reprehensible, eye-melting fashion back. I can't believe this store
actually sold my band's merchandise. I feel dirty.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Jesus...really?!?!?
reprehensible, eye-melting fashion back. I can't believe this store
actually sold my band's merchandise. I feel dirty.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Friday, December 12, 2008
Things I Did Today
-Made the bed.
-Ate a piece of pizza from last night.
-Fixed all of the fucked up ID tags in my iPod. This took over an hour, and is the result of blindly throwing albums into my iPod and not making sure that the little retard bastard child that uploaded the torrent did his job correctly.
-Looked at 32 pages of Bettie Page (RIP), and was astounded by how out-of-control vaginal foliage can get when not properly monitored.
-Dusted the house with my new Pledge duster, vacuumed the corners of the first floor, and cleaned the cat hair and dust from the intake vents of this insane air-purifier we have. I smoke, a lot, and our house pretty much never smells like smoke. My mom even said so.
-Took everything out to clean my Taurus 1911 .45, then realized I had forgotten to get cleaning patches last time I was at the range.
-Drank 12 cups of coffee.
-Converted Soundgarden's catalog from .flac to .mp3.
-Restarted my computer twice, because it now likes to shut off completely randomly. This is keeping me from remixing a new demo so I can send it to my singer, as well as keeping me from starting the other 3 songs I have to work on. Grr.
-Watched some porn (and you expected anything less?).
And here's a little pic from Thanksgiving. Since we went to a friend's house to eat, we had no leftovers. But what do you do when you get that hankerin' for turkey and gravy? Where do you get a fucking turkey dinner at 10pm on Thanksgiving...in Minneapolis?!?!?
Perkins, bitch.
-Ate a piece of pizza from last night.
-Fixed all of the fucked up ID tags in my iPod. This took over an hour, and is the result of blindly throwing albums into my iPod and not making sure that the little retard bastard child that uploaded the torrent did his job correctly.
-Looked at 32 pages of Bettie Page (RIP), and was astounded by how out-of-control vaginal foliage can get when not properly monitored.
-Dusted the house with my new Pledge duster, vacuumed the corners of the first floor, and cleaned the cat hair and dust from the intake vents of this insane air-purifier we have. I smoke, a lot, and our house pretty much never smells like smoke. My mom even said so.
-Took everything out to clean my Taurus 1911 .45, then realized I had forgotten to get cleaning patches last time I was at the range.
-Drank 12 cups of coffee.
-Converted Soundgarden's catalog from .flac to .mp3.
-Restarted my computer twice, because it now likes to shut off completely randomly. This is keeping me from remixing a new demo so I can send it to my singer, as well as keeping me from starting the other 3 songs I have to work on. Grr.
-Watched some porn (and you expected anything less?).
And here's a little pic from Thanksgiving. Since we went to a friend's house to eat, we had no leftovers. But what do you do when you get that hankerin' for turkey and gravy? Where do you get a fucking turkey dinner at 10pm on Thanksgiving...in Minneapolis?!?!?
Perkins, bitch.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Firestarter
If you're a smoker, and you've noticed that your cigarettes suddenly started tasting funny and burning strangely; that your chest feels tighter than normal and maybe you've been getting sick more often, then you my friend have probably been recently, and more importantly, UNKNOWINGLY inhaling "FSC's", or "Fire Safe Cigarettes".
I just signed an online petition here with this to say:
"Cancer is one thing, but I'd like a warning shot if there's a possibility of any chemicals in your new FSC's causing something like, oh, I don't know, my future children to be born with their lungs on the outside of their bodies.
Way to be upfront.
Fascists."
Apparently, there's quite a bit of corporate misdirection (No!) regarding exactly how these cigarettes extinguish themselves. There's also a shitload of people complaining about newly acquired upper respiratory problems.
From Citizens Against Fire Safe Cigarettes:
"If you read the Petition against fire safe cigarettes, there is a reference that the Harvard School of Health tested Regular and FSC cigarettes from Marlboro Light. The test results were different and showed significantly more chemicals : 13.9% more Naphthalene (a pesticide) and 11.4% more carbon monoxide. These are the top two, there are 3 or 4 more that showed moderate increase. If all Tobacco Companies are only using different paper and speed bumps, why where there significant increases in chemicals? Because they added more chemicals to the FSC cigarette. Every smoker I have talked to who has used FSC say they can TASTE A CHEMICAL. The FSC standard (The NFPA calls them Fire Safe Cigarettes, State legislators call it typically Fire Standards Compliant), calls the Cigarette Company to only meet the physical performance spec. How they do it is not concern to the State!!! The PA HB1612 makes no mention of NOT using more harmful chemicals, just meet the performance spec, no full burn, and speed bumps. This means that Cigarette companies may use whatever means they want to make the cigarettes go out, including increasing harmful chemicals to the toxic level; levels that cause severe problems."
So,I dunno...I love smoking. I unfortunately truly enjoy it. And I fucking hate these cigarettes for the same reasons millions of other smokers seem to. But that's not really what's important. What's important is that The United States Government chose to, A) consciously add even more highly toxic chemicals to a highly taxed national product WITHOUT ANY TESTING, and B) that they did so WITHOUT A FUCKING PEEP to the public.
I don't know about you, but that's just one more reason to keep buying guns and wait for the Eventual Collapse.
"Fucking fascists." -Walter Sobchek
I just signed an online petition here with this to say:
"Cancer is one thing, but I'd like a warning shot if there's a possibility of any chemicals in your new FSC's causing something like, oh, I don't know, my future children to be born with their lungs on the outside of their bodies.
Way to be upfront.
Fascists."
Apparently, there's quite a bit of corporate misdirection (No!) regarding exactly how these cigarettes extinguish themselves. There's also a shitload of people complaining about newly acquired upper respiratory problems.
From Citizens Against Fire Safe Cigarettes:
"If you read the Petition against fire safe cigarettes, there is a reference that the Harvard School of Health tested Regular and FSC cigarettes from Marlboro Light. The test results were different and showed significantly more chemicals : 13.9% more Naphthalene (a pesticide) and 11.4% more carbon monoxide. These are the top two, there are 3 or 4 more that showed moderate increase. If all Tobacco Companies are only using different paper and speed bumps, why where there significant increases in chemicals? Because they added more chemicals to the FSC cigarette. Every smoker I have talked to who has used FSC say they can TASTE A CHEMICAL. The FSC standard (The NFPA calls them Fire Safe Cigarettes, State legislators call it typically Fire Standards Compliant), calls the Cigarette Company to only meet the physical performance spec. How they do it is not concern to the State!!! The PA HB1612 makes no mention of NOT using more harmful chemicals, just meet the performance spec, no full burn, and speed bumps. This means that Cigarette companies may use whatever means they want to make the cigarettes go out, including increasing harmful chemicals to the toxic level; levels that cause severe problems."
So,I dunno...I love smoking. I unfortunately truly enjoy it. And I fucking hate these cigarettes for the same reasons millions of other smokers seem to. But that's not really what's important. What's important is that The United States Government chose to, A) consciously add even more highly toxic chemicals to a highly taxed national product WITHOUT ANY TESTING, and B) that they did so WITHOUT A FUCKING PEEP to the public.
I don't know about you, but that's just one more reason to keep buying guns and wait for the Eventual Collapse.
"Fucking fascists." -Walter Sobchek
Monday, November 24, 2008
Friday, November 21, 2008
More Lists
Recent Downloads:
-Bad Brains: Discography
-Men At Work: Business As Usual
-Cab Calloway: Various (1932)
-Lard: Discography
-Supertramp: Breakfast In America
-Ratt: Invasion Of Your Privacy
-Queensryche: The Warning
-The Cure: Discography (and then some!)
-Holy Fuck EP
-The Breeders: Last Splash
-David Lee Roth: Skyscraper (which time has not been kind to...)
...and as much as I hate to admit it, (gulp) Van Halen's "5150". In academic circles, I am what they refer to as a "Roth Purist". When I was a kid I didn't really care that much. If Eddie was playing in a band with the yodeling toothless meth head that lived behind the 7-11 next to his mansion, I didn't give a shit. I owned and listened to 5150, OU812, etc, non-stop, because Eddie was my God, and if science would have allowed it, I would have anally birthed his children. As I got older though, and began to listen to music as a whole rather than just focusing on guitarists, I realized that I kept returning to VH's first six albums...all with our good friend David Lee Roth at the helm. I also realized that I hated Sammy Hagar's whiny douche voice.
But a friend of mine and I got to talking about the mighty Van Halen last week, and I got all nostalgic and downloaded "5150" from Demonoid. I still haven't listened to it. As stupid as it sounds, I feel like I might be disrespecting the Rock Gods if I go ahead and give it a spin. I'll also feel like a sellout. And a douche. Douche by proxy.
Maybe one time wouldn't hurt. Just don't tell anybody.
-Bad Brains: Discography
-Men At Work: Business As Usual
-Cab Calloway: Various (1932)
-Lard: Discography
-Supertramp: Breakfast In America
-Ratt: Invasion Of Your Privacy
-Queensryche: The Warning
-The Cure: Discography (and then some!)
-Holy Fuck EP
-The Breeders: Last Splash
-David Lee Roth: Skyscraper (which time has not been kind to...)
...and as much as I hate to admit it, (gulp) Van Halen's "5150". In academic circles, I am what they refer to as a "Roth Purist". When I was a kid I didn't really care that much. If Eddie was playing in a band with the yodeling toothless meth head that lived behind the 7-11 next to his mansion, I didn't give a shit. I owned and listened to 5150, OU812, etc, non-stop, because Eddie was my God, and if science would have allowed it, I would have anally birthed his children. As I got older though, and began to listen to music as a whole rather than just focusing on guitarists, I realized that I kept returning to VH's first six albums...all with our good friend David Lee Roth at the helm. I also realized that I hated Sammy Hagar's whiny douche voice.
But a friend of mine and I got to talking about the mighty Van Halen last week, and I got all nostalgic and downloaded "5150" from Demonoid. I still haven't listened to it. As stupid as it sounds, I feel like I might be disrespecting the Rock Gods if I go ahead and give it a spin. I'll also feel like a sellout. And a douche. Douche by proxy.
Maybe one time wouldn't hurt. Just don't tell anybody.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Alright...I'm Back.
Yeah, I know...I hear your plaintive catcalls...it's been a couple of weeks. Sue me.
I wasn't back from Los Angeles 24 hours when I began to feel sick. I haven't had a cold in at least the last year and half, so it actually kind of surprised me. Then again, it didn't; planes and airports are probably just as bad as hospitals regarding germs per square-inch...fucking breeding grounds for the little bastards. And this one was a solid stay-in-the-house-for-seven-days affair. My brother said everyone at his place of work was sick, everyone at my girl's place of work was sick, yadda yadda yadda. Chalk another marker in the "Cons" section under the heading "Reasons To Stay Away From People You Don't Know".
And so my week of sickness bled into, invariably, my girl becoming sick for a week. Which (and the misery stops here) bled into my mother, sister, and brand-spanking-new niece Presley coming to visit. They were originally to stay with me for four days and then with my brother for four days, but since my girl was still sicked-out, they ended up taking root over at my bro's.
We did the (sarcasm alert) usual litany of things you do when someone visits you in Minneapolis; eat out every day and go to the Mall of America. And they got lucky. The weather gods took mercy on my Californian loved ones and we even got to barbecue a ridiculous amount of food and eat it out on the deck one night.
Anyway, it was great to see them again in such quick succession. It was the first time they have come to visit me in Minneapolis since I moved here in 1996. Long overdue, but I can't complain. I haven't always been in such great shape, mentally and chemically, over the years. Things happen when they should happen I suppose.
So there's my excuse for being incommunicado.
On other fronts, I am now teaching guitar at The School Of Rock, in Eden Prairie, Minnesota. Daryll Hurst, the head engineer over at Winterland Studios where I'm working with the band Wrecking Day, sent me an email tipping me off that they needed a guitar teacher. Two days and one interview later I had the gig. I just had my first two students this past Monday. A precocious 6-year-old (!) named Chase, and a surly 16-year-old named Colin. I guess I did pretty well, because they called me later that evening, and asked if I could substitute for another teacher the next day, which I gladly did. They've got a really cool program over there; it definitely goes beyond just lessons and into creating a set list, rehearsing with your "band", and playing a show. The fall shows are at Trocaderos in downtown Minneapolis on January 17th and 18th. I'm really looking forward to seeing my students hard work put into practice.
A'ight. I'm 5000.
I wasn't back from Los Angeles 24 hours when I began to feel sick. I haven't had a cold in at least the last year and half, so it actually kind of surprised me. Then again, it didn't; planes and airports are probably just as bad as hospitals regarding germs per square-inch...fucking breeding grounds for the little bastards. And this one was a solid stay-in-the-house-for-seven-days affair. My brother said everyone at his place of work was sick, everyone at my girl's place of work was sick, yadda yadda yadda. Chalk another marker in the "Cons" section under the heading "Reasons To Stay Away From People You Don't Know".
And so my week of sickness bled into, invariably, my girl becoming sick for a week. Which (and the misery stops here) bled into my mother, sister, and brand-spanking-new niece Presley coming to visit. They were originally to stay with me for four days and then with my brother for four days, but since my girl was still sicked-out, they ended up taking root over at my bro's.
We did the (sarcasm alert) usual litany of things you do when someone visits you in Minneapolis; eat out every day and go to the Mall of America. And they got lucky. The weather gods took mercy on my Californian loved ones and we even got to barbecue a ridiculous amount of food and eat it out on the deck one night.
Anyway, it was great to see them again in such quick succession. It was the first time they have come to visit me in Minneapolis since I moved here in 1996. Long overdue, but I can't complain. I haven't always been in such great shape, mentally and chemically, over the years. Things happen when they should happen I suppose.
So there's my excuse for being incommunicado.
On other fronts, I am now teaching guitar at The School Of Rock, in Eden Prairie, Minnesota. Daryll Hurst, the head engineer over at Winterland Studios where I'm working with the band Wrecking Day, sent me an email tipping me off that they needed a guitar teacher. Two days and one interview later I had the gig. I just had my first two students this past Monday. A precocious 6-year-old (!) named Chase, and a surly 16-year-old named Colin. I guess I did pretty well, because they called me later that evening, and asked if I could substitute for another teacher the next day, which I gladly did. They've got a really cool program over there; it definitely goes beyond just lessons and into creating a set list, rehearsing with your "band", and playing a show. The fall shows are at Trocaderos in downtown Minneapolis on January 17th and 18th. I'm really looking forward to seeing my students hard work put into practice.
A'ight. I'm 5000.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Now I'm One Of Them
After the last few posts, all detailed with stunning photos and colorful verbage, I was sitting here thinking that I felt like writing but didn't really have anything of great importance to spout about. Then I remembered that this is a blog. I don't always have the most exciting shit to hype up, but after stumbling upon shit like this, I don't feel so bad.
My girl suprised me with an iPhone when she got home from work today. I've been coveting my keyboardist's for the last month; so much so that I created an "iPhonion" out of a large yellow onion and a Sharpie, both found in my guitarist's kitchen when we were in LA a couple of weeks ago. When I needed to clear the screen, I just peeled off a layer.
It kicked ass.
But not like this sexy little black fucker. It's 4am, and I've been online since about 10pm learning the ins, outs, and hacks for what is now my new favorite toy. I also loaded it up with a bunch of albums (The new TV On The Radio "Dear Science,", Nirvana's "Incesticide", The Scorpions "Blackout", My Bloody Valentine's "Loveless", and Mitch Hedberg's recent posthumous release "Do You Believe In Gosh?") and converted a bunch of episodes of Drawn Together to shove in there. I will never be bored in a waiting room or on an airplane again, this much is certain. But the other great thing about this phone, besides all the bells and whistles (of which there are many), is that it actually has quite a number of things I'll actually use, as opposed to some bullshit phone loaded with half-assed web browsers, cameras that suck, and slow as fuck connections. This phone is the closest you can get to having an actual computer with you at all times. And I fucking love my computer, man. Now I can find out if Robert Englund is alive or dead at the drop of a hat. While driving. With a loaded firearm.
Isn't this country just grand?
I'll swerve hard left for an ending, and hip you to my new favorite blog. The guy that writes it, WoundedPoodle, sounds completely raving batshit and his arguments leave something to be desired, but I dig his sentiment. In more ways than one, I am indeed now "one of them".
Ciao' bitches!
My girl suprised me with an iPhone when she got home from work today. I've been coveting my keyboardist's for the last month; so much so that I created an "iPhonion" out of a large yellow onion and a Sharpie, both found in my guitarist's kitchen when we were in LA a couple of weeks ago. When I needed to clear the screen, I just peeled off a layer.
It kicked ass.
But not like this sexy little black fucker. It's 4am, and I've been online since about 10pm learning the ins, outs, and hacks for what is now my new favorite toy. I also loaded it up with a bunch of albums (The new TV On The Radio "Dear Science,", Nirvana's "Incesticide", The Scorpions "Blackout", My Bloody Valentine's "Loveless", and Mitch Hedberg's recent posthumous release "Do You Believe In Gosh?") and converted a bunch of episodes of Drawn Together to shove in there. I will never be bored in a waiting room or on an airplane again, this much is certain. But the other great thing about this phone, besides all the bells and whistles (of which there are many), is that it actually has quite a number of things I'll actually use, as opposed to some bullshit phone loaded with half-assed web browsers, cameras that suck, and slow as fuck connections. This phone is the closest you can get to having an actual computer with you at all times. And I fucking love my computer, man. Now I can find out if Robert Englund is alive or dead at the drop of a hat. While driving. With a loaded firearm.
Isn't this country just grand?
I'll swerve hard left for an ending, and hip you to my new favorite blog. The guy that writes it, WoundedPoodle, sounds completely raving batshit and his arguments leave something to be desired, but I dig his sentiment. In more ways than one, I am indeed now "one of them".
Ciao' bitches!
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Los Angeles/Week Two: Play
And what a week it was!
I picked up my darling girl at LAX bright and early Monday morning (I was actually early if you can believe it), and headed back to my guitar player's apartment in West L.A. to grab my suitcases and get our asses up to the Magic Castle Hotel.
.jpg)
Funky little number...used to be an apartment building, so there's only maybe 15 rooms. Clean and heated pool right in the middle of the place. We set up shop, took care of business, and pretty much headed straight for what I consider to be the best Mexican food in Hollywood, Los Burritos:
.jpg)
I fucking dream about this place. It's so good it makes me want to walk into my local Scandinavian-owned Chipotle, fire-bomb the kitchen, and gun down all of the wide-eyed, apologetic Nordic patrons (Oofta! Sorry ta get in yer line of fire dere!). And while many of the authentic places down on East Lake Street are pretty good, in no way do they come close to achieving the awesomeness that is Los Burritos. I can't even eat Mexican food for the next month now because it'll just make me fucking angry.
Wow. A burrito rant. I honestly didn't see that coming.
Anyway, since I was with my girl, who has only spent a very brief amount of time in Los Angeles when she was younger, I took her around to a lot of "touristy" spots in addition to some of the hidden gems that your average tourist has no idea about. It was really cool being there in a tourguide capacity in that I saw and did quite a few things that, while growing up and living there for 20 years, I never got around to. Highlights included:
*Driving through Mulholland with the top down.
*The Griffith Observatory.
*Venice Beach (where you can find hand-painted Day of the Dead skulls for $15 and a bum singing "Jingle Bells/Jingle bells/I wanna get drunk" while holding a sign that says "World's Greatest Wino")...
+Alt.jpg)
*The Santa Monica Pier topside...
.jpg)
...and underneath...
.jpg)
*Yamashiro, a sushi place housed in a reproduction of a Japanese pagoda 250 feet up in the Hollywood Hills.
*Gladstone's in Maibu, where I destroyed a 4.5 pound lobster, liver and all.
*The Museum of Death on Sunset. The owners JD and Cathy are great people and very accommodating; they weren't even completely open yet and gave us full run of the place. JD is also friends with guys like Genesis P-Orridge, Monte Cazazza, and Ron Athey, which we talked at length about, and which makes him markedly more interesting than your average human being.
*The Hollywood Wax Museum, where I finally got to see Cameron Diaz's tits...
*And of course,The Hollywood sign, where after about 90 minutes and almost giving up, I finally found the little turnout right below it. We could have thrown a rock and hit the fucker...
.jpg)
It was great to see Los Angeles through fresh eyes. And the good news is we'll be going back again at Christmastime for a week or so. The bad news is that I'm back in a city that is comparatively lackluster: dull food, awful weather, and the same 8 things to do since I don't drink and don't like to hang out in bars with drunk people. I know I sound all severe and dramatic, but after having everything I love all in (one) place, it made it very difficult to return to this small, finite, feedback loop of a city. Not to mention that the weather is already turning shitty and will do nothing but get worse and stay that way for the next 7 months. No matter how you slice it, there is MUCH more to see, hear, feel, and experience in California than there is here in Minnesota. It's not an opinion; it's a fact. Of course there's things to do here that you can't do there. I'm just sayin'...
Ah...maybe I am being all severe and dramatic. I have a wonderful woman, a beautiful house in a great neighborhood, my health (except for this goddamn cold), my sobriety. I'm sure it's just the excitement of vacation wearing off.
Oh, hey...wouldja look at that...it's 41 degrees outside.
Awesome!
I picked up my darling girl at LAX bright and early Monday morning (I was actually early if you can believe it), and headed back to my guitar player's apartment in West L.A. to grab my suitcases and get our asses up to the Magic Castle Hotel.
.jpg)
Funky little number...used to be an apartment building, so there's only maybe 15 rooms. Clean and heated pool right in the middle of the place. We set up shop, took care of business, and pretty much headed straight for what I consider to be the best Mexican food in Hollywood, Los Burritos:
.jpg)
I fucking dream about this place. It's so good it makes me want to walk into my local Scandinavian-owned Chipotle, fire-bomb the kitchen, and gun down all of the wide-eyed, apologetic Nordic patrons (Oofta! Sorry ta get in yer line of fire dere!). And while many of the authentic places down on East Lake Street are pretty good, in no way do they come close to achieving the awesomeness that is Los Burritos. I can't even eat Mexican food for the next month now because it'll just make me fucking angry.
Wow. A burrito rant. I honestly didn't see that coming.
Anyway, since I was with my girl, who has only spent a very brief amount of time in Los Angeles when she was younger, I took her around to a lot of "touristy" spots in addition to some of the hidden gems that your average tourist has no idea about. It was really cool being there in a tourguide capacity in that I saw and did quite a few things that, while growing up and living there for 20 years, I never got around to. Highlights included:
*Driving through Mulholland with the top down.
*The Griffith Observatory.
*Venice Beach (where you can find hand-painted Day of the Dead skulls for $15 and a bum singing "Jingle Bells/Jingle bells/I wanna get drunk" while holding a sign that says "World's Greatest Wino")...
+Alt.jpg)
*The Santa Monica Pier topside...
.jpg)
...and underneath...
.jpg)
*Yamashiro, a sushi place housed in a reproduction of a Japanese pagoda 250 feet up in the Hollywood Hills.
*Gladstone's in Maibu, where I destroyed a 4.5 pound lobster, liver and all.
*The Museum of Death on Sunset. The owners JD and Cathy are great people and very accommodating; they weren't even completely open yet and gave us full run of the place. JD is also friends with guys like Genesis P-Orridge, Monte Cazazza, and Ron Athey, which we talked at length about, and which makes him markedly more interesting than your average human being.
*The Hollywood Wax Museum, where I finally got to see Cameron Diaz's tits...
*And of course,The Hollywood sign, where after about 90 minutes and almost giving up, I finally found the little turnout right below it. We could have thrown a rock and hit the fucker...
.jpg)
It was great to see Los Angeles through fresh eyes. And the good news is we'll be going back again at Christmastime for a week or so. The bad news is that I'm back in a city that is comparatively lackluster: dull food, awful weather, and the same 8 things to do since I don't drink and don't like to hang out in bars with drunk people. I know I sound all severe and dramatic, but after having everything I love all in (one) place, it made it very difficult to return to this small, finite, feedback loop of a city. Not to mention that the weather is already turning shitty and will do nothing but get worse and stay that way for the next 7 months. No matter how you slice it, there is MUCH more to see, hear, feel, and experience in California than there is here in Minnesota. It's not an opinion; it's a fact. Of course there's things to do here that you can't do there. I'm just sayin'...
Ah...maybe I am being all severe and dramatic. I have a wonderful woman, a beautiful house in a great neighborhood, my health (except for this goddamn cold), my sobriety. I'm sure it's just the excitement of vacation wearing off.
Oh, hey...wouldja look at that...it's 41 degrees outside.
Awesome!
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Los Angeles/Week One: Work
Back in Minneapolis, safe and sound.
Week one went very well...
Solid physical re-connections are always important with other human beings that are of importance to you. I (of course) expected too much to get done in the 3 days that my singer had with us, but we walked away with a new song, the beginnings of a couple other new ones, and a re-kindled excitement to this whole music thing that we share. Lots of possibilities on the horizon, changes coming, directions being explored...all very exciting stuff. And the best part is that we all actually still like each other when we're not nodding out, wasted, and/or tweaked out (depending on individual drug of choice). It may sound simple, but take away all of that padding after all of those years, and sometimes people wake up and go "What the fuck am I doing with you?!?" I just read an interview in Bass Player magazine with Nine Inch Nail's new bassist Justin Meldal-Johnsen, who's played with everybody, and found this quote to be quite applicable; in response to the question "What makes you the right guy for this gig?":
"...another thing (is) more basic...a clear, drug-free persona, because that's the way he rolls. We're all grown men in our 30's. and we want to do this really well. We're pros, you know? Punctuality, preparedness, a direct understanding of the human-to-gear ratio...he needs all of that."
I'll leave you with a few more shots from the work week:
Next Up: Los Angeles/Week Two: Play (or "Why Los Angeles Is More Fun Than Minneapolis")
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Satisfied Sighs
This is from my balcony at the Magic Castle Hotel, a part of the Magic Castle, here in the heart of Hollywood.
I'm with my favorite person in my favorite city, I'm full of fresh sushi, and have a convertible in the garage downstairs to whisk me and mine away to any of the multitude of amazingly interesting things there are to do and see here. As they say, life does not get much better than this.
Minne-what?
Saturday, September 20, 2008
At the Key Club, Los Angeles, CA.
Sent from my keyboard player's iPhone...
The first time the four of us have been in the same room together since last September. Taking a break from work and checking out my good friend Charlie's kick-ass punk rock band Black President.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Back to Work!
I am currently gearing up to get on a plane with my keyboard player very fucking early on Monday morning.
Destination: Los Angeles.
Purpose: To rendezvous with my guitar player and recently transplanted singer.
Goal: To work for one week and walk away with completed demo recordings for our new album.
I'm really excited. This is our first major get together in...shit...a long goddamn time. I've only seen my singer once since last November, and it wasn't a pleasant experience whatsoever. But this is looking to be a very fresh endeavor. He and I haven't been sober and creative together since 1999. It's a very "the-stars-are-all-lining-up" kind of feel. We have A LOT of material to work with; I alone have almost 20 completed and recorded songs (sans vocals), not to mention what the other four guys have. If anything, the hardest part will be keeping focused on the goal without getting lost in the vast amount of amazing material we have to deal with. This shit is good...I mean really good. Of course, I'm biased as all hell, but I can say with all honesty that these are the strongest songs right out of the gate that we've ever had. The last time my singer and I had all of our faculties in order and worked to our potential, we got signed to a major label, lived in a mansion for almost a year, and then went on a world tour for 18 months. When our engine is running properly, we are a dangerous group of men. Add 7 years of life experience to the mix, and you, gentle reader, have on your hands a force to be reckoned with.
So I'm going to try and not over-pack too badly. I'm a totally obsessive boy scout, and usually end up more prepared than I actually need to be, but better safe (2 back-up terabyte drives) than sorry ("Dude! It won't turn on!").
And after a week of working, my girl is flying out to meet me, and we will proceed to experience all that Los Angeles has to offer. Well, as much as we can cram into one week. I can tell you this: there aren't enough days in the week to even begin to visit all the dining establishments I want to. But, I will try, making sure at the very least to hit:
-In-N-Out Burger
-Nozawa
-Los Burritos
-Carney's
-The Rainbow Bar and Grill
-Dan Tana's
-The Chart House
-Roscoe's Chicken & Waffles
-Canter's
-Pink's
-Jack-in-the-Box
-Carl's Jr., and
-Bossa Nova
First order of business upon my return: Join a gym.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Concerned Southern Transmissions
Well, after over 2 years of silent rotting and festering (alright, it wasn't quite that bad), the offending tooth was scraped out of my mouf (sic) this afternoon. It didn't take all that long; I was out of there in less than an hour. The best part? The gas. The worst part? Eventually Dr. Annette was finished and turned off the gas.I gotta tell ya...if you're ever in a similar dental situation...spring for the gas. You can thank me later for imparting that little nugget of hard-earned wisdom on you.
It was, however, very interesting, and quite honestly enjoyable, to be "chemically" altered like that after such a long period of mental clarity. Of course, I realize it wasn't a "neccessity", per say. Despite my somewhat daunting presence, certain kinds of pain turn me into a big fucking baby. But I'm sure I could have toughed it out. So why didn't I?
Because a medical freebie, for this sober guy, is a win/win. There are hardcore sober Nazis out there who won't even take Benedryl, much less accept an "easier, softer way" regarding office surgery. But as much as I love the uniforms, I ain't that Nazi. Will the gas turn this pain-in-the-ass ride into a much more pleasant one? Yes? Well fire it up, doc. It's 2008, not 1908, and I'm into utilizing the tools science has created for just such occasions. If I wasn't in such a great all around mental state, I could see it possibly being an issue. I mean, if I was using ballpeen hammer to fuck up my grill solely because I wanted nitrous oxide and pain killers, that would be a problem. But things are remakably great (which I've come to believe is the byproduct of dropping out of almost all local social circles; to me, having more than five people to be accountable to is just a fucking headache...but more on that another time), and I'm pretty damn certain that there was no subconscious mischief going on. The Vicodin I was given did just what I thought they would. Nothing. It got rid of the pain, but my prior opiate abuse coupled with my size means I would have to take 8 of 'em to feel anything remotely close to what a "normal" person would consider "high". And I don't know about you, but my liver can't handle 4000 milligrams of Tylenol all at once anymore.
So right now, I've got a small piece of neon green sponge tucked into the hole so I can smoke and (hopefully) not get dry socket. I hear that shit hurts somethin' awful. And you know me...
From the book "The Truth About Chuck Norris" by Ian Spector:
"Chuck Norris never loses at rock-paper-scissors because he never plays rock-paper-scissors. He plays rock-paper-scissors-roundhouse kick. Chuck Norris never loses at rock-paper-scissors-roundhouse kick."
Monday, September 8, 2008
Another Great One Gone
R.I.P. Don LaFontaine (August 26, 1940 – September 1, 2008).
You might not know the name, but you know The Voice...
"When you get to heaven, it's not God's voice you hear. It's God trying to sound like Don." -Ashton Smith/voice-over
My uncle ("Guitar Center's weekly Tuesday sale!!!") as well as my late father ("This...is CBS.") are and were, respectively, voice-over talents. I grew up "in a world" where 'the voice' was king, and being surrounded by so much talent and so many stories, I realized early on that no matter how great your product was, without the voice to sell it, you've got nothin'. So I was really sad to hear that Don had died of complications due to a collapsed lung this past week.
(Cool tidbit: At Voicehunter.com, my dad is #4 under Voice-Over Icons, right behind #3, Mr. LaFontaine. If there is indeed a heaven, my dad and Don are no doubt drinking 40 year-old scotch and trying to teach God how to get his voice that deep.)
Also, I'm starting a side project called "DANGER!CRAYON!". Here's the cover of the CD:
A'ight...the Metalocalypse season finale is almost on.
Have a nice Monday.
You might not know the name, but you know The Voice...
"When you get to heaven, it's not God's voice you hear. It's God trying to sound like Don." -Ashton Smith/voice-over
My uncle ("Guitar Center's weekly Tuesday sale!!!") as well as my late father ("This...is CBS.") are and were, respectively, voice-over talents. I grew up "in a world" where 'the voice' was king, and being surrounded by so much talent and so many stories, I realized early on that no matter how great your product was, without the voice to sell it, you've got nothin'. So I was really sad to hear that Don had died of complications due to a collapsed lung this past week.
(Cool tidbit: At Voicehunter.com, my dad is #4 under Voice-Over Icons, right behind #3, Mr. LaFontaine. If there is indeed a heaven, my dad and Don are no doubt drinking 40 year-old scotch and trying to teach God how to get his voice that deep.)
Also, I'm starting a side project called "DANGER!CRAYON!". Here's the cover of the CD:
A'ight...the Metalocalypse season finale is almost on.
Have a nice Monday.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Mah Birfday
It was my birthday this past Sunday. I love my birthday. I've seen that as people get older, they tend to dislike reminders of that fateful day when they popped out of the oven, bloody and screaming. But I still love it. I woke up to a balloon and streamer covered house, although I forgot to taste the crepe paper streamers (why do we do that? We know it tastes like shit, we've known since we were 5 years old, but we do it anyway...such is the human condition I guess). My girl made me blueberry pancakes with Cool Whip and served me bacon from The Most Kick-Ass Bacon Dispenser In The World. We had the "Itis" pretty bad, so a two hour nap was next on the agenda. Some present opening followed, which included this amazing offering from one of the greatest movies ever made:
Yes! The Big Lebowski action figures. I've been wanting these for the past year! She got me "Hoodie" Dude and "Special Mission" Walter. Now I'm on my own special mission to "collect 'em all", as Mattel might say. They're even coming out with Donnie and The Stranger action figures sometime in the near future. I'm abnormally excited about this for my age, which is a good indicator that I'm only as old as I feel...and most of the time I feel about 12, so I'm cool.
Later, we went and had some dinner, and then I was presented with (and this is for the record) the best birthday cake I've ever had in all my years on this planet. It even beats the airbrushed KISS cake I had when I was 15, which has been the benchmark for awesome cakes up until now. It held the record for over 20 years, only to be finally outdone by something that didn't even have icing. Now that's sayin' something.
Anyway, the evening ended as most successful birthdays do, with somebody crying, burned, and bloody in the basement. Oh happy day!
Friday, August 29, 2008
"Teeth"...
...was a pretty decent movie; "vagina dentata" and all that. Here's 5 minutes on it...getcha learn on, yo.
Anyway, I went to the dentist today for the first of my next five, yes five, drillings. Excluding last week for my initial check-up (in which they couldn't even start the cleaning process for fear of waking my screaming nerve endings), I haven't been to a dentist since 1996 when I had an infected molar pulled. Before that? Shit...I couldn't tell you. In addition to the cavity farm I'm currently cultivating, I've got to have an abcessed tooth, which is broken off at the gum line, surgically removed in a couple of weeks. I think the technical term for the condition of my teeth is "fucked up". Luckily, I have absolutely no fear of the dentist; it's basically just a pain in the ass to have to deal with it. I was also encouraged to get rid of my tongue piercing, which has done all sorts of minor damage to my teeth. That was a no-brainer. That little fucker is sitting on the stove in a pot of boiling water as I type, to be relegated to the box of trinkets I keep for occasions such as this. I had my tongue pierced for the second time about 12 years ago (the first was in 1992, I think...got it while I was on a day pass at my first rehab), and have never taken it out, so I do feel some kind of misguided attachment to it. I mean, hell, we've been through a lot together, right? And at one recent point in time, having a barbell through the middle of your tongue was actually somewhat subversive, especially here in Minnesota. But all I have to do is think about every 16 year-old suburban mallcore rat that has one now, and I breathe easier knowing I haven't actually grown up too much and given in to "the man". I guess I don't have to really start worrying until facial tattoos come into vogue.
Anyway, I went to the dentist today for the first of my next five, yes five, drillings. Excluding last week for my initial check-up (in which they couldn't even start the cleaning process for fear of waking my screaming nerve endings), I haven't been to a dentist since 1996 when I had an infected molar pulled. Before that? Shit...I couldn't tell you. In addition to the cavity farm I'm currently cultivating, I've got to have an abcessed tooth, which is broken off at the gum line, surgically removed in a couple of weeks. I think the technical term for the condition of my teeth is "fucked up". Luckily, I have absolutely no fear of the dentist; it's basically just a pain in the ass to have to deal with it. I was also encouraged to get rid of my tongue piercing, which has done all sorts of minor damage to my teeth. That was a no-brainer. That little fucker is sitting on the stove in a pot of boiling water as I type, to be relegated to the box of trinkets I keep for occasions such as this. I had my tongue pierced for the second time about 12 years ago (the first was in 1992, I think...got it while I was on a day pass at my first rehab), and have never taken it out, so I do feel some kind of misguided attachment to it. I mean, hell, we've been through a lot together, right? And at one recent point in time, having a barbell through the middle of your tongue was actually somewhat subversive, especially here in Minnesota. But all I have to do is think about every 16 year-old suburban mallcore rat that has one now, and I breathe easier knowing I haven't actually grown up too much and given in to "the man". I guess I don't have to really start worrying until facial tattoos come into vogue.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Racist Sheep
Things I Ate At The Minnesota State Fair:
-Elephant Ear
-Sno-Cone
-Macaroni and cheese on a stick
-Tater tots on a stick
-Deep fried Twinkie
-1/2 a Pronto Pup
-Bacon on a stick
-Chocolate covered bacon (affectionately termed "Pig Lickers")
-About 15 chocolate chip cookies
-1/2 a quart of 2% milk
-1/2 a steak sandwich
-Deep fried Oreos
-Alligator sausage on a stick
-4 different kinds of rootbeer and 1 fine sarsaparilla (the vendor of the "German" root beer didn't find it amusing when I told him that I was expecting him to just give me one ice cube and then glare at me)
-1 Kaliber non-alcoholic beer
Not bad for 8 hours of work. Especially after the midday cookies put me out of commission for a solid two hours.
In the 12 years I've lived in Minneapolis, this is the first year I've attended the state fair. Thousands of articles from thousands of media outlets have spoken of state fair experiences, so I really don't need to comb through it too extensively. Tickets for the rides and games disappear like socks in a dryer. The freakshow was depressingly bad; "Geek Love" and my imagination ruined it for me. And this really threw me off for a second:
I thought I had walked into a giant clan rally for sheep. The reality isn't nearly as funny. The hoods and robes just keep their wool clean.
Well, I'm off to Winterland Studios to continue work on the Wrecking Day CD that I'm producing. Just in time to hit traffic...
-Elephant Ear
-Sno-Cone
-Macaroni and cheese on a stick
-Tater tots on a stick
-Deep fried Twinkie
-1/2 a Pronto Pup
-Bacon on a stick
-Chocolate covered bacon (affectionately termed "Pig Lickers")
-About 15 chocolate chip cookies
-1/2 a quart of 2% milk
-1/2 a steak sandwich
-Deep fried Oreos
-Alligator sausage on a stick
-4 different kinds of rootbeer and 1 fine sarsaparilla (the vendor of the "German" root beer didn't find it amusing when I told him that I was expecting him to just give me one ice cube and then glare at me)
-1 Kaliber non-alcoholic beer
Not bad for 8 hours of work. Especially after the midday cookies put me out of commission for a solid two hours.
In the 12 years I've lived in Minneapolis, this is the first year I've attended the state fair. Thousands of articles from thousands of media outlets have spoken of state fair experiences, so I really don't need to comb through it too extensively. Tickets for the rides and games disappear like socks in a dryer. The freakshow was depressingly bad; "Geek Love" and my imagination ruined it for me. And this really threw me off for a second:
I thought I had walked into a giant clan rally for sheep. The reality isn't nearly as funny. The hoods and robes just keep their wool clean.
Well, I'm off to Winterland Studios to continue work on the Wrecking Day CD that I'm producing. Just in time to hit traffic...
Sunday, August 24, 2008
The Black Death Hits Shakopee
It showed 57 degrees last night at around 2am where I live. It's August.
Fuck.
A subtle reminder that the 3 weeks of normal weather that this state gets is basically over, and that Jack Frost is just around the next corner, breathing heavily and clutching his engorged prick; impatiently waiting to sodomize us in the cold, dark alley that is Minnesota.
He never even takes us to dinner and a movie first.
But it's pretty nice today. The A/C is off and the windows are open. And not once yesterday, did I mop my forehead and wonder what the fuck I was doing outside in Shakopee all day long. The Renaissance Festival was actually a good time, and I'm glad I was encouraged to go. It wasn't as serious and immersive as I remember it being in 1983. Maybe because it's harder to pretend these days. Technology has come a long way in 25 years, and it's got to be almost impossible to stay in character when your cell phone is buzzing with a text in your pocket and you're wondering if you can get wireless internet to check movie times when your shift is over. Half the people I talked to seemed to be from California, and by throwing enough laidback-isms at them ("dude", "awesome", "fuckin'", etc...), which is very natural for me, they softened and broke character. Talking to our rickshaw drivers about Throbbing Gristle and SPK kinda cemented it. It's too much, in 2008, to be able to suspend disbelief as much compared to a quarter-century ago. Seeing a dude in full leather armor with a 6 foot battle axe strapped to his back futzing with his iPhone kind of throws the whole thing askew.
But the turkey leg was good, the juggling/knife-throwing comedy act was better, and finding bottles of Irn-Bru (pronounced "Iron Brew") in the Scottish Highland Games area was the best. Dressed like Chinese immigrants, the two fellas pulling/pushing our rickshaw maneuvered us through a maze like corridor, and took us into the strangely quiet Scottish area, which was made up of the games field surrounded by plain ol' booths with white tents. A lot of dry, Scottish history stuff, the obligatory kilt booth, what I believed to be a Scottish Ministry of Tourism booth (?), and what I'll call the Happy Foreign Sugar Tent. Besides the wonderful orange colored, bubblegum flavored soda, they had Lilt (in my top 5 of favorite UK sodas), Ribena, Mars Bars (not that weird American almond shit), and some great Cadbury products. Best. Booth. Ever. (And along with my "Simpsons" riff, I should mention that one of the fire-eater's acts was called "Tastes Like Burning". What little Ralphie has to do with the Black Plague, I'm not entirely sure).
The moral is: sometimes you gotta try things a few times just to make sure you don't like them. Or do like them. I'm not sure which way it goes. I guess it depends on how you feel about knights with cell phones.
Fuck.
A subtle reminder that the 3 weeks of normal weather that this state gets is basically over, and that Jack Frost is just around the next corner, breathing heavily and clutching his engorged prick; impatiently waiting to sodomize us in the cold, dark alley that is Minnesota.
He never even takes us to dinner and a movie first.
But it's pretty nice today. The A/C is off and the windows are open. And not once yesterday, did I mop my forehead and wonder what the fuck I was doing outside in Shakopee all day long. The Renaissance Festival was actually a good time, and I'm glad I was encouraged to go. It wasn't as serious and immersive as I remember it being in 1983. Maybe because it's harder to pretend these days. Technology has come a long way in 25 years, and it's got to be almost impossible to stay in character when your cell phone is buzzing with a text in your pocket and you're wondering if you can get wireless internet to check movie times when your shift is over. Half the people I talked to seemed to be from California, and by throwing enough laidback-isms at them ("dude", "awesome", "fuckin'", etc...), which is very natural for me, they softened and broke character. Talking to our rickshaw drivers about Throbbing Gristle and SPK kinda cemented it. It's too much, in 2008, to be able to suspend disbelief as much compared to a quarter-century ago. Seeing a dude in full leather armor with a 6 foot battle axe strapped to his back futzing with his iPhone kind of throws the whole thing askew.
But the turkey leg was good, the juggling/knife-throwing comedy act was better, and finding bottles of Irn-Bru (pronounced "Iron Brew") in the Scottish Highland Games area was the best. Dressed like Chinese immigrants, the two fellas pulling/pushing our rickshaw maneuvered us through a maze like corridor, and took us into the strangely quiet Scottish area, which was made up of the games field surrounded by plain ol' booths with white tents. A lot of dry, Scottish history stuff, the obligatory kilt booth, what I believed to be a Scottish Ministry of Tourism booth (?), and what I'll call the Happy Foreign Sugar Tent. Besides the wonderful orange colored, bubblegum flavored soda, they had Lilt (in my top 5 of favorite UK sodas), Ribena, Mars Bars (not that weird American almond shit), and some great Cadbury products. Best. Booth. Ever. (And along with my "Simpsons" riff, I should mention that one of the fire-eater's acts was called "Tastes Like Burning". What little Ralphie has to do with the Black Plague, I'm not entirely sure).
The moral is: sometimes you gotta try things a few times just to make sure you don't like them. Or do like them. I'm not sure which way it goes. I guess it depends on how you feel about knights with cell phones.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
This Is My Rifle...
...these are my guns. My girl got a new camera recently, somebody asked for a picture of my Taurus, and Boom (pun intended) ! Instant blog.
This is my Taurus PT1911 .45 ACP. It's accurate, very smooth for a .45, and just plain looks fucking cool. A "Saturday night out on the town" gun, if you will.
This is my Glock 23, my daily carry gun. It's a .40 caliber compact. An absolute workhorse; ultra reliable. Austrian engineering at it's finest. Nothing too special here. If you've seen one Glock, you've seen 'em all.
And, I'm going to the Renaissance Festival tomorrow and no, I don't plan on buying any pewter wizard figurines or jester hats. Due to being dragged to one in Calabasas, California against my will when I was 11 or 12 by my mom, and the fact that I've known one too many persons that seem a little too into it (and I mean, weirdly into it...they lived solely to tour and/or attend it every year, and their fanaticism and cliquish Ren-Fair-Sir-Milady speak, especially in a coffee shop at 3am, just made me feel uncomfortable and itchy), I have obvious reservations. But I'm sure I'll have a good time. I can fuck up a turkey leg, that much is certain. And I'm looking forward to some silent judging, and mental note-taking regarding any Solo cups, "No Smoking" signs, or "miladys" taking Camel Light breaks. Do they have Leeching Booths? Now that I'd dig.
If I go to sleep right now, I'll get 6.5 hours.
Goodnight.
This is my Taurus PT1911 .45 ACP. It's accurate, very smooth for a .45, and just plain looks fucking cool. A "Saturday night out on the town" gun, if you will.
This is my Glock 23, my daily carry gun. It's a .40 caliber compact. An absolute workhorse; ultra reliable. Austrian engineering at it's finest. Nothing too special here. If you've seen one Glock, you've seen 'em all.
And, I'm going to the Renaissance Festival tomorrow and no, I don't plan on buying any pewter wizard figurines or jester hats. Due to being dragged to one in Calabasas, California against my will when I was 11 or 12 by my mom, and the fact that I've known one too many persons that seem a little too into it (and I mean, weirdly into it...they lived solely to tour and/or attend it every year, and their fanaticism and cliquish Ren-Fair-Sir-Milady speak, especially in a coffee shop at 3am, just made me feel uncomfortable and itchy), I have obvious reservations. But I'm sure I'll have a good time. I can fuck up a turkey leg, that much is certain. And I'm looking forward to some silent judging, and mental note-taking regarding any Solo cups, "No Smoking" signs, or "miladys" taking Camel Light breaks. Do they have Leeching Booths? Now that I'd dig.
If I go to sleep right now, I'll get 6.5 hours.
Goodnight.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
READ THIS BEFORE YOU COMMENT
Dig it.
Like I said before, I don't want this blog to be, in any way, just an extension of my band's Myspace page or official website. This is a fully functioning separate entity. Here I can talk about anything and not care if you like it, hate it, or think I'm an idiot for mentioning it. There will obviously be band related things hammered on, because, well, my baby is a large part of who I am. But if I choose to do 750 words on killing the millipedes in my basement for 8 posts in a row, I don't want to have to care if you think I'm not keeping you "updated" enough about the rock.
I have almost 30 comments waiting to be OK'd right now, and I'm not sure if I'm going to give them the go ahead. I'm not even sure if I want people to be able to comment. This is a content driven exercise. Whether you can see your comment and feel cool about it does not enter into my vision. That's cool, I guess...but this is not the vehicle for that. That's what those travesties called Myspace and Facebook are for. Almost every comment I've got on hold mentions the name of my band, the name of our albums, my god-given name, or some reference to knowing me. But this...this is not a conversation, or an instant message; a forum or an irritating chatty social network for people to keep tabs on me or my band. This is me blathering on. Exit. Not entrance. Give. Not take.
If you've noticed, I have kept proper names out of this blog, as far as my personal and professional life, and I intend to keep it that way. The words "blah blah blah" are not uttered anywhere on this blog, as neither are my bandmate's names, or even my real name.
Do you follow? Or do I just sound like a dick? If you follow, then any comments from here on out should be having a different tone to them. If I just sound like a dick? Then go here.
Like I said before, I don't want this blog to be, in any way, just an extension of my band's Myspace page or official website. This is a fully functioning separate entity. Here I can talk about anything and not care if you like it, hate it, or think I'm an idiot for mentioning it. There will obviously be band related things hammered on, because, well, my baby is a large part of who I am. But if I choose to do 750 words on killing the millipedes in my basement for 8 posts in a row, I don't want to have to care if you think I'm not keeping you "updated" enough about the rock.
I have almost 30 comments waiting to be OK'd right now, and I'm not sure if I'm going to give them the go ahead. I'm not even sure if I want people to be able to comment. This is a content driven exercise. Whether you can see your comment and feel cool about it does not enter into my vision. That's cool, I guess...but this is not the vehicle for that. That's what those travesties called Myspace and Facebook are for. Almost every comment I've got on hold mentions the name of my band, the name of our albums, my god-given name, or some reference to knowing me. But this...this is not a conversation, or an instant message; a forum or an irritating chatty social network for people to keep tabs on me or my band. This is me blathering on. Exit. Not entrance. Give. Not take.
If you've noticed, I have kept proper names out of this blog, as far as my personal and professional life, and I intend to keep it that way. The words "blah blah blah" are not uttered anywhere on this blog, as neither are my bandmate's names, or even my real name.
Do you follow? Or do I just sound like a dick? If you follow, then any comments from here on out should be having a different tone to them. If I just sound like a dick? Then go here.
Lists and the Good Ol' Days
Albums I've Been Listening To:
-ZZ Top - Tres Amigos ('73) and Mescalero (2003)
-Cheap Trick - Cheap Trick ('77), In Color ('77), Heaven Tonight ('78), and Dream Police ('79)
-The Cars - The Cars ('78) and Candy O ('79)
-Otis Redding - His entire discography
-Voice of the Beehive - Let it Bee ('88)
-N.E.R.D. - Seeing Sounds (2008)
Shit I've Downloaded But Haven't Gotten Around To Yet:
-My Bloody Valentine - Loveless ('91)
-Paul Leary (Butthole Surfers guitarist) - The History of Dogs ('91)
-Radiohead - In Rainbows (2008)
Books I've Recently Read:
-I'm a Lebowski, You're a Lebowski - Green, Peskoe, Russell, and Shuffitt (HIGHLY recommended for the serious Achiever. Stop reading this and go to the bookstore, now.)
-Choke - Chuck Palahniuk
-Whores: An Oral Biography of Perry Farrell and Jane's Addiction - Brendan Mullen
-Slash - Slash & Anthony Bozza
Books I'm In The Middle Of:
-Under the Black Flag - David Cordingly (An as-factual-as-you-can-get account of pirate life...pretty fucking dry reading, though)
-Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs - Chuck Klosterman
-Mein Kampf - The Asshole with the Little Mustache (Now THIS is really fucking dry)
Books On Deck:
Does Anything Eat Wasps? - New Scientist
Killing Yourself to Live - Chuck Klosterman
Waiter Rant - by "The Waiter"
The Book of the Damned - The Collected Works of Charles Fort
The Rum Diary (again) - Hunter S. Thompson
A few things I noticed after typing this: I really like making lists, I read a lot of contemporary fluff and spend too much time on the "terlet", I rarely listen to anything remotely "metal", and the ratio of old albums to new albums is shockingly off balance.
This last one begs the question, and I want you to really think about this: When was the last time you put in a brand new heavy metal record, or, shit, any newer record for that matter, and went, "HOLY JESUS! I have NEVER heard anything quite like this before! This is fucking life changing! This will become an aural time stamp for this period of my life! Where have I been, and why was I not told about this?!?!?"
To which I answer, "You probably haven't for a long, long time...if ever."
And if you haven't? Well, I actually envy you. Nothing sucks more than realizing you haven't arguably felt like that since you heard "The Land of Rape and Honey" in 1988. "Arguably" being a key qualifier. I mean, sure it's happened with lesser impact before. Faith No More's "Angel Dust" in 1992. My introduction to The Jesus Lizard in 1995. Techno Animal's "Brotherhood of the Bomb" in the late 90's . And more recently, Jesu's "Conqueror", Shellac in general (yeah, I know...late to the game), and TV on the Radio's "Staring at the Sun" EP.
But I miss those life changing, musical "HOLY JESUS!" moments. When I bought The Red Hot Chili Pepper's "Uplift Mofo Party Plan" and Jane's Addiction's "Nothing's Shocking" cassettes on the same day in 1988, and sat in my El Camino listening with my fucking jaw on the floorboard. When I heard Public Enemy's "It Takes a Nation of Millions..." for the first time, and hated it, but was craving it a week later. Hearing Skinny Puppy's "Rabies" and Revolting Cock's "You Goddamn Son of a Bitch" way back when...NIN's "Pretty Hate Machine" the week it came out. I suppose that the music I was exposed to between the years 1987-1992 left quite an impression on me, which would make sense, since I've heard that a person generally sticks to the music they listened to between the ages of 18 and 25. And if that is indeed the case, I feel sorry for anybody born after 1990. What kind of fucking legacy have you been left?!? The shambling, jangling crap on the cover of Spin? 50 Cent? Puff Daddy? The 367 modern rock radio bands that all SOUND LIKE THE SAME BAND? Blink 182? Panic at the Disco? The Black Kids? Fucking...Tokio Hotel?!?
Jesus. I'm that guy.
-ZZ Top - Tres Amigos ('73) and Mescalero (2003)
-Cheap Trick - Cheap Trick ('77), In Color ('77), Heaven Tonight ('78), and Dream Police ('79)
-The Cars - The Cars ('78) and Candy O ('79)
-Otis Redding - His entire discography
-Voice of the Beehive - Let it Bee ('88)
-N.E.R.D. - Seeing Sounds (2008)
Shit I've Downloaded But Haven't Gotten Around To Yet:
-My Bloody Valentine - Loveless ('91)
-Paul Leary (Butthole Surfers guitarist) - The History of Dogs ('91)
-Radiohead - In Rainbows (2008)
Books I've Recently Read:
-I'm a Lebowski, You're a Lebowski - Green, Peskoe, Russell, and Shuffitt (HIGHLY recommended for the serious Achiever. Stop reading this and go to the bookstore, now.)
-Choke - Chuck Palahniuk
-Whores: An Oral Biography of Perry Farrell and Jane's Addiction - Brendan Mullen
-Slash - Slash & Anthony Bozza
Books I'm In The Middle Of:
-Under the Black Flag - David Cordingly (An as-factual-as-you-can-get account of pirate life...pretty fucking dry reading, though)
-Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs - Chuck Klosterman
-Mein Kampf - The Asshole with the Little Mustache (Now THIS is really fucking dry)
Books On Deck:
Does Anything Eat Wasps? - New Scientist
Killing Yourself to Live - Chuck Klosterman
Waiter Rant - by "The Waiter"
The Book of the Damned - The Collected Works of Charles Fort
The Rum Diary (again) - Hunter S. Thompson
A few things I noticed after typing this: I really like making lists, I read a lot of contemporary fluff and spend too much time on the "terlet", I rarely listen to anything remotely "metal", and the ratio of old albums to new albums is shockingly off balance.
This last one begs the question, and I want you to really think about this: When was the last time you put in a brand new heavy metal record, or, shit, any newer record for that matter, and went, "HOLY JESUS! I have NEVER heard anything quite like this before! This is fucking life changing! This will become an aural time stamp for this period of my life! Where have I been, and why was I not told about this?!?!?"
To which I answer, "You probably haven't for a long, long time...if ever."
And if you haven't? Well, I actually envy you. Nothing sucks more than realizing you haven't arguably felt like that since you heard "The Land of Rape and Honey" in 1988. "Arguably" being a key qualifier. I mean, sure it's happened with lesser impact before. Faith No More's "Angel Dust" in 1992. My introduction to The Jesus Lizard in 1995. Techno Animal's "Brotherhood of the Bomb" in the late 90's . And more recently, Jesu's "Conqueror", Shellac in general (yeah, I know...late to the game), and TV on the Radio's "Staring at the Sun" EP.
But I miss those life changing, musical "HOLY JESUS!" moments. When I bought The Red Hot Chili Pepper's "Uplift Mofo Party Plan" and Jane's Addiction's "Nothing's Shocking" cassettes on the same day in 1988, and sat in my El Camino listening with my fucking jaw on the floorboard. When I heard Public Enemy's "It Takes a Nation of Millions..." for the first time, and hated it, but was craving it a week later. Hearing Skinny Puppy's "Rabies" and Revolting Cock's "You Goddamn Son of a Bitch" way back when...NIN's "Pretty Hate Machine" the week it came out. I suppose that the music I was exposed to between the years 1987-1992 left quite an impression on me, which would make sense, since I've heard that a person generally sticks to the music they listened to between the ages of 18 and 25. And if that is indeed the case, I feel sorry for anybody born after 1990. What kind of fucking legacy have you been left?!? The shambling, jangling crap on the cover of Spin? 50 Cent? Puff Daddy? The 367 modern rock radio bands that all SOUND LIKE THE SAME BAND? Blink 182? Panic at the Disco? The Black Kids? Fucking...Tokio Hotel?!?
Jesus. I'm that guy.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
The Curious Narcissist
You ever Google your own name? Maybe you have. But did you Google your band's name late last night and spend 90 minutes slogging through some of the worst "journalism" you've ever had the displeasure to subject yourself to? Of course not. You, sir, are not a fucking idiot. Me? Idiots Rule.
I read my own press. I've got the cojones to admit it. I'm not one of those elitist doughboys that will look you in the eye, light a cigarette, bend you over, and blow smoke up your ass about how I "never read about myself". I do, and I do it until my eyes bleed...or until I think about some Alisha Klass video that I need to steal from the ethers...whichever comes first. It's refreshing, actually. An affirmation, reminding me how much better off I am upstairs than the majority of the population that are stealing my precious oxygen, especially anyone that religiously and obsessively comments on rock/metal forums and/or message boards.
Probably every six months I'll pull the aforementioned idiot move, and I swear to whatever god you pray to that it makes me a truly stupider person. Not including the hideous drug abuse of my past, I'm convinced I've lost at least 9 perfectly good IQ points reading about myself and my band over the years. It's a given by now that the internet has indeed given every moron with more than three digits, a phone line, and a very loose grasp of English and it's syntax, a "voice". But, man...fuck...really?
I've only been to Blabbermouth.com maybe a dozen times, tops, in the last 7 or 8 years. Usually during one of my bi-annual, self-congratulatory internet search outings. You type in my band's name, and that bastion of good taste invariably pops up. But, hey, it's usually good for a laugh, and will almost definitely make you feel better about yourself as a human being in general. It's like being in a small room with one drunk guy screaming "Slayer!", one smug "insider", two guys attending "engineering" school, 23 guitar players, and a smattering of homophobes, half-wits, and lonley, angry, stoned 15 year-olds.
Basically, the youth of America. But they all love the metal. And you're a fag.
Anyway, apparently my band does not garner favor over there in IntelligentsiaHills. I think it may be that our logo isn't pointy enough. That, or we're either too hard or too easy to define. Too hard because there's a lot of stuff in there. I'm biased, but it's factually not a case of "if-you've-heard-the-first-2-tracks-you've-heard-the-whole-shtick". Too easy, because if you're not Slayer, well, you obviously "suck balls".
Tangent: I had a new section of our ridiculously expensive red leather Natuzzi couch delivered this afternoon. When you spend more that $3 grand on a couch, that fucker better be right. So they finally replaced the fucked up section they delived last month. One of the delivery guys took great interest in the Glock 23 I had on the coffee table. The guy in the kitchen estimating the patio door issue just looked kind of...edgy.
Segueway to...I am now, by the state of Minnesota and 13 other states, legally allowed to carry a concealed handgun.
And boy, do I. Everyday. Miami-style, I'm told.
Trusted citizen and all that. Who would of thought? The proud owner of a .40 caliber Glock (23), and a Taurus 1911 .45 ACP...all stainless steel and gold with pearl grips...a sexy fucking gun. I sent my brother a picture of it the day I bought it. His reply?
"G-g-g-g-g-g-gansta."
Alright, I'm done. Bored and losing focus.
I read my own press. I've got the cojones to admit it. I'm not one of those elitist doughboys that will look you in the eye, light a cigarette, bend you over, and blow smoke up your ass about how I "never read about myself". I do, and I do it until my eyes bleed...or until I think about some Alisha Klass video that I need to steal from the ethers...whichever comes first. It's refreshing, actually. An affirmation, reminding me how much better off I am upstairs than the majority of the population that are stealing my precious oxygen, especially anyone that religiously and obsessively comments on rock/metal forums and/or message boards.
Probably every six months I'll pull the aforementioned idiot move, and I swear to whatever god you pray to that it makes me a truly stupider person. Not including the hideous drug abuse of my past, I'm convinced I've lost at least 9 perfectly good IQ points reading about myself and my band over the years. It's a given by now that the internet has indeed given every moron with more than three digits, a phone line, and a very loose grasp of English and it's syntax, a "voice". But, man...fuck...really?
I've only been to Blabbermouth.com maybe a dozen times, tops, in the last 7 or 8 years. Usually during one of my bi-annual, self-congratulatory internet search outings. You type in my band's name, and that bastion of good taste invariably pops up. But, hey, it's usually good for a laugh, and will almost definitely make you feel better about yourself as a human being in general. It's like being in a small room with one drunk guy screaming "Slayer!", one smug "insider", two guys attending "engineering" school, 23 guitar players, and a smattering of homophobes, half-wits, and lonley, angry, stoned 15 year-olds.
Basically, the youth of America. But they all love the metal. And you're a fag.
Anyway, apparently my band does not garner favor over there in IntelligentsiaHills. I think it may be that our logo isn't pointy enough. That, or we're either too hard or too easy to define. Too hard because there's a lot of stuff in there. I'm biased, but it's factually not a case of "if-you've-heard-the-first-2-tracks-you've-heard-the-whole-shtick". Too easy, because if you're not Slayer, well, you obviously "suck balls".
Tangent: I had a new section of our ridiculously expensive red leather Natuzzi couch delivered this afternoon. When you spend more that $3 grand on a couch, that fucker better be right. So they finally replaced the fucked up section they delived last month. One of the delivery guys took great interest in the Glock 23 I had on the coffee table. The guy in the kitchen estimating the patio door issue just looked kind of...edgy.
Segueway to...I am now, by the state of Minnesota and 13 other states, legally allowed to carry a concealed handgun.
And boy, do I. Everyday. Miami-style, I'm told.
Trusted citizen and all that. Who would of thought? The proud owner of a .40 caliber Glock (23), and a Taurus 1911 .45 ACP...all stainless steel and gold with pearl grips...a sexy fucking gun. I sent my brother a picture of it the day I bought it. His reply?
"G-g-g-g-g-g-gansta."
Alright, I'm done. Bored and losing focus.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
No Title
You know, I went through a period, from about November 2007 to April 2008, where I worked furiously on demos. With the help of my keyboardist, I learned from the ground up how to record on a computer. I mean, I knew the process...the theory....but had no hands on practice at doing it all by myself. So I bought some gear, stole some programs, and got to work. Five days a week, all day long. Next thing I know I've got 16 demos for our next record. Complete demos. In my eyes (and ears) some really unbelievable shit. Compared to our earlier demos for our last 2 records, these to me are light years ahead. Of course, there's no vocals on anything....
I should mention that during this time, my singer was a fucking chemical wreck. I had (and have) been sober since the winter of 2007, but he just hadn't figured it out yet. Finally, a little over 4 months ago, he decided he had had enough, went to treatment in California, and has been there since. Sober. Safe. Thank god.
I bring it up, because I have not recorded almost anything new in probably 3 months. A bit here and there, but not the creative downpour I had last fall. Maybe it's writer's block. Maybe it's that it's taking awhile to get settled...I just moved into a house with the love of my life and finally have a "real", dedicated studio to work in. Maybe it because I'm happy (?!?!)...I've heard it said that the worst thing for an artist is happiness...although I think that's just a bunch of bullshit and I'll continue to strive and prove that wrong...
But I think it's moreso that I have this nagging "Maybe-it's-all-for-naught" thought. Like, why keep huffing along when he might not be "feelin' it"?; as he was wont to utter while in the throes of heroin...then again you can barely feel getting hit in the face with a baseball bat when you're nodding out, so I should really take that sentiment with a grain of salt. Or, what if he falls back to the "darkside" again (yeah, I know...it's a douchebag word, especially when used in this particularly VH1-ish context...just deal with it) ? I know that I DO NOT have it in me to wait for that motherfucker again if he decides he needs to go do more research for another year...as much as I love him, I've got music to make and shit to do. I stopped waiting for myself, and I've stopped waiting for other people. Of the last 12 months, 8 of them were spent having no idea where my singer was, or if he was even alive. No one will ever truly know (well, almost no one) how extremely close I was to closing down the shop. Real. Real. Fucking. Close.
So as every day passes, and we get further away from what the public perceives as "us", I'm excited and scared at the same time. When you take away the needles, and the trauma, and the craziness, and all the hype bullshit, what's left?
Oh yeah...kick ass tunes.
No more tanks. No more death squads. No more needles. No more 333's. No more clowns. No more pills. No more skulls. The past? Got it...Check...I'm moving forward, yes? Here's to joining me.
To the land of 0's and 1's I go...and in deference to this post, I gotta a great new song taking shape.
I should mention that during this time, my singer was a fucking chemical wreck. I had (and have) been sober since the winter of 2007, but he just hadn't figured it out yet. Finally, a little over 4 months ago, he decided he had had enough, went to treatment in California, and has been there since. Sober. Safe. Thank god.
I bring it up, because I have not recorded almost anything new in probably 3 months. A bit here and there, but not the creative downpour I had last fall. Maybe it's writer's block. Maybe it's that it's taking awhile to get settled...I just moved into a house with the love of my life and finally have a "real", dedicated studio to work in. Maybe it because I'm happy (?!?!)...I've heard it said that the worst thing for an artist is happiness...although I think that's just a bunch of bullshit and I'll continue to strive and prove that wrong...
But I think it's moreso that I have this nagging "Maybe-it's-all-for-naught" thought. Like, why keep huffing along when he might not be "feelin' it"?; as he was wont to utter while in the throes of heroin...then again you can barely feel getting hit in the face with a baseball bat when you're nodding out, so I should really take that sentiment with a grain of salt. Or, what if he falls back to the "darkside" again (yeah, I know...it's a douchebag word, especially when used in this particularly VH1-ish context...just deal with it) ? I know that I DO NOT have it in me to wait for that motherfucker again if he decides he needs to go do more research for another year...as much as I love him, I've got music to make and shit to do. I stopped waiting for myself, and I've stopped waiting for other people. Of the last 12 months, 8 of them were spent having no idea where my singer was, or if he was even alive. No one will ever truly know (well, almost no one) how extremely close I was to closing down the shop. Real. Real. Fucking. Close.
So as every day passes, and we get further away from what the public perceives as "us", I'm excited and scared at the same time. When you take away the needles, and the trauma, and the craziness, and all the hype bullshit, what's left?
Oh yeah...kick ass tunes.
No more tanks. No more death squads. No more needles. No more 333's. No more clowns. No more pills. No more skulls. The past? Got it...Check...I'm moving forward, yes? Here's to joining me.
To the land of 0's and 1's I go...and in deference to this post, I gotta a great new song taking shape.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Maiden Voyage
I didn't think too long about starting this blog. The "why's" and what have you. I actually stumbled upon Eric Avery's (ex-Jane's Addiction) blog on here, and figured if it's good enough for a semi-recluse genius like him, I could struggle to swim with greatness...trying to keep my head above the oxygen line.
I wanted somewhere where I wasn't tied to band "updates": when are we playing Minneapolis? (not soon), when are we going to be back in the U.K.? (no idea), how's the new record coming? (slowly and steadily), do we wanna smoke out with you when we get to (insert US city here)? (no, we do not)....you rock blah blah blah...it's flattering, but it all starts to run together after awhile.
However, I wanted to be able to bitch about industry related bullshit while also detailing what has become a very happy and contented personal lifestyle. Since I don't think anyone on my band's Myspace page gives a shit that I spent this early afternoon hanging hooks in my closet for my wonderful girlfriend's massive and ever-growing purse collection...well, hopefully you understand.
So, yeah...there's that.
I wanted somewhere where I wasn't tied to band "updates": when are we playing Minneapolis? (not soon), when are we going to be back in the U.K.? (no idea), how's the new record coming? (slowly and steadily), do we wanna smoke out with you when we get to (insert US city here)? (no, we do not)....you rock blah blah blah...it's flattering, but it all starts to run together after awhile.
However, I wanted to be able to bitch about industry related bullshit while also detailing what has become a very happy and contented personal lifestyle. Since I don't think anyone on my band's Myspace page gives a shit that I spent this early afternoon hanging hooks in my closet for my wonderful girlfriend's massive and ever-growing purse collection...well, hopefully you understand.
So, yeah...there's that.
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