Cultural Senescence

Well, I guess I'm back

2009-10-30T10:59:00.002-05:00

Since it seems more people are stopping by this blog recently than were a year ago when I basically gave up on it, I suppose I’ll give it another whirl. I just put my old band back together so, what the fuck, here’s to new beginnings.

I doubt I’ll be quite so prolific as in the previous incarnation, but I’m going to try and maintain a steady output, comment on pop culture bullshit, note passings, and review the occasional popular release and every release sent my way by record labels and professional working bands.

A couple of items of note to kick things off:

McDonalds Rap – 18 year old Spenser Dauwalder and three of his 17 year old friends (names withheld) were cited by Salt Lake City police with disorderly conduct for rapping, rather than speaking, their order at a McDonalds drive through window. The window clerk claims she felt “threatened” (makes you wonder at the color of her skin, the four teens in question being black) and store manager Conny Kramer claimed the teens were “holding up the line”. The teens claim there was no line to be held up and ultimately left empty handed after being asked a few times to do so.

Teens pull pranks. They can be harmless, amusing, irritating, irresponsible, dangerous, and/or criminal in nature. I think Spenser Dauwalder and his friends could have been up to some much more serious shit than fucking with a McDonalds drive through clerk. I feel comfortable making this judgment stemming from the fact that the teenage pranks I indulged in tended toward the last three on the list above.

It seems to me that the response of the SLCPD and the McDonalds manager in question was disproportionately draconian. I’m no fan of rap, but gimme a fucking break. As irritating as this episode certainly was to the drive through clerk there is no implied or inherent threat in the rap music genre. What an easy collar for the cops – why go after teens carrying firearms and selling drugs when you can bust four teenagers who were just out cruising for a good time and didn’t really commit a crime at all. I wonder what would have happened if the four culprits had sung their order in a genre the clerk appreciated.

Also

Drummer Chuck Biscuits, alum of such classic American punk bands as Black Flag, The Misfits, Samhain, and Social Distortion was reported as having died of throat cancer on October 24th yesterday. This news quickly went viral and was all over the internet within hours. Chuck Biscuits is very much alive and well and continuing to live and work in Southern California. Who starts this shit? Why? If it was some self important prick like Scott Weiland then it would be understandable and even funny. But Chuck Biscuits? Who did he piss off?

Finally

73 year old actor/director Dennis Hopper, the man who went from making brilliant left-wing counter cultural films in the late 60’s to inexplicably switching sides to neoconservative Republicanism (while remaining a brilliant actor the whole time – gotta give him that) has placed his career on hold after being diagnosed with prostate cancer. His prognosis in uncertain. Political differences aside, all my hopes and concerns go out to Hopper, still one of my favorite actors.

Nothing you couldn’t pick up from a quick scan of internet news, I know, but I’m just getting back into the swing of things. Maybe I’ll review Lou Barlow’s new release next. After seeing him live the other night I have a feeling it’ll be a good one.

Mitch Mitchell RIP

2008-11-13T09:07:00.002-06:00

Eric Clapton, John Lennon and, most famously, Jimi Hendrix Experience (among an impressive array of others) drummer Mitch Mitchell was found dead in his hotel room yesterday. He was 61.

The Cure - "4:13 Dream" (Geffen Records 2008)

2008-11-04T13:23:00.004-06:00

It’s been four years since The Cure released the remarkably lackluster eponymously titled The Cure, continuing with Robert Smith’s stated intent beginning with 1989’s brilliant Disintegration to release a new Cure record every four years. Well, in spite of truckload of accolades, awards, and recognitions it’s been a rough couple of decades musically for the band. Wish, the 1992 follow-up to Disintegration, was spotty at best. It certainly had its fair share of moments but an equal weight in phoned in, weak material. 1996’s Wild Mood Swings continued this directionless direction and was an aptly titled record that didn’t know what it wanted to be. Bloodflowers, released in 2000, returned to the more familiar, melancholic ground The Cure operates most comfortably on. Smith hired nu-metal producer Ross Robinson and gave us 2004’s The Cure, referred to by Smith as “Cure heavy”. Whether an attempt to update their sound or simply an uninspired exercise in order to maintain the four year interval, or both, the record was a fucking disaster. I can think of two listenable songs on the whole thing, and that’s being generous. With longtime keyboardist and collaborator Roger O’Donnell’s departure in May 2005 and Smith’s stated intention not to replace him my hopes dimmed for the future of a band I once considered one of the best in the world.

They say high expectations can lead to disappointment, and that the inverse is true. I had pretty low expectations for 4:13 Dream, but after listening to the thing ten or more times I’ve gotta say that this is strongest Cure record since Disintegration. Not that it bears much sonic or mood resemblance to that record, but in its tight focus. Finally, after all this time, a record with a solid vision behind it. That vision is guitar drenched pop, and it turns out they’re pretty good at it.

With the stripped down lineup of Smith, Simon Gallup, Porl Thompson, and Jason Cooper, whatever keyboard is in there (Smith is credited with “keys”) is strictly backdrop. Anyone familiar with the band’s body of work knows that by 1985’s Head on the Door Smith had forsaken minimalism for lush production, and this record is no exception. Working with producer Keith Uddin (Bjork, Nick Cave, Oasis, and about a thousand others) the two produce a sonic landscape of layered guitars and subtle rhythms that just sounds fucking great.

Opening with “Underneath the Stars”, a song bearing the most familiar Cure hallmarks of the record, 4:13 Dream abruptly veers into the overtly sexual “The Only One” – both terrific pop songs but stylistically very different. The record proceeds to move around through mid to up tempo hooky numbers, almost all catchy as hell and displaying a satisfying range of the lyrical subject matter that Smith is so good at. From the bouncy, tongue in cheek “Freak Show” to the more melancholic longing of The Hungry Ghost”, it’s all in there.

While this all may give the impression of disjointedness, it’s the confidence of this record that ties everything together and really makes it work. It seems Smith has found his way to remain contemporary without resorting to ill-considered plays like “Cure heavy”. The Cure reportedly recorded 33 songs for this record, initially intended as a double record, but decided instead to pick and choose, and they really hit the mark as far as how well these songs fit together as a whole (there are band propagated rumors of a second release of “darker material” before Robert Smith’s birthday (April 21st) – something I think would be only fair considering this album’s release was delayed by seven months).

Complaints? Of course. All five of you who actually read this blog know my opinion of Jason Cooper’s drumming. There’s no way it was going to be easy to replace Boris Williams but it’s difficult to credit that Cooper was the best they could do. While a serviceable timekeeper, his uninspired electronic drum fills and general lack of creativity serve only to diminish the superb bass skills of Simon Gallup. The one song on which there is some semblance of the bass/drums interplay that was such a hallmark of The Cure prior to Cooper is “Sleep When I’m Dead”, a song apparently composed by Smith and Gallup during The Head on the Door sessions.

Also, while the intentions of a song like “Freak Show” are good, it’s a little bit much. Its jerky arrangement and almost spoken lyric make it stand out, and not in a good way. That being said, I have no doubt that it’s the big hit in all the dance clubs as I type this.

So, is 4:13 Dream a brilliant record? No. Does it give an indication that Smith has another masterpiece along the lines of Pornography or Disintegration in him? Not necessarily. But what it does show is that Robert Smith still has it in him to produce great pop records that adapt with the times without compromising that distinctly Cure essence. For me, anyway, that’s enough.

3.5 out of 4 dreams

John Daly RIP

2008-11-03T08:00:00.002-06:00

Chairman of Film and Music Entertainment Inc. John Daly died Fridy at the age of 71. He produced flicks like Platoon and The Last Emporer. There's a lot more interesting shit about his early career if you want to look it up, but I'm too sick of writing about the recently deceased to research it and cast it into my own poetic prose.

Studs Terkel RIP

2008-11-01T14:08:00.003-05:00

What can I say that you don't already know about the man if you gave a shit about him. I'm really going to have to stop noting these passings. Rest in peace, Studs. 93 is a pretty good run.

Tony Hillerman RIP

2008-10-28T13:37:00.003-05:00

I'm going to have to stop writing eulogies. This is getting ridiculous. Here we go:

Tony Hillerman was an American writer. He wrote mysteries set in the American Southwest that involved Native Americans and their spiritual beliefs. Lots of people liked his stuff and he sold millions of books. I never read anything he wrote even though a couple of people have told me I should. He died Sunday at the age of 83 of pulmonary failure.

I hate to sell him short but, while immensely popular, Cormac McCarthy he wasn't. Or so I'm told. Plus, I'm sick of this blog being a litany of dead cultural personalities and their life stories. Sorry, Tony. Maybe I'll get around to you some day.

Levi Stubbs RIP

2008-10-17T18:01:00.004-05:00

R&B wonder and frontman for The Four Tops Levi Stubbs died today at age 72 from several complications arising from cancer he was diagnosed with in 1995. The Four Tops and The Temptations pretty much defined the male side of the Motown sound in the 1960's, and Stubb's has the distinction of being the first defined "lead vocalist" in an R&B group. They couldn't have picked a better one.

Edie Adams RIP

2008-10-17T08:20:00.005-05:00

Groucho Marx once said of Edie Adams, “There are some things Edie won’t do, but nothing she can’t do.”

For an actress, singer and comedienne who could count playing the foil to comedian Ernie Kovacs on his TV show, spending twenty years as the spokeswoman for Muriel Cigars, starring most memorably in film in Billy Wilder’s Oscar Award winning picture The Apartment, winning a Tony Award for her portrayal of Daisy Mae in Broadway’s adaptation of Lil’ Abner, and numerous nominations for and winning of other awards among her achievements I’d say Groucho hit the nail on the head.

Edie Adams died of lung cancer and pneumonia yesterday at the age of 81. Nice job, Edie. I really don’t think they make ‘em like you anymore.

"Zack and Miri Make a Porno" and the Latest Loss of Childhood Innocence

2008-10-16T10:50:00.006-05:00

I suppose it started with the Comics Code Authority in 1954. For those of you who don’t know, this was an industry self imposed set of restrictions on comic book content established to avoid government regulation by The Senate Subcommittee on Juvenile Delinquency, which was set up specifically to focus on comic books (this during The Cold War – you’d think The Senate would have had bigger fish to fry. Like Joe McCarthy). Yes, to protect America’s tender, impressionable youths from lurid, immorally seductive images and ideas conveyed by fanciful cartoons drawn and pressed on paper. If you want the details look it up – it’s every bit as absurd as you might imagine.

Then came the countless studies that continue to this day on the terrifying impact that television is having on youthful minds. Television romanticizes violence, sexuality and drug use. Television reduces intelligence. Television causes autism. The Red Chinese use television to brainwash political prisoners. Tinky Winky is gay. It’s inevitable that television will at some point produce a generation of homicidal, crack smoking, homosexual, idiot-savants that will destroy the country, if it hasn’t already happened.

Need I mention rock ‘n’ roll music, which was leading our impressionable youth into Satan worship, drug abuse, and suicide in the 1980's? That one landed in The Senate as well, thanks to our latter day hero of the centrist-left Al Gore. If he’d spent that energy on environmental politics maybe people would have started listening sooner. Anyway, as Gene Simmons pointed out, had subliminal messaging in rock ‘n’ roll music worked his would have been, “Buy more KISS records!” I venture to say he’s not alone in that sentiment.

Now video games are the bugaboo. Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold wouldn’t have shot all those people at Columbine High School if it weren’t for the nefarious influence of violent video games in their lives. Nor would the handful of school shooters since. Pre-existing mental instability, unchecked bullying, and poor parenting didn’t enter into it at all. It was that one last round of Doom that pushed them over the edge. This is proven by the fact that the millions of teenagers out there playing violent video games are even now oiling their carbines.

This brings us around, of course, to movies. In 1930 The Motion Pictures Producers and Distributors Association (now The Motion Picture Association of America) adopted The Production Code to avoid any “lurid” content from making it into films (again – look it up). This was a little different in that it was intended to protect EVERYONE from the profane and vulgar imaginations of the riff-raff involved in the motion picture industry. In 1968 The Production Code was abandoned for the (now) MPAA’s film rating system, designed to keep “morally questionable” content out of films. This had more of a focus on children, arbitrarily deciding at which age a child was capable of safely absorbing which kind of content. The holds, of course, slipped here with the advent of cable television, video cassette rentals, and the DVD revolution. Still, no rabid hordes of bloodthirsty nymphomaniac teenagers running wild in the streets. At least, as in the cases mentioned above, no more than usual.

Which brings me to my point. Kevin Smith’s new movie Zack and Miri Make a Porno has raised something of a furor. Several TV stations, newspapers and cable networks are refusing to screen the ad. The City of Philadelphia has ordered all poster ads pulled from its bus stops, and The City of Boston is considering doing the same. Fox Sports has agreed, at the team’s request, to not show the ad during Dodger’s games as the ads damage the Dodgers’ “family friendly” image. Kevin Smith had to beg the MPAA to drop the film’s rating from “NC-17”, a box office killer, to “R”. Why all the hubub, bub? The last word of the film’s title. Yes – “porno”. This five letter word is now the overwhelming threat to the morals of a new generation. It doesn’t matter that the movie isn’t a porno, or even a sex comedy for that matter. It has the word “porno” in the title.

And I thought the 1954 Senate being scared of comic books was absurd.

Tin Pan Alley, Nick Reynolds RIP

2008-10-11T18:53:00.012-05:00

Nick Reynolds, one third of the legendary folk trio The Kingston Trio, died Wed., Oct 1st 2008 of acute respiratory illness at the age of 75. A little slow on the uptake for me here, I know, but it’s been a hell of a week. I’m sitting here with a bellyfull of painkillers right now and they’re hardly doing me a lick of good in any respect. Anyway, back to Nick.

It’s hard to appreciate the impact The Kingston Trio had on pop music in the early 1960’s. Brian Wilson appropriated their idea of dressing nattily in identical striped suits and utilizing soaring harmonies to make an impression. Peter, Paul and Mary pretty much wanted to be them, and The Mamas and the Papas lifted arrangements directly from their songs (something that an inner circle member of pop-culture royalty like John Phillips denied to his dying day). The Trio took great inspiration from early mainstream folkies like The Weavers and Woodie Guthrie, of course, but also, and somewhat more unlikely, from the Calypso sounds of Harry Belafonte (hence their name). Most importantly, The Kingston Trio helped usher the second wave of American folk music into popular culture, something that would result in the development of artists such as Joan Baez and Arlo Guthrie and, most staggeringly, Dave Van Ronk and an angry little Jewish kid from Duluth who went by name Bob Dylan.

It’s sad to see you go, Nick, but you certainly more than did you part.

On another sad note, the owners of a five building stretch on West 28th St. in Manhattan’s Chelsea District lovingly referred to as Tin Pan Alley have placed the buildings up for sale, the real estate listing recommending the buildings be razed to make way for a new skyscraper. From the 1890’s to the late 1950’s, when The Brill Building and it’s corresponding rise of rock ‘n’ roll (or what passed for it coming out of Brill) changed the face of things, Tin Pan Alley was one of the two cultural heartbeats of NYC, the other being Greenwhich Village. In its heyday The Alley gave us luminaries like Irving Berlin and George Gershwin, and in its latter days the respectful and nostalgic revisionism of a genius like Tom Waits.

The New York Historic Districts Council along with the local tenants are, of course, up in arms about this and ready to fight city hall in order that this cultural historic hub of American music and musical theatre be saved from demolition. Many of you probably remember how well that went over with the massive push to save punk rock Mecca CBGB. Let’s just say that I’m of the opinion that we’re about to see yet another irreplaceable landmark of American cultural development succumb to soulless big money interests. No big surprise there. With the slow, agonizing death of American culture itself, who amongst the fascist pricks want to be viscerally reminded day to day of the physical expression of the phenomenon that they've so blithely destroyed. If they even have the hearts, minds or souls to give a shit. If you get the chance, stop by while you can.

Finally and unusually I’ll go ahead and end on a positive note. I received a package today from Jeff Smith over at Saustex Media containing the advances of their two upcoming releases – The Service Industry’s Keep the Babies Warm and The Summer Wardrobes’ Cajun Prairie Fire. I love both bands, and can’t wait to give a good sit down with them and write up my thoughts on them for you folks. They say high expectations lead to disappointment, but neither of these particular bands have let me down yet.A little farther down the road we’ve got The Cure’s incessantly pushed back (over six months now – the tour has even already come and gone) 4:13 Dream and The Supersuckers Get it Together, both of which I’m excited as shit about sinking my teeth into, so the next couple of months will hopefully be short on RIPs and long on some completely unbiased record reviews. Be back atcha when I get all that writing done.

Neal Hefti RIP

2008-10-15T08:35:00.004-05:00

Let’s face it. It doesn’t matter that Neal Hefti scored The Odd Couple and Barefoot in the Park. It doesn’t even matter that this unbelievably talented trumpet player sat in with orchestras conducted by such luminaries as Count Basie and Harry James among others. Impressive achievements all, but, in the end, they just don’t matter.

Finally, it doesn’t matter that Hefti scored what is generally agreed to be possibly the most puerile, asinine television series of the 1960’s (Adam West disagrees, and I’ll probably get my ass chewed by modpro for saying it, but that doesn’t change the ugly truth). What matters, in the final analysis, is that theme song. A song that burrowed its way into the consciousnesses of at least two generations of kids. One of the coolest theme songs of all times – right up there with The Munsters.

Hefti always said that the Batman and Robin theme song was the most difficult piece he ever wrote, and it shows. It made that piece of crap show worth watching. Well, at least the first minute of it. And usually the whole grim half hour, as aspects of the song would show up periodically throughout the episode, especially during the fight scenes. He won a grammy for that song, and a more deserved one has never been handed out.

Neal Hefti died today at the age of 85. A pretty good run and a pretty distinguished career. But man, that song…

Paul Newman RIP

2008-09-29T09:21:00.002-05:00

Well, what can I say about this that hasn't already been said? Paul Newman was one of those actors that became iconic in his lifetime and, to me at least, it never occurred to me he would die. There are few actors in the entire history of film with a body of work as impressive, but if he never made a film before or after Cool Hand Luke it would be enough to place him among the greats. Safe travels, Paul. As long as there are people on this planet you won't be forgotten.

Richard Wright RIP

2008-09-18T10:57:00.004-05:00

Jeez, you try and take a break around here and cultural personalities start dropping like flies.

Richard Wright, keyboardist and founding member of Pink Floyd, died of an undisclosed form of cancer Sept. 15th.

While Pink Floyd is largely identified with Dark Side of the Moon and the bloated, self-indulgent concept albums to follow the fact of the matter is The Pink Floyd began their existence as a psychedelic outfit that, by 1967, were the biggest band operating on the famed London Underground scene. Along with guitarist/vocalist Syd Barrett (RIP 2006), considered one of the most innovative British guitarists of the time, Wright contributed to the creation of a sound, despite widespread attempts at imitation, literally and utterly unlike any other. Take a listen to Piper at the Gates of Dawn or any early Floyd singles and tell me there’s anything out there that stand up to their twisted pop genius. Barrett may have been the driving creative force, but the sounds created on those early recordings and, by all reports, their shows during this period would not have been possible without Richard Wright. It’s impossible to say what would have happened had Barrett’s musical career not succumbed to mental illness and drug abuse, but I can say with certainty it wouldn’t have been the narcissistic sledgehammer that was The Wall.

Anyway, pretty much any fan of contemporary rock ‘n’ roll, especially fans of bands like The Flaming Lips and Mercury Rev, owe an enormous debt of gratitude to Richard Wright. Not to mention the bands themselves. The stuff he did before David Gilmoure replaced Syd Barrett in Pink Floyd is more than enough to make up for all the rest.

David Foster Wallace RIP

2008-09-16T15:15:00.004-05:00

This almost slipped by me in my self-imposed isolation.

David Foster Wallace, author of The Broom of the System and, most famously, Infinite Jest committed suicide on Sept. 12th at the age of 46. I'd be lying if I said I'd read Infinite Jest. I tried but gave up on the grounds that I couldn't make heads or tails of the damn thing. Still, Wallace is the first writer from my generation who achieved "literary" status to die. While his work held no resonance for me at the time I tried to read it, I'm not going to slam a guy who earned comparisons to Juan Luis Borges and Thomas Pynchon. That's a lot more than I've, and I expect you've, done.

I guess I'll give Wallace another try. Now that I'm older, wiser, and, most importantly I suspect, sober, Infinite Jest will make a whole lot more sense to me.

Sabbatical

2008-09-08T22:16:00.005-05:00

To my 5 or 6 loyal readers and those of you stopping by, I'm taking a brief break from this enjoyable if somewhat rigorous (for a lazy slob like myself) pop culture blog. While still high Summer here (which I have every expectation will last at least until Halloween) the Autumn doldrums have already knocked me on my ass, and the attendent brutal insomnia that attends it has brought me down with one of the nastiest late summer colds I've ever had (I say that every year). If the past is any indication it will last until March.

North vs. South was a success from my point of view. I got to see old friends from the road that I literally get to see once a year, saw some terrific bands I've known forever and shared stages with in the past and got to check out some really hot shit up and comers. If you're able to find anything by Monkeytown, get it. The name doesn't match the music (I exhorted them drunkenly to change their name after their set) and their music blew me off my barstool more than once. It could have been the booze, but I don't think so. They're one mighty motherfucker of a band from good old AusTex.

I didn't get a chance to talk to any of the three promoters afterward, so I'm not sure how they felt coming out of it, but I do know that next year is on. God bless Mike McCoy, Hunter Darby and Baby Grant Johnson for keeping the fire burning.

I'll be back atcha soon enough. The new psych meds will kick in, the weather will get nice, Jeff Smith over at Saustex Media will send me his latest release to review, someone will die, or I'll pick up something that's gotta be written up. The Cure's new one is currently set to drop Oct. 14th so you know I'll certainly be back in the saddle by then. In fact, I need to start flashing my fetching virtual smile at some people to get an advance of that bad boy.

Take care, y'all, and I'll be back to the rants before you know it.
Oh, and if you want your band reviewed, please send a copy of the CD and a ONE SHEET to 5508 Coventry Ln., Austin, TX 78723. If you don't know what a ONE SHEET is, please find out. I have neither the time nor inclination to sift through a 50 page press kit, nor do I have any patience for e-kits. I don't care if I'm living in the past. I also still type with two fingers. Take some comfort in the fact that I don't like slagging unknown bands (I save that for for those already on major indie or major labels) and if I don't like your stuff, I won' trash you here. I'll send you an honest email detailing why it didn't appeal to me and even return the promo at my own expense if you like. Believe it or not, I know quite a bit about this shit and my opinions are well informed. If that gives you any solace.

Take care of yourselves, say whatever passes as a prayer to you that I don't end up under "24 hour psychological obseration" over at the Seton Psych Ward, and keep an eye out. Like herpes, I'm gonna show up again.

Thanks,MC

North vs. South Music Festival

2008-08-20T09:37:00.008-05:00

This weekend marks the 5th anniversary of The North vs. South Music Festival, held in Lawrence, KS for the last four years but moved to Kansas City for this go round.

Conceived by Mike McCoy, Hunter Darby, and Grant Johnson, three of the more prolific musicians operating along the IH-35 corridor (amongst other parts of the country), the idea originally was to take the best indie bands from the two notorious music cities at opposite ends of IH-35 (that's Austin and Minneapolis if you can't figure it out) and have them meet in the middle roughly on the anniversary of Quantrill’s Raid on Lawrence, KS during The Civil War (look it up – I ain’t your history teacher). Not a competitive event at all, the philosophy was to bring together two very different and yet oddly similar musical scenes for the purposes of fun, networking, seeing a lot of great music one might not be exposed to, and getting shit faced drunk. It has been a smashing success the last four years, and there’s no reason to expect the fifth won’t be as well.

In the last five years the festival has expanded to include acts from all over the country and, this year, even an international act (Australia). If this isn’t a sign of expanding success I’d be hard pressed to say what is.

The point here is that this is a grown from the ground up, DIY music festival showcasing unsigned and indie acts. This kind of shit doesn’t happen anymore, and it’s a Goddamn shame it doesn’t. I’ve been accused of harping incessantly on the “good old days” of the music scene of the 1980’s and it’s probably true – that was the milieu in which I came up. At the same time, there was an entirely different culture and approach to underground music at that time that seems to have all but disappeared. A music festival like North vs. South, while still cool, wouldn’t have been such an anomaly back then, as such things were cropping up in towns and cities all over the nation. In Austin alone you had the Woodshock festivals, not to mention the staggering juggernaut that is South by Southwest which had equally such inauspicious beginnings. Houston hosted The Westheimer Arts Festival, which gave more than equal time to indie bands.

What’s missing here in the 00’s? A spirit of cooperation? An idea that we’re all in this together and, while there are only so many of us that will ever make a dime off playing music, we should be supporting one another and applauding those that break out rather than treating it as a cut throat competition that plays directly into the smarmy club owners and promoters hands? An inspiration to, if the clubs won’t come across, find some like minded artists and make your own venues wherever you can? Guerilla promotion? All these things, unless I’m just missing it. The internet seems an ideal, not mention inexpensive, way of accomplishing a lot of this, but every music “cooperative” I’ve found on line smacks of some kind of ponzi scheme whereby you, the artist, shell out for a “premium” package which ultimately buys you exactly nothing, and which is even less help for those that opt for the “free” services they offer. They also, through “top rated band” bullshit, engender that same sense of cutthroat competition that is strangling the indie scene.

There are a few exceptions I know of. While exclusive, the Orange 6 collective out of Athens, GA seems to be pretty effectively circumventing the powers that be, and God bless them for that. Nothing else comes to mind at the moment, but consider I’m sleep deprived, stressed out, clinically mentally ill, and have to get on an airplane in 18 hours when I absolutely detest flying (like, panic attack detest – I have to be sedated).

I’m really not one to talk. While I have organized and promoted indie shows with some degree of success (and am currently trying to put one together with extremely limited success so far), I’ve never gotten together some like minded people and attempted something on the scope of North vs. South. The idea has occurred to me, and even entered preliminary planning stages, but fallen apart due to lack of interest and the daunting amount of work and capital it would take to make it successful. That’s not to say it can’t be done. It’s just to say I’m kinda lazy.

I’m proud to be a charter member of North vs. South, having played all four previous festivals and playing this one this coming Saturday, even when, as last year, I had to pull something together at the last minute. It reminds me of the good old days of indie music, as sick as I’m sure you are at hearing that term.

It would do America’s ailing underground music scene a universe of good to see events like North vs. South cropping up around the country. It would certainly do my ailing faith in the vitality of underground music a universe of good - people doing it just because they love it, not because they want to be Conor Oberst. In the words of a Homestead Records era J. Mascis of Dinosaur Jr. (then simply Dinosaur), “I’ll just keep on hopin’.”

You can find info on North vs. South at www.myspace.com/northvssouthmusicfestival.

LeRoi Moore RIP

2008-08-20T09:10:00.005-05:00

LeRoi Moore, saxophonist and co-composer for The Dave Matthews Band, died yesterday at the age of 46 from complications arising from an ATV accident June 30th. Talented motherfucker but honestly, with the exception that the loss of any human life is a tragedy, from a musical perspective I don't really give a shit. Dave Matthews is lowest common denominator pablum - music for the masses in the worst possible way. It's a shame to me that Moore chose such a vapid vehicle in which to express himself.

My opinion of Dave Matthews was not improved by the fact that the band went ahead and performed with the ringer who's been sitting in for Moore since his accident at The Staples Center last night, the night of Moore's death. Seems to me the death of a bandmate and, ostensibly, a friend would merit not a moment of silence, but an entire evening. Concerts can be rescheduled. Tribute shows can be planned. Dead bandmates aren't coming back. The lack of respect is reprehensible and certainly indicates where Dave Matthews priorities lie. It ain't with the music.

Bernie Mac RIP

2008-08-10T15:32:00.004-05:00

I almost missed the news on poor Bernie. My wife and I are busy tearing our house apart to lay new floors and I decided to take one last stroll through the entertainment news before I dismantled the computer. I’m sure anyone reading this knows more than I do by now.

Bernie got his start as a comedian on Chicago’s South Side, putting on performances for his peers while he was only in high school. I don’t know many details (there are very few comedians whose careers I follow – I’m far too negative a person to enjoy most comedy), but from the brief bios I read his career took a steady upward trajectory from there. Possibly his proudest moment was his inclusion the The Kings of Comedy tour and, resultantly, his segment being included in Spike Lee’s 2000 film The Original Kings of Comedy documenting the tour. That was by no means a swan song – his output has remained steady and, according to everything I could find written on him since, of professional quality.

Bernie died yesterday from sarcoidosis complicated by pneumonia at the age of 50. I’ve got a feeling that, like many comedians performing timeless and quality material who predeceased him, he’s left a legacy that will far outlive the man. Nice job, Bernie – keep ‘em laughing on the other side.

Isaac Hayes RIP

2008-08-11T08:03:00.007-05:00

Soul music luminary Isaac Hayes died yesterday at the age of 65 due to causes yet unreleased. Hayes survived a stroke in January 2006, but seemed in good health – he recently finished work on the upcoming film Soul Men (co-starring with, in a somewhat chilling turn, comedian Bernie Mac) and was preparing to begin work on a new album.

Hayes began his professional career in 1964 as a session musician for Stax Records, recording most famously with Otis Redding, although that was by no means the extent of his experience. He hooked up with songwriter David Porter and collaborated on a number of songs, most notably the Sam and Dave hit “Soul Man”.

His career as a recording artist began in 1967 with the release of Presenting Isaac Hayes, but it wasn’t until 1969’s Hot Buttered Rhythm that he came to prominence. Superstardom deservedly came with 1971’s brilliant “Theme From Shaft”, a number one hit that snagged him an Academy Award.

Hayes was an iconoclast for his time, musically opting for a smooth, laid back delivery as opposed to the more frantic presentations of his contemporaries and, visually, eschewing the loud colors, flared pants and afros in style at the time for a shaved head and a whole, whole lot of gold. The beginnings of many of his songs on early records are spoken word and today considered one of the predecessors of the rap genre.

In addition to an up and down musical career Hayes starred in several films, was a noted philanthropist, provided to voice of Chef on Southpark, and, unfortunately, an outspoken advocate for Scientology.

Dubious religious affiliations aside, Isaac Hayes was a brilliant songwriter, a charismatic performer ahead of his time, and a prolific, more than passable actor. That’s a pretty respectable legacy to leave behind.

Man, I’m getting sick of typing RIP after people’s names.

Alexander Solzhenitsyn RIP

2008-08-04T10:50:00.007-05:00

Alexander Solzhenitsyn, a titan of Western literature, died yesterday at the age of 89. The author of the seminal and essential, stunning and horrifying 1973 trilogy Gulag Archipelago was very deservedly the Nobel Laureate for Literature in 1970 for One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, The First Circle, and Cancer Ward, among others.

It’s a miracle the man lived to 89. He was arrested in 1946 for making what were considered seditious comments about Joseph Stalin in a letter to a friend and spent roughly the next decade in the brutal Soviet penal system. His first novels, starkly realistic portraits of the abuses of Stalin, were published while Nikita Khrushchev was in power and anxious to erase any Stalinist legacy. Post Khrushchev, Solzhenitsyn was continuously harassed by the KGB until he was finally exiled from The Soviet Union in 1974. His fame was likely the only thing that saved his life.

While intensely critical of the abuses of Stalin and “the dictatorship of the proletariat”, he was equally disgusted by the excesses of laissez-faire capitalism and, after 1994, voluntarily allowed himself to fade into obscurity.

Much like Albert Speer’s Inside the Third Reich, Gulag Archipelago is an almost sickeningly detailed account of the evil perpetrated under a totalitarian regime and exposed to the world that Adolph Hitler wasn’t the only monster in human skin pulling strings in the 1930’s and 40’s, and that it’s impossible to say which one was taking a page from the other book. Ostensibly bitter enemies, they certainly shared a vision on how to dispose of threats real and imagined within their respective spheres of influence.

At least part of Solzhenitsyn’s legacy is this – the idea that “it can’t happen here” is profoundly naive and the result of allowing yourself to believe it can possibly aid in the creation of the kind of dystopian hell Solzhenitsyn’s novels describe. When Thomas Jefferson, for all his failings, said, “Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty.” he wasn’t fucking around. I try to keep politics out of this blog to prevent it from decaying into an online slap fight about who’s right and who’s wrong, but I think it’s applicable here. I see a lot of bile being hurled back and forth out there, but a dearth of vigilance and a complete disregard for the idea that I may disagree with what you say, but will fight to the death for your right to say it. Patriotism is loving your country, not your government. Loving your government is called nationalism, and history has shown that, before too long, it generally leads to conditions described in Alexander Solzhenitsyn’s work. Whoever you think is the better President, Congressman, Senator, or whatever, I think his novels can and should be taken as cautionary. End of political diatribe.

Another giant of Western literature is dead, and I’m wondering where the ones stepping up to take their place are. If I’m just missing them somebody let me know.

Old 97s / Sleepercar - Floore Country Store - San Antonio, TX - 07/18/2008

2008-07-22T13:37:00.007-05:00

I can’t say much for Sleepercar, as I only caught their last couple of songs. Gotta say that, while their energy was to be admired, the music didn’t make an impression on me. It’s pretty standard practice to close a set with a few of your best, most memorable songs (oldest rule of show business – leave ‘em wanting more). If Sleepercar was adhering to this paradigm then I unfortunately have some serious doubts about them. I’ll wait to hear the record before passing final judgment, but God knows when that will happen.

An Old 97s show, in the right venue, is always something to behold. Floore Country Store is one of those venues – large enough to comfortably hold a crowd that will generate an enormous amount of enthusiasm and energy (around 500) while not being so large that the sense of intimacy and camaraderie with the band is sacrificed. I’ve seen The Old 97s in every setting from a smallish club to an arena, and they’re never so engaging as in this setting.

The songs roll out of them like a hit parade, each one sounding at once as familiar as your favorite Old 97s song – even if you’ve never heard it before or had time to get familiar with it. Even their weaker songs, of which there are more than a few from their late 90’s/early 00’s offerings, take on a new and exciting life.

They ambled unceremoniously onto the stage with an enthusiastic “Howdy, y’all!” from bassist Murray Hammond and launched into “The Fool”. Immediate technical problems arose, as Murray Hammond’s mic had cut out sometime between “Howdy, y’all!” and his first backing vocal. Always charmingly unprofessional, Rhett Miller took a long tuning break while the band vamped on the opening riff of second song “Barrier Reef” for 16 measures or so. Once Rhett wandered back center stage and started the song Hammond’s mic kicked in and it was four on the floor for the next hour and a half.

While they're in the midst of ripping a song out of their instruments it’s difficult to believe this is a band that, by their own assertion, never practices. It’s occasionally at the beginning and often at the end of songs that it’s easier to believe. The fact that some songs lurch into gear and many others simply fall apart rather than end is part of that unprofessional charm I mentioned, and certainly feeds the camaraderie that builds between audience and band as the show progresses. It’s a beautiful thing to observe.

I think one of the reasons seeing the band in this kind of setting really appeals to me is it reminds me strongly of the punk/underground shows of the 1980’s. This is really unsurprising as all four of these guys came up in that milieu, but, man, do they engender the whole feeling of being a part of something and that there’s no real line between the guys on the stage and the people in the crowd (while avoiding the epidemic violence that ultimately, as far as I’m concerned, ruined that scene). It helps that the audience is generally so enthusiastic, and this was certainly true at Floore. Most of the crowd sang along, danced, and went nuts to almost every song in the set right up until the first encore, which is where my inevitable complaint comes in.

I’ve found the “acoustic interlude” at a rock show obnoxious since at least the days of Uncle Tupelo, which is the first band I can remember doing it. I didn’t fork over my money to watch one member of the band self-indulgently hog the spotlight and the audience’s attention to play their thoughtful, acoustic songs. It’s boring and it shatters the energy of a wonderfully careening set like a bottle hitting a wall. For the love of God, Rhett and Murray and anyone else out there doing it, save it for the fucking coffee shop. Or your solo tour. If you simply have to play these songs slap together an arrangement that includes the whole band. I don’t think I’ll be the only one that thanks you for it.

To be fair, The Old 97s as a whole band were able to more or less pick up where they left off for the final two encores and close things out with a truly rafter rattling rendition of “Timebomb”. It was hard to ask for or expect anything more after that.

Overall, this show was so close to a home run as makes no difference. I know bands dream of selling out arenas and enjoying the freedoms that such a level of success brings, but I’m glad The Old 97s have settled into the level of success they’ve found. It’s enough to keep them comfortably viable and doing what they do for years to come without shoving them into a realm in which they don’t translate. As it is, give me a medium sized room, a sound system, The Old 97s, and 500 rabid fans, and I’m sure as shit going to have the time of my life.

Eric Hisaw - "Nature of the Blues" (Saustex Media 2008)

2008-07-23T09:46:00.008-05:00

I first ran into Eric Hisaw at the deservedly notorious Hole in the Wall in the mid-90’s. This was, of course, before The Hole became the sterilized, family friendly, soulless thing it is today. The owners/managers took a refreshing interest in giving smaller acts a venue from which to build an audience and actually booked bands that were interesting and challenging. One of those bands was The Lone Star Queens, a bluesy cowpunk (for lack of a better term) outfit fronted by the charismatic, abrasive Hisaw. While I didn’t have the easiest time getting along with him, I fucking loved his band and there was no question that there was some serious talent going on with the songwriting.

The years have passed and both Hisaw’s personality and sound have mellowed and, while the first has made him really easy for me to get along with, more importantly the second has served to really push the nuances and subtleties of his songwriting to the forefront. Eric’s third release, 2006’s The Crosses, was something of a breakthrough for him, providing long deserved recognition both nationally and internationally. Powerful and oozing pathos, it certainly seemed like a hard act to follow.

Well, not only has Eric Hisaw followed The Crosses, he’s clearly surpassed it. Nature of the Blues is a brutally honest, often dark, and very dramatic record. The songs that aren’t obviously autobiographical spin tales of broken people, desolate places, and ends of the line with such a bona fide confidence that it would be impossible to consider that he hadn’t experienced something at least very similar in his life. Story songs, autobiographical or not, can easily become onerous to listen to. Hisaw deftly avoids this with his lyrical skill – those that won’t identify directly with the material will, like reading a Raymond Carver story, get the vicarious thrill of a tour through the dark side of one corner of the American experience, in this case that of the blue collar southwest.

While the first two tracks are by no means weak, the record really takes off on the third track, “Carnival”, an almost existential rumination on feeling trapped in the small town of your childhood and teenage years and the seeming hopelessness of finding a viable way out. It barrels along for the next five songs, each stronger than the next, before downshifting for the slower, more introspective “Tomorrow”. Things pick up again for the last four songs, the standout being “Jake”, which takes the prize for this record. Lines like “I’ve never known success / so boy you do your best / to turn out better than me” are fucking priceless and capture perfectly a bleak kind of hope that is pervasive throughout the record.

Roots rock rarely gets better than this, and it’s a shame that more mediocre artists (I’m not naming any names – enough people in Austin hate me already) take the lion’s share of the local music industry’s attention. I don’t think it will be long before somebody wakes up and notices this powerhouse that they have willfully or accidentally forgotten to give his due. I doubt he cares much – he seems to be doing pretty well outside of Austin. And it would be just like Austin to ignore one of its under-rated best until they’ve moved on.

My recommendation, to Austinites in particular but also to anyone reading this, is to pick this one up. That is if you enjoy interesting and challenging roots rock that provokes an emotional response as opposed to something you can just dance to. There’s already enough of the latter stinking up the scene.

Eric Hisaw’s record release for Nature of the Blues is Friday, July 25th at Jovita’s on S. 1st St., 7:00 PM.

3.5 out of 4 Carnivals

Alejandro Escovedo - "Real Animal" (Manhattan Records 2008)

2008-07-14T07:34:00.003-05:00

A good way to tell the difference between a true Austinite and someone who just lives here is to ask them what they think of Alejandro Escovedo. If the say, “Who?” you know you better quickly find some generic small talk to fill out the conversation if you want to continue it at all. At least if you’re a sanctimonious, opinionated ass who dwells to the point of obsession on the subjects of Austin music, art and politics. You may not be such a person. I sure as fuck am and so are most of the people I call my friends. One fairly common rule of thumb amongst people like yours truly is this – you don’t fuck with Alejandro Escovedo.

The man has led a life and had a career far more interesting than any fictional rock ‘n’ roller, or for that matter most real ones. As co-writer and guitarist for The Nuns, one of the earliest punk bands to appear on the West Coast, he opened for The Sex Pistols final show along with The Avengers at Winterland in San Francisco. He proved to be the glue in cowpunk outfit Rank and File (California version cowpunk, not to be confused with the anarchic mayhem of music so categorized in Austin and represented primarily by The Hickoids), as Rank and File lost direction and ultimately dissolved with Alejandro’s departure. He went on to front the seminal Austin roots rock legends The True Believers (to use a tired cliché, if you were able to look up “seminal Austin band” in the dictionary there would be a picture of The True Believers next to it). After leaving The True Believers he launched a solo career in 1992 with the release of the astounding Gravity, a record so passionate and emotionally charged that it’s immediately impossible to forget. A string of brilliant, passionate, primarily melancholic records followed. In the midst of all this he fronted and wrote the material for Buick McKane to allow himself an outlet for his need to play balls out rock ‘n’ roll, battled a near fatal bout with Hepatitis C, and led a dramatic personal life involving wives, ex-wives, friends, ex-friends, collaborators and ex-collaborators. He’s never achieved mainstream success, but just about every critically acclaimed serious artist out there cites him as an influence, and many of them count him among their friends.

That’s the short version. Like I said, you don’t fuck with Alejandro. Unfortunately, after some careful listens of his latest release, Real Animal, I find myself in the uncomfortable position of, if I’m to write an honest opinion piece, doing just that. Bear in mind I love Alejandro’s body of work – anyone can hit a bump in an otherwise smooth and beautiful road.

I don’t think there’s been a more anticipated release from an Austin artist since Spoon’s Merge Records debut Girls Can Tell in 2001. The promotion leading up to the release of Real Animal has stressed that it’s a collection of songs exploring Alejandro’s musical journey from The Nuns to present, including personalities encountered, befriended, and idolized. This it certainly does, and while the stories are there, this is where the record ultimately musically fails.

Where Alejandro’s best work has a natural and seemingly easy flow to it, much of Real Animal sounds forced, as though inspiration was passed over in favor of cramming these sets of story lyrics into often incompatible song structures, arrangements, and instrumentation. These failings are most evident in songs like “Chelsea Hotel” and “Chip n’ Tony”, which are trying so hard to be “rock” songs they come across as pale imitations of the same. Alejandro’s rock credentials are well established, with catchy solo songs like “Castanets” to the raw power of Buick McKane at its best, not to mention most everything that came before. It seems strangely out of character for him to be recasting himself as something he already is, and without the deftness of hand and easy grace of his earlier work.

Other problems crop up. Tony Visconti’s production and arrangements are almost uniquely unsuited for Alejandro’s brand of music. While a layered lushness, compressed guitar tone, and choral background vocals may have been perfect for other projects on his resume such as The Moody Blues, T. Rex, or David Bowie, it is glaringly out of place here. “Sensitive Boys” is certainly reminiscent of Bowie, but its disingenuous melancholic tone (when Alejandro usually does melancholy so well) makes it sound sappy and the Vegasey semi-choral background vocals are so out of place they go the rest of the way to ruining the song. This shows up again in “Golden Bear”, ruining an otherwise perfectly serviceable chorus. Alejandro has proven adept and even ingenious in incorporating strings in his songs, but the string arrangement on “Nuns Song” is positively jarring over his appropriately snotty reminiscence of the life and death of his 70s punk band.

The record is by no means a total wash. In spite of an unwieldy musical breakdown in the middle of the song, opener “Always a Friend” is a hooky singalong that pulls you in immediately. While hampered by Visconti’s over-production “Sister Lost Soul” is a definite keeper and the strongest track on the record.

All the songs on this album were co-written by Chuck Prophet, a long time contemporary and friend dating back to Alejandro’s California punk days, and I can’t help but wonder if this is what made the difference. Two old friends reminiscing about the good, or for that matter bad, old days is sure to be entertaining to them, but rarely to outsiders. In this case the phenomenon translated to the music being made, which is a shame considering both of these guys are such talented and powerful songwriters on their own.

As for Alejandro Escovedo, I’ll anxiously await his next record and hope that he allows the songs he writes to flow from within rather than directly out of the past.

2.5 Real Animals

FreakAngels

2008-07-10T09:44:00.002-05:00

I mention in my profile that I'm into comic books. Well, I am. Big old comic book fanatic and have been as long as I can remember. Not the superhero shit. I'm also not some obsessive collector type. I don't go to conventions or dress up in costumes. I read 'em and, after I've accumulated a pile, dump 'em off on the local used book store.

Anyway, it's my opinion that some of the better, more literary writing and storytelling going on in this day and age is occurring in this format. FreakAngels is a free weekly online comic written by Warren Ellis, who happens to be one of my favorite writers. I encourage you to check it out. If you dig it, sneak into a comic shop when no one is looking and buy some of his stuff. Ask the guy or gal behind the counter to recommend writers in a similar vein - he or she will talk to you way too long but you'll end up with a list of writers that will blow you away. Eventually, maybe, you'll even be able to admit to others that you're into this stuff.

So if this makes me a geek, as my wife maintains, so be it. I don't really give a shit. Check it out and see if you're one too.

George Carlin RIP

2008-06-23T09:29:00.004-05:00

"I look at it this way... For centuries now, man has done everything he can to destroy, defile, and interfere with nature: clear-cutting forests, strip-mining mountains, poisoning the atmosphere, over-fishing the oceans, polluting the rivers and lakes, destroying wetlands and aquifers... so when nature strikes back, and smacks him on the head and kicks him in the nuts, I enjoy that. I have absolutely no sympathy for human beings whatsoever. None. And no matter what kind of problem humans are facing, whether it's natural or man-made, I always hope it gets worse."

George Carlin said that in 2005. It has a lot of resonance with me. A lot of Carlin’s material does. His knack for slicing open the absurdities of human existence and American culture and mores in particular was second to none – not even his legendary pal Lenny Bruce. Everything and everybody was a target at which he had no hesitancy in taking aim, and I doubt there’s anyone who didn’t find themselves in the crosshairs, at least in a general sense, once or twice. I’m not sure it would have been nearly as effective had he not had the humility to readily confess he himself was just as guilty of many of the absurdities he so keenly dissected.

I consider myself a pretty misanthropic guy, and you’re unlikely to find anyone who knows me that would disagree. One of the more impressive things about Carlin to me was that he consistently managed to make me uncomfortable. He made the extremity of my beliefs about our culture and society look mundane in comparison.

This is what it’s all about, folks. Nothing is ever going to get better without someone throwing your inadequacies, absurdities, laziness, lack of engagement, and lack of compassion right back in your face and making you squirm. Trying is good. Carlin made you try harder.

The man is dead. He died yesterday at the age of 71. Thankfully, for once, there’s someone out there ready to have a good shot at filling the void. It’s my hope that, in time, Lewis Black might surpass Carlin as Carlin did Lenny Bruce. But there’s no question those are some pretty big giants shoulders to stand on.

If it turns out there is an Invisible Man in the Sky, I’d sure be interested in finding out who wins the slugfest. I know who I’d put my money on.