*Cerebral Spewings

Summer Rockin' '09

Fri, 14 Aug 2009 17:39:00 -0400

My wife Missy and I just got back from the second real concert we?vegone to this summer. Before tonight, we saw an outdoor concert of avery talented, veteran classic rock cover band who, thanks theuber-conservative town where we live, had to play so quietly theaudience could hear themselves fart over the music. I?d name check theband here but I?m drawing a blank.

Afterthat show we saw a Motley Crue tribute band called Starry Eyes. No, I?mnot one of those people who clings forlornly to his mullet andspandex-adorned past. But I will always have a soft spot for Crue sincetheir Shout at the Devil album brought me back to heavier music andconvinced me to pick up the bass guitar. Anyway, Starry Eyes soundedgood and put on a great show (even if their lead guitarist lookedalmost as rock n? roll as someone?s dad).

The third band we saw was the fantastic Dayton area band Higgins Madewell. We've seen this duo many times, but if you've never heard of them, check 'em out on MySpace. Their primary lead singer, Erin Higgins, has one of the most powerful voices I've ever heard. As a friend of mine describes her, she sounds like Janis Joplin times ten. And the lead guitarist, Jeff Madewell, is a virtuoso musician who can play circles around most other pros. He's no slouch in the singing department either.

Tonight we went to a new venue in Cincinnati, OH (Riverstar Sports and Entertainment Complex) to see a band from Brooklyn, NY called ZO2. They are one of the best modern rock bands I've heard in a long time. Most of the modern rock that we listen to tends to be punk or experimental, but that's only because the milk toast crap that gets played on the radio is so generic and soulless that it makes us want to bazooka puke.

Let me backtrack and explain how we got interested in ZO2. This spring Missy and I saw a preview for a comedy on IFC (the Independent Film Channel) called Z Rock. At the time I was incredibly busy so I set the DVR to record the series until I had time to watch it. If you haven't heard of it, it's a show about a band that plays kids' birthday parties during the day and in rock clubs by night. It's loosely based on reality.

As soon as I saw the intro sequence to the first episode, I could tell that the stars of the show really knew how to play their instruments. Usually Hollywood is content to stick some schmucks onstage to lip sync and "play" their guitars with the accuracy of me attempting to counterfeit U.S. currency with a box of worn out, stubby crayons and a ripped up, greasy grocery bag. Not so with this show. But honestly, after watching the first episode, I almost deleted the entire series before watching the rest. It wasn't horrible, but some of the acting (not on the part of the guys in the band) was horrible and the show was really rough. Fortunately I didn?t make thatfatal mistake. The show took an abrupt right turn into top-notchquality television in the gap between episodes 1 and 2. I got so hooked that I decided to dig around on the internet for this mysterious power trio called ZO2.

Low and behold, their tunes rocked like crazy and their tour schedule listed Cincinnati in August. I rushed upstairs and breathlessly told Missy that we had to go see them. After she finished laughing at me for running upstairs and gasping for breath,she admitted that the show had grown on her and that it sounded like fun.

Okay, back to tonight's concert at the Riverstar Entertainment Complex (a very fine new venue if I do say so myself). Three opening bands were listed on the ticket, but we were only subjected to the final two. I learned a long time ago not to trust club owners to put great local bands on bills with not-so-hugely-famous national acts. To describe the two bands we did see: one was a nu-metal band that obviously hadn?t heard that Korn wasn't the big thing anymore and the other? Well, their lead singer dressed like Scott Weiland and screeched like a bad Enuff Z'nuff impersonator. Their guitarist acted like he was back in the 80's but was a great musician with a strong voice. Too bad he didn't know how to set the EQ on his guitar amp. Eeek! The bass player should have been in the previously mentioned nu-metal wannabe act. And the drummer was really good. But, I digress once again.

When ZO2 finally took the stage, the crowd (which was small but, to their credit, very vocal and rockin') they ripped into "Isolate" from their second CD, Ain't It Beautiful? From there they pummeled us with a high-energy set that belied the size of the audience. A lot of bands get pouty and half-ass it when the place isn't packed, so I'm always impressed when I see a group that gets the fact that it's important to play as if it's a sold out stadium EVERY night. Paulie Z, the main lead singer and guitarist, is a phenomenal frontman who had the crowd eating out of his hand even before he'd strapped his Les Paul on or sung a note. The guy just has such a loveable, sincere, innocent charisma about him. He's the kind of guy who could get busted with his hand in the cookie jar but always get out of trouble by smiling sheepishly and shrugging. And his voice? Imagine Steven Tyler of Aerosmith mixed with David Lee Roth, and add a healthy dose of 70's blues and funk into the recipe as well. Paulie plays a wicked guitar, too. His riffs are amazing and his leads can really soar. On bass is his brother, David Z, who is a favorite with most ladies in the crowd. He basically (pun intended) looks like a male model who poses for romance novel covers. I try not to hold that against him. :) Anyway, David is a very smooth, fluid bass player who can also whip out some funky slap bass. Rumor has it he's toured with the Trans-Siberian Orchestra fellas, too. Oh, and David did a killer job on lead vocals when they played a cover of Rush's "Tom Sawyer". Joey Cassata is the band's drummer. He has more groove in his playing than most drummers I've heard in the rock world. The guy even makes boneheads like me dance.

After the show we hung around to pick up some merch. One of the ladies helping with the concert is part of the ZO2 street team for our area. She asked if we'd stick around and get a picture with the band for the site.

Paulie Z and mE

There were so many people swamping the band that I just had Missy take my picture with Paulie (and no, I'm NOT drunk or stoned! Missy took the picture when I was quoting a line from Z Rock to get Paulie to laugh.) after we chatted for a while. I asked Paulie if they were King's X fans and, before I could even explain why, he smiled and said that a lot of people ask them that. He hadn't heard of King's X until they (ZO2) had already recorded their first two albums. He did check them out and is now a huge fan, though, so that's cool. He saw Missy's Ramones concert shirt and told us about Marky Ramone's appearance on Z Rock. Apparently Marky didn't enjoy pretending to be an arrogant prick and kept apologizing to Paulie for cussing him out and flipping him off. Hell, most rock legends would do that without the need to follow a script. But it's nice to know that some Rock Hall inductees are still down to earth.

Well, it's almost 5 A.M. so I'm going to wrap up this blog and get some shuteye. After I give it a quick grammar Nazi check I'll post it. Check out the next episode of my podcast (The Albino Leperboy Show) if you want to hear ZO2.

ROCK!

"Spring" (a poem from a teacher's point of view)

Thu, 23 Apr 2009 18:34:00 -0400

Okay, I'm too bogged down to do a proper blog, but here's a poem I wrote yesterday for my students' poetry unit test. They had to analyze one poem they'd studied in class and another (this one) that they'd never seen before.

“Spring”

It’s spring outside and I’m trapped in here

With evil teenagers: snarling zombies hungering

For brains. They lurch lazily through the door like

They’re stop-motion animated clay reindeer

In an ancient Christmas special in which they sing

About helping an evil Santa deliver a broken toy or bike.

When it’s cold and rainy with April showers

They whine and complain constantly as if

I were making them offer up their firstborn

Child for an experiment to gain super powers

And all they get in return is a salmonella-infested jar of Jiff

So they whimper and sniffle and look forlorn.

Then the sun comes out and their attention spans shrivel

And they twitch in their seats like cats watching birds

Through a window, because they too are trapped in here

With me, their prison warden, and my lessons are drivel:

As useless as a silver dinner platter full of stinky turds

So why in the name of Zeus did I choose this career?

Because their complaints feed the darkness within me

And their groans of agony are my gourmet steak dinners

Served up for me to feast upon daily. Fortunately I have no soul

Otherwise I would be as huge as a gas guzzling SUV

And among complaint collectors I am the winner

Because their eye-rolling, sigh-heaving is my goal.

Full.

Dr. Manhattan's Swinging Blue Member: My Review of The Watchmen

Sat, 07 Mar 2009 23:26:00 -0500

     I just got home from seeing The Watchmen and I’m still reeling. But, oddly enough, the reeling is twofold: from the cinematic genius of the movie and, unexpectedly, the violently negative reaction from a large percentage of the exiting audience members.
   Granted, the latter could largely be the result of where my friends and I saw the film, a city whose populace resembles a hunk of Kentucky that’s been magically transplanted into south western Ohio by, perhaps, dueling banjo gods of incest.
   I met three friends at the theater. We didn’t have a chance to chat before the movie because they arrived right when the previews began. Speaking of the trailers, every freakin’ movie previewed looked great. Usually at least one of the upcoming flicks Hollywood’s trying to get me to see looks like a hunk of crap, but not this time. The Wolverine movie looks like it’ll be great. A new Johnny Depp movie about a certain famous bank robber looked wild. And a Pixar movie (the title escapes me) looked hilarious. Sigh. I feel dirty for admitting that.
   Anyway, from the very opening scene of the Comedian’s murder, The Watchmen was tightly paced (unlike the newest Batman movie that could have lost about 45 minutes so it didn't drag on and end 3 or 4 times like a nightmare that won't stop), artistically shot/edited, and the special effects were mind-alteringly brilliant. It’s been way too long since I’ve read the graphic novel, so I’m not going to be one of those quibbling geeks who complains about changes and omissions. Plus, I think it’s best to let the adaptation stand or fall on its own. So, I’ll just say that this film more than stood as a work of art with super hero action icing.

     Honsestly, I'd forgotten how violent and almost nihilist the themes of the story were. Only the Nite Owl and Silk Spectre managed to come across as traditional super heroes (as far as morals and philosophy go) and even they were stooping to shady methods because they were desperate to stop a nuclear war. All in all, the story more than stands the test of time. It's an amazing meditation on power. Moore's point, which many apparently missed in the theater, was that, if humans were to really have super powers, they wouldn't be able to handle it responsibly. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.
   When the final credits were rolling (accompanied by an insane Bob Dylan cover by My Chemical Romance (I feel dirty for liking something those guys did, too), my friends and I were gaping and smiling like buffoons whose minds had been blown…which they had. But before we could make it out into the lobby to gush over the masterpiece we’d just witnessed, we were shocked into silence by the angrily vocal patrons around us complaining about wanting their money back. One middle-aged woman kept repeating, “Three hours? Three hours?” in disbelief in the lobby.
     My friends and I gaped in disbelief that anyone could have hated the movie. One friend aptly laughed and called the naysayers’ reactions surreal. Another friend came out of the bathroom laughing in shock at a guy in the men’s room saying something like, “I heard it was based on a comic book. Must’ve been one awful comic book!”
     While my friends were seemingly offended and shocked that these rednecks were bashing a fantastic adaptation of a cherished classic of modern literature, I was shocked at my own emotional reaction. All of the inbred anger around me was making me giddy. I kept laughing and openly expressing astonishment at my happiness. Normally, if it’s a work of art that I love, ignorant douchebags insulting it arouses me to anger. I almost got into a fistfight with a redneck who was mocking Mike Patton’s band Tomahawk when they were opening for Tool. I’m not proud of it, but that’s how passionate I am about genius being ignorantly insulted by idiots.

      I started openly, vocally taunting the people who were angrily spouting their displeasure. I looked at the "three hours" lady and said, "Why didn't you get off your fat ass and leave the theater?" I don't think she heard me over her own white trash noise mouth, but she looked over and saw the evil smile on my face and started walking out of the theater. As we passed some complaining hillbillies in the parking lot, I mused that "it's amazing that people in America are fine with seeing some tits and death, but you guys are complaining because there was a penis shown throughout the movie." People lurched uncomfortably away into their pickups. It was great.
     Maybe I was giddy because the chasm between our fanboy reactions and the hick hatred was so great. Maybe it’s that old “we still have our cult classic because the inbred masses can’t appreciate what our little group can” thing that I’ve always struggled with. But I was actually ecstatic that the movie had aroused such disparate emotional responses from the audience. What could be more punk rock than that?! I mean, isn’t it preferable, for an artist, to stir people to such extreme reactions? Would the director have wanted a bunch of yawning, apathetic viewers sleepwalking out of the theater?
     Apparently, The Watchmen is going to be one of those love it or hate it classic films. And that’s fine by me.

Johnny (Rotten) Come (On Feel the Noize) Lately: Part 3

Sun, 28 Dec 2008 17:43:00 -0500

Last time I finished up by singing the praises of the mighty Wildhearts (who just posted a new, free track on MySpace & Facebook as an X-mas present to their fans by the way...and it rocks!). Once the Wildhearts dominated my heart, mind, body and soul, I began to seek out other punk bands who might tickle my fancy. Luckily, Ginger (lead singer & main songwriter for the Wildhearts) gave me a great place to start with his song "29X the Pain". If you haven't heard the song, it's the catchiest laundry list of an artist's influences ever recorded. Not all of the artists listed in "29X" caught my ears, but many of them began to deplete my checking account quite quickly.

Husker Du didn't rip my pasty white face off instantly, but when I bought their posthumously released live CD The Living End I finally got them. Husker started out as a straight-forward hardcore punk band (on Black Flag's SST Records) but evolved quickly into an ingenius, melodic rock band with uncomprimising integrity and songwriting. Check 'em out. They aren't just a type of firework mentioned in Joe Dirt.

My wife has been a Ramones fanatic for years. Being the idiot that I am, it took quite a while for me to catch on. Now that I've finally removed my cranium from my rectum, I can't believe how long it took me do the Cretin Hop. I won't say a lot about the Ramones because they're finally getting the credit they so richly deserve, but let me just say that VERY few bands can pull off writing nothing but three to four chord songs over and over without making me want to puke. AC-DC has a few brilliant albums, but they've been regurtitating the same mediocre, bottom-of-the-barrel dregs for years. Somehow, the Ramones were able to consistently write great lightspeed 1950's music (with a few clunkers here and there) with melody and aggression. Personally, I attribute most of their staying power and consistent genius to Joey Ramone's vocals. The man had such a crystal clear set of pipes and his melodies were memorable and classic. 'Nuff said.

The Sex Pistols also took time to grab me, just not as much as the Pinheads I just finished discussing. Granted, the Pistols only put out one album, but Nevermind the Bollocks is one of the most intensely hostile and ironic works of art ever. Some folks will try to tell you that the Pistols were a manufactured band created by their "genius" manager Malcolm McClaren. Don't listen to them. McClaren helped them get together and get off the ground, but he certainly didn't manufacture them like a boy band. In fact, they probably would've lasted a lot longer if he hadn't been so full of himself. Chances are, if you've at least played Guitar Hero you're aware of some Sex Pistols' tunes ("God Save the Queen" and "Anarchy in the UK") so I'll move on.

Another great band mentioned in "29X the Pain" is the Damned. Listen to classics such as "New Rose" (covered by roughly a million bands so far) and "Neat Neat Neat" and I'm sure you'll want to join Captain Sensible and Rat Scabies on their fiery descent into gothic punk madness.

Ginger also mentions Stiff Little Fingers (SLF) and I won't say much about them, except I love what I've heard and I should be slapped for not buying their stuff. Or, you could always send Amanda Palmer from the Dresden Dolls over to spank me for my sins. Please. I've been bad. I deserve it.

And why would I mention a band that I've failed to properly investigate? Good question. I guess it's because I've only just begun scratching the surface in my endless pursuit of rock gems. That's one of the few types of greed I possess. Other than the constant lust for more and more books that will blow my mind and change my life, I will never stop seeking out music that gives me goosebumps. It isn't a hoarding of riches thing but an insatiable hunger for any musical flavor left untasted.

And hopefully someone will put me out of my misery if I ever become one of those pathetic losers who think there hasn't been any great music since "the good old days".

Johnny (Rotten) Come (On Feel the Noise) Lately: Part 2

Thu, 04 Dec 2008 18:07:00 -0500

Okay, in part one I neglected to mention that I listened to a lot of Anthrax in high school as well. It took a while for their music to totally click with me, but, once I saw the video for "Indians" I was hooked.

At the time, I had no idea that Anthrax was mixing west coast speed metal with NYC hardcore punk. I just knew that they were very weird and edgy. Plus they had intelligent lyrics, unlike a lot of cheeseball metal bands who talked about dragons, swords, fire (see: Dio). Anthrax, in my humble opinion, is still criminally underrated. Not only did they meld metal and punk, they also pioneered crossovers between rock and rap. Unfortunately, the Nu Metal bands of the 90's would beat that horse until it was a fine red mist. But I digress.

Also around this time, Metallica (who I used to respect) released their $5.98 Garage Days E.P. Yes, I know the above image isn't the cover but I'm too lazy to hunt it down. Anyway, back when Metallica still had street cred and weren't the lapdogs of music business execs (as well as whiny, middle-aged therapist-coddled documentary-making douchebags) they put out an E.P. that showcased their underground influences. They turned me on to catchy punk classics by Discharge, the Misfits, etc. I remember being amazed by how catchy these punk remakes were...even catchier than most of Metallica's tunes at the time. But still, I looked down my huge nose at punk, thinking it was just for politically-minded outcasts who could only play three chords.

Eventually I became a total worshipper of the mighty King's X, thanks to a friend who used to (and does again) live in Texas. King's X had no punk influence whatsoever, but they introduced me to another insanely gifted Texas band called the Galactic Cowboys. GC didn't show any punk roots at first, but by their Machine Fish CD they did. I'm not sure when their bassist (Monty Colvin) became a pop punk fan, but Machine Fish marked a songwriting departure from GC's thrash influences into a more punk realm. All of their music is freakin' amazing, but if you can listen to "Feel the Rage" without wanting to pogo while playing air guitar, you have no pulse. To me, the Galactic Cowboys' albums always epitomized what rock was truly capable of, or at least what I enjoyed most: honesty, melody, heaviness, and intelligence.

     Somewhere around this time I also became a huge fan of the Foo Fighters. The first time I heard "Monkeywrench" on the radio (while stocking shelves third shift in a grocery store) my jaw hit the floor with an audible CLUNK. To this day, I love every song on The Colour and the Shape. Some of their later releases have been a little inconsistent, but this CD is flawless. Everything I just mentioned about GC's greatness was also present on these Foo tracks, but the production was a lot slicker and polished. Don't let the big recording budget throw ya...or the fact that Mr. Grohl was Nirvana's drummer. If you hate grunge, the Foos may still appeal to you.
     Eventually, with the success that the Foos and bands like Green Day began to enjoy, major record labels began signing every lame-ass pop punk band they could get their grimey hands on. Some of them weren't horrible, but most sucked total donkey balls. I remember constantly complaining and telling people that these bands were not real punk. Even though, at the time, I didn't like traditional punk (whatever that is), I could smell a fake with these corporate rock douchebags. It was obvious that they were money-grubbing trendies. And I've never had any sympathy for such losers.
     Then, in 1999 (I think), I logged on to Monty Colvin's website. He had a blog about the VH1's Top 100 Hard Rock Acts of All Time show. While Monty was glad that King's X made the list, he was upset that a band I'd never heard of had been ignored:

Since I'd never heard of the Wildhearts, I quickly searched the internet. Luckily, one fan had posted two of their songs on his website: "Suckerpunch" and "Lilly's Garden". Between those two tracks, I knew I'd found an amazing band that could be heavy and melodic as well as not-so heavy and melodic. So I bought Earth vs. the Wildhearts to see if this band was consistently awesome or just sporadic. As soon as I read their song titles ("My Baby is a Headfuck", "Love You 'Till I Don't", "Loveshit", etc.) their gritty charm had won me over. It only took one listen to Earth vs. before I realized I'd found a debut album as insanely, earth-shatteringly brilliant as Guns n' Roses' Appetite for Destruction. Every track on this thirteen song masterpiece is chock full of catchy melodies, intelligent rebellious lyrics, brilliant musicianship, and riff after riff after motherfucking riff. In short, all of the raw danger that rock n' roll had been missing since 1987 (for me, at least). I listened to this CD nonstop, constantly proclaiming, "THIS is what pop punk SHOULD sound like!" But the lable "pop punk" doesn't adequately describe their sound. Imagine everything that's brilliant about the Beatles, Cheap Trick, Metallica, Motorhead, the Sex Pistols, the Ramones, and Kiss...all wrapped up in one insane, British package.
I couldn't believe that no one in the United States seemed to know who these guys were. Before long I'd spent a buttload of money (on E-bay and Amazon.com) acquiring every release the Wildhearts had blessed the world with. Then I stumbled upon an e-mail discussion group dedicated to the band. Fortunately, the Wildhearts' fans were every bit as cool. Newfound friends mailed b-sides from singles to me (since the band is famous for having b-sides that are better than their a-sides, you can imagine how awesome it was to get these tracks without having to buy all of the CD singles) as well as concert shirts, etc. From there, I went after every side project and post-Wildhearts band member's releases. Most of them (The Yo-Yo's, Honeycrack, Supershit 666, and Silver Ginger 5) are ridiculously brilliant as well.

Stay tuned for part 3 of this here blog, in which I detail my further decent into punk madness!

Johnny (Rotten) Come (On Feel the Noise) Lately: Part 1

Fri, 14 Nov 2008 21:07:00 -0500

Yesterday I was out walking, trying to exercise some flab away. My MP3 player was blasting in my earholes and I remembered that I'd been planning to blog about my long and winding path to punk rock fandom. Most of my friends down here in southwestern Ohio know me as a punker, but they only know the most recent installment of my musical saga.

Back when I was six, the first band to mesmerize me was Kiss. Before Kiss, I'd become a music junkie--thanks to my mom playing the Beatles, Rod Stewart, and old school country around the house. But, our little family had just moved out into the country and our neighbor down the road had invited us over. We had no friends in the new 'hood, so we pedaled our bikes (or walked, hell, I don't remember) to this kid's house. After goofing around outside for a while, this kid had us come into his bedroom so he could play Kiss Alive (on vinyl!). We were all sprawled on the bedroom floor, jamming to classics like "Detroit Rock City" when, all the sudden, my brother (Nick) starts screaming at me for no reason. It must've taken a few panicked shouts to snap me out of my trance, but I remember looking at him and yelling, "What? What's your problem?" Nick looked me as if I were mentally handicapped, and pointed to my right hand, which was bleeding all over the carpet. There was no pain whatsoever. Everyone in the room was horrified. Except me. I had no idea why my hand was pumping crimson goo all over the orange shag. Until Nick pointed again, at the metal, oscillating fan that I'd accidentally been using as a thumb guillotine. Our new neighbor?s mom had to rush me to the emergency room for stitches. The fan?s blade had cut almost all the way to the bone. Still, I wasn?t really fazed. Later that afternoon I went swimming with a bandaged digit. Such was the power of rock to ensnare my fragile little mind.
After several years of collecting every scrap of Kiss merch we could get our hands on (the bubble gum in packs of Kiss cards tasted like ass, by the way), our passion for greasepaint gods eventually faded. From there on out, I recall wandering in a musical wasteland, enjoying the sugary sweetness of the different pop rock flavors I heard on the radio or saw on TV. My friends at school would introduce me to an artist, I'd wear their LP's out, then move on again. But nothing ever ripped my face off like Kiss had. It wasn?t until last year that I learned the connection Kiss has to punk. Apparently, they rehearsed in the same building as the legendary proto-punks the New York Dolls. At the time, Kiss wore nothing but blue jeans and t-shirts on stage. When Gene Simmons saw how many groupies the glammed out Dolls had hanging around their practice room, Kiss decided that makeup (albeit in the scary, not pretty direction) was the way to go.

       Finally, in 1983, Nick came home from football practice with an evil cassette. On the cover were four Kiss meets Mad Max characters, a pentagram and flames. At the time I was wearing out Prince's Purple Rain album, so I scoffed at my brother for listening to a bunch of devil worshippers. But, after a few days of that cassette lying around the bedroom, calling out to me with all of the allure of Eden's forbidden fruit, I gave in. Nick wasn't home. He wouldn't know. Headphones would keep Mom and Dad out of the equation. So, I nervously popped Motley Crue's Shout at the Devil into my Walkman and pushed play, wondering when god was going to strike me down with a bolt of lightening.
       It didn't take long for the Crue to rip my pasty white face off. I was too young to realize that the only good musician in the band was Tommy Lee. All I knew was they had all of the attitude and snotty rebellion that my life had been missing for almost a decade. They flirted with eternal damnation with every power chord and snarled lyric. Nikki Sixx quickly became my hero in life. He could look cooler than any other human being alive without even trying. Some people (see Joe Perry, for example) just ooze rock star charisma. At the time, I had no idea that Nikki considered the Crue's music (at least their Too Fast for Love album) punk. Honestly, at that time, I probably didn?t have a clue what punk was. Growing up out in the middle of sheep fucker Ohio will have that effect on you.
    For the next four years the Crue dominated my every waking moment. My walls were covered with their posters. My wardrobe was dominated by their shirts and back patches (Mom was oh-so thrilled when I wore my jean jacket with their Shout At the Devil back patch sewn on it to church on Sundays). I read every interview I could get my hands on. Nikki Sixx never failed to mention up and coming bands that he thought were cool. The most important one was Guns n? Roses. As soon as he dropped their name, I was off to buy their stuff.
         I bought Gn?R?s Live Like a Suicide E.P. out of a mail order ad in the back of a rock rag. While it was advertised as an indie-released live E.P., it was actually a camouflaged Geffen studio release with added audience noise. It took a while to grow on me, but I could tell greater things were coming from this group of LA misfits. The cassette lived in my Walkman. My trendy peers at school made fun of me for it, saying such sage-like things as, ?Gun n? Roses? What the hell?s that? Sounds like some kind of gun club.? And I would shake my head and say, ?Just wait. These guys?ll be huge.? And they laughed at me.

         When their first full length was released in 1987, I made Mom drive 45 minutes to the nearest mall so I could buy Appetite for Destruction. Nearly crackling with anticipation, I popped that cassette in on the way home. From the very beginning of the infamous digital delay guitar intro of ?Welcome to the Jungle? I felt my face being ripped off. Only this time, instead of a fan also trying to remove a digit, my mother was screaming and yelling about Axl?s lyrics. And I was equally oblivious to the distraction. Not to mention the huge punk influence on these lunatic freaks. Duff McKagan?s entire rock n? roll being is punk rock to the nth degree. Axl worshipped the Sex Pistols. Slash loved the Damned. Izzy idolized Hanoi Rocks. Stephen Adler? Well, he was the spastic cocker spaniel along for the windows-down ride.
         Along with the Crue, Guns had the biggest impact on me as a music fanatic and musician. My bass playing still resembles Duff?s. His locked into the drums octave accenting style has stuck with me all these years. And I still have a penchant for bands that blur disparate genres. Guns mixed everything that is great about blues, metal, punk, and pop. Dual guitar attacks split into schizophrenic stereo still light my fire. Just listen to Appetite on headphones. On the left Izzy?s sloppy, lazy Keith Richards playing perfectly weaves in and out of and compliments Slash?s Joe Perry meets Metallica riffing. There?s no way those two styles should work together, but somehow they do. They?re like a marriage everyone predicted to go down in flames that ended up lasting forever. And Mr. Adler?s spastic, bubbly drum style still sounds great to me.
         Can you tell I?m reading the new biography of Guns (Watch You Bleed) right now? The author can get pretty heavy handed and cheesy at times, but he?s succeeded in getting me to re-appreciate one of the most, if not THE most, influential album in my life so far.
         Gradually, I was being (subliminally) lead toward a destined collision with punk rock. I just didn?t know it yet.

(To be continued)

Our New President Elect (Or Things That Crack Me Up About Conservatives)

Thu, 06 Nov 2008 17:41:13 -0500

So we have a new president named Barack Obama.

In my last blog I mentioned that I was, somewhat reluctantly, voting for the man. And I did. To be honest, I waffled quite a bit after posting that blog. After rereading it, along with Terry Ervin's comments, I realized that I was being a hypocrit.

How, you ask?

Well, I criticized people who let Bush manipulate them (with fear) into reelecting a worthless sack of feces braindead spoiled rotten rich kid. But then, I was (originally) voting for Obama out of fear. Granted my fear was of a braindead hockey mom religious zealot, but still. My vote was being manipulated by fear.

All the way up until I cast my (provisional) ballot, I was waffling between writing in a vote for my dude Ron Paul (watch for his new DVD: Too Honest for Washington!) and voting for Barack. When I sat down in the voting precinct, my little #2 pencil kept hovering between the bubbles. Several times I tried to force my hand down to the bottom of the ballot so I could write in Mr. Paul, but my gut kept telling me, "No!"

Now, I pride myself on thinking things through before acting. And I mostly do. I have very little respect for people who flit about being pulled behind their Ids, constantly humiliating themselves and having to apologize for uncontrolled impulsive behavior. But, on the other hand (I have five fingers!) I've learned that my gut feeling is almost always right. Nearly every time I've ignored my gut feeling, it's been regrettable. Sometimes on a large scale. Sometimes on a minute scale. Either way, my gut rarely steers me wrong.

So, I voted for Obama, shoved my ballot in the big provisional ballot envelope (somehow I wasn't on the register and the senile old geezers running the precinct kept insisting that I wasn't a registered voter...nevermind the fact that I'd just voted in the primary for this here election...and the previous presidential election, etc.) and left. No, I didn't go skipping away, rejoicing and feeling 100% ecstatic in the candidate I'd just endorsed. But I knew I'd done the right thing.

Now, a few days after Barack annihilated McCain, I'm beginning to get these ridiculoulsy paranoid and fearful e-mails stating that Obama's presidency is the second-to-last sign that the USA is collapsing beneath the weight of it's own decadence. When I log in to my MySpace account, people are posting these insane, almost schizophrenically paranoid rants about America voting itself into the red, iron claws of communism. Oh, and the old "New World Order" phrase has resurfaced. I hadn't heard that since it came out of GEORGE BUSH SENIOR'S mouth a while back. How soon these paranoid right wingers forget.

All of this, along with all of the parrotted conservative talk show host catch phrases ("Liberal Media", "Rockstar Obama", "America's New Saviour", etc.) never cease to crack me up. It's okay if people don't like the guy. Disagree with his politics, vote against him, etc. But, for the love of god, at least think for yourselves! You sound like starstruck teenagers who constantly go around quoting their favorite celebrity's catch phrases.

Let's keep things in perspective here, America. We have these things built into our government called CHECKS and BALANCES. Even if the Democrats completely take over in Washington (god forbid) there's no way Obama has free reign to do whatever he pleases. The dinger in the liberty bell may have swung from the right to the left, but it's padded with safety measures to ensure the bell doesn't crack from the extreme swing. Not to mention, there are enough fat cats who've been made rich by special interest groups, payoffs, bribes, etc. who would fight like momma bears protecting their cubs to make sure no president kills their cash cow.

I still stand by my belief that, until we have more than two teams in town, our government is screwed. We need at least three or four VIABLE choices/voices in DC.

But that doesn't mean that I won't enjoy listening to conservatives wind themselves up into a paranoid frenzy over Obama. I am, however, concerned about what Jon Stewart will have to make fun of. He's a smart, funny guy, though. He'll be okay.

The Upcoming Election

Fri, 10 Oct 2008 20:30:48 -0400

While I believe that all politicians are untrustworthy scumbags, I think the real problem isn't McCain, Palin, Obama or Biden. Any time there's a monopoly, the majority (consumers/voters) loses. As long as we only have two so-called choices, our country's doomed to continue it's downward slide. We need more choices. The more the better. If we had 3-5 choices, it would force the lying scumbags to be at least somewhat more honest.

I was totally going to vote for Ron Paul...even as it became clear that he'd be a snowball's chance write-in candidate. Just to drive it home that we NEED more choices. Well, not just for that reason. He's the only person campaigning who had a rock solid record for honesty, integrity, and sticking to the frickin' constitution. What a radical concept! I disagree with his abortion stance and a few other things, but I agreed with a bunch of his other beliefs. It's totally ignorant, in my opinion, to let one issue on a candidate's platform dictate who I vote for (for example, abortion, gun control, gay marriage, etc.).

But then, Palin was selected (for all of the WRONG reasons: for the Hillary vote, for the radical right Christian vote, for voters who want a candidate with media appeal, etc.). To me, the very real possibility of a Christian extremist with no real experience taking over our country is terrifying. She has no respect for the NECESSARY separation of church and state. Even Jefferson stated that our country was never founded on the Christian religion.

So, with a heavy heart, I'm going to be forced, again, to pick the lesser of two evils. And that, for me at least, no offense to McCain supporters, is Obama.

And no, he isn't Muslim or Islam or whatever. I was raised Catholic and sent to Catholic schools and I'm an Atheist. Let's not make irrational, ignorant assumptions based on someone's name. We're better than that, America.

So far it looks like the election's Obama's to lose. Which is fine. But I'm not running around with Obama's logo tattooed on my nipples or waving an "Elect Barack" flag.

What terrifies me is, every time the topic of Barack being our next president comes up when there are rednecks around, their knee-jerk reaction is to say, "Yeah, well, he'll be assasinated as soon as he takes office!"

Now, I'm not saying that everyone who doesn't want to vote for Obama is racist. That's an ignorant point of view. But, if the first thing out of your mouth is the above redneck knee-jerk reaction, then you're a fucking racist. End of story. If that's the first thing you think of, you need to just go around wearing a sheet with KKK on it and stop the false advertising. Just let everyone know that you're an inbred douchebag who judges people by their race. Then we'll know whose ass to kick.

Back the terrifying part: it's not that there are still bigots. Sadly, I'm somewhat used to that pathetic situation. I live in Ohio, after all. It's this thought, What if Obama gets elected, then assasinated? Good god! Not only would it be horrible for him, his family, and our country, but what if our entire nation disintegrates into racially-fueled anarchic riots?

Don't get me wrong, I'm not voting for McCain and Palin out of fear. Fear's the only reason that brain cell-deprived idiot Dubya got re-elected.

Perhaps I'm being paranoid. I certainly hope so. But, however you feel, whichever candidate you support, America, please get out there and vote.

And don't stop there. Hold these slimey politicians accountable for their performance (or lack thereof) once they're in office! If we don't, trust me, nobody will!

The Satanic Bible, Psychic Vampires, Un-Solicited Advice, and the Silent Treatment

Sun, 17 Aug 2008 18:13:23 -0400

     This summer I felt like reading something anti-establishment, so I picked up a copy of Anton LaVey's Satanic Bible. I'll admit that I only read the first 105-110 pages (after page 100 it turned into a treatise on spell casting, something that modern, rational human beings shouldn't pursue, in my humble opinion) but I found myself agreeing with most of what Mr. LaVey said.
     Before you picture me sitting in the middle of a flaming pentagram drinking goat's blood from a human skull, don't get your knickers in a twist. Satanists don't even believe in God, let alone a malevolent being called the Devil. They just basically preach that humans are animals who have evolved beyond the need to believe in gods, goddesses, demons, angels, etc. Ironically, one of the major points I disagree with Satanists on is revenge. LaVey urged people to warn wrongdoers (those who try to walk all over you, disrespect you, etc.) once to stop then, if they don't listen, strike out at them with all of the force you can muster. If we've evolved beyond the scope of primitive superstitions, shouldn't we also grow up past the infantile urge to strike back against all who supposedly wrong us? Doesn't that pretty much take us back to shit-chucking monkeyville?
     Probably the chapter of LaVey's book that hit home with me most was one called "Psychic Vampires". No, these aren't people who suck your gray matter out of your brainpan. They are folks who pretty much suck at life, yet still feel the need to tell others how to live. You've met 'em before: the total losers you went to school with who constantly cut others down because they (despite the cocky, blustery exterior) had low self-esteem, the people who have no lives so they insist upon leeching off of others who do, etc. Anyway, Sir Anton urged his readers to simply cut ties with psychic vampires without engaging them in arguments or other such nonsense. Because, if you jump down into their little mosh pit of despair and misery, you're only going to waste a bunch of time and energy. In the end, all you've accomplished is feeding the vampire's lust for drama...which is exactly what they craved and you wanted to avoid.
     In the past six months I've been irritated by co-workers, so-called friends, and one family member from the psychic vampire category. Each time I've found myself eager to face the confrontation headon (I've never been one to avoid it much), but thankfully I've thought it through for a few days and decided not to waste my time.
     Why urinate directly into a gale force wind when you despise reeking of piss?
     The fear I've always had of giving people the idea that they can use me for a welcome mat to wipe their feet on has, so far, been unfounded. When a friend attempted to engage me in an e-mail argument, I simply never responded.
     When a relative called me eight times within two days to push unsolicited advice down my throat, I let them spew their toxic venom into my voicemail box, then I deleted the messages without calling the person back. In the end, this relative was calling and apologizing (although only half meaning it) for being such an ass. Later I found out this relative was calling me names behind my back (apparently I'm a "dumbass who refuses to be told what to do"). Of course this made me angry and I was sorely tempted to call and/or write to defend myself and explain just how much of a douchebag this relative was being, but, after a long bike ride and some serious thinking, I calmed down and decided that reeking of psychic vampire urine is not on my list of life goals. This relative is over sixty years old and most certainly will not change due to engaging in Jerry Springer-style verbal combat with me. My friend I mentioned earlier is over thirty, so ditto there.
     So, basically, I've come to the conclusion that, if you're over twenty-five and you aren't someone I have to deal with on a daily basis, I'm not going to waste my time and energy on your drama. You're set in your ways. I'm set in mine. If I ask for your advice, give it. If I don't, keep it inside your own thick skull. I'll try to do the same...granted, if you're a junkie in need of an intervention or a friend who's joined a magic Kool-Aid drinking cult, that's a different story. Then I may have to impose some unsolicited advice on your sorry ass.

The New Lady in my Life

Fri, 15 Aug 2008 13:00:17 -0400

Hey Howdy!

So I blogged a while back about my P.O.S. Neon's transmission possibly being on the fritz. Well, there's no probably about it anymore. The specialist said she'd need at least $1000 worth of overhauling and we decided a 10 year-old economy car wasn't worth sinking that much money into. Last time we did such a dumb thing we regretted it. Anywho, a co-worker from my day job e-mailed me about a 1983 Lincoln Continental that had been her grandma's (bought new, one owner...always the best kind of car to buy in my opinion). A mechanically inclined friend (lead singer of Atomic Johnny) accompanied me to look at the car. He was very impressed with the shape the car was in and said he wouldn't hesitate to buy it. Try not to drool too much on your keyboard.