last year so you would spend less money going out. It was roughly 1000 times better than The Happening (“Hey! Watch out for that wind! Run away from the wind!”), and you probably paid $12 to go out and see that crap - and had to deal with a room full of That Guy. Way to blow it.
You saw Iron Man, so you’re covered there.
The Dark Knight was excellent, but after I leave my creative meeting with Justin Vernon, I’m gonna get together with my man-crush and discuss the way Batman should talk when he’s Batman.
Tropic Thunder – good enough, but to That Other Guy: Thank you for doing the “Full Retard” bit in character, even after I said, “No – I haven’t seen it yet.” Seriously – it was way funnier seeing Robert Downey Jr. doing it after you told me all the good lines – I knew what to look for. It’s always funny to hear the punch line before you hear the joke. You should be in movies.
XBOX 360 is wonderful but that controller still sucks.
Wii isn’t really exercising, but it feels like it is. What does that mean?
MySpace officially sucks – at least on Facebook I don’t have to keep entering weird non-words every time I want to do something. (And seriously, I don’t appreciate being asked to trust a little fine print box saying the answer to the password is “not case-sensitive” while looking at something that seems conspicuously case-sensitive. Lame.) MySpace blew up rather quickly for something sold for that much dough – I guess we should have known it would devolve into crappiness just as quickly. Facebook used to seem boring now it just seems logical: Turns out, I don’t want to commit so much time to commitment-free social networking. Plus: Less Whores.

P.S. Yes we did. Scoreboard, bitches!

P.S.S. Al Davis must go. Oh, yeah: I’m a lifer Raider fan but… what’s happening here?

P.S.S.S. anyone want odds on Letterman reading this?