So, the "Clubhouse".....known to most as St. Jerome or St. Jerome's....seems to be closing for good at the end of this month.
Now, some people would say, "Jeez, Man....what's the big deal? There are thousands of bars in New York City....go hang out somewhere else! It's just a bar! GROW UP, already!"
Well, it's not that way, exactly.
This is a place where, for over five years, I've made friends, forged alliances, worked, played, relaxed, laughed, screamed, wept, sang, pondered, dreamed, danced, and had a lot of great times, whether I liked or remembered them or not. I also had many, many, many, MANY beers with a lot of great people....some who went on to fame & fortune, and others whom I'll never see again....but I love them all. If you're reading this, you're very likely one of them, and you know damn well that I mean it.
It started, for me, one deep, dark night a little over five years ago. I'd just gotten out of an "unhealthy (to say the least) relationship", and had just started The Dirty Pearls with my homeboy, Tommy London. I needed a new home base, a new watering hole....a new CLUBHOUSE! My good friend Luc Carl (the man who started the whole goddamn nightmare) was bartending, and after a couple of "Happy Meals", I asked him if he needed any djs there. He told me that if I wanted to do Sundays, that they were mine. "Fuck it," I thought, "I'll do fucking Sundays, then!" It was a good start.
My first Sunday there, I walked into the bar, and this tall, thin gentleman was behind the bar. "Hey, Man," I said, extending my hand, "I'm the new dj."
He shook my hand, and very smarmily, answered, "Are you gonna play....anything GOOD?!"
I walked to the booth to set up, wondering who this wise ass thought he was. I started playing the shit that I play, and got to talking with him. After two rounds of Budweisers & "Warm-up" shots, I discovered that who he thought he was, was Mr Brian Newman, and we became fast friends after discovering a mutual love for Thin Lizzy and Lynyrd Skynyrd (and it was Newman who brought in the neon Thin Lizzy sign that remains there to this day). We've been friends ever since, and have both grown a lot since those days.
Those Sundays weren't always the most popular or packed night at the bar, but there was always plenty of Rock N' Roll, drinks, and good company to have a great time with. You could always expect some cool fuckers, or others, to stop by, and when I would arrive at 10:00 pm on Sunday night, I always wondered who it might be.
Sometimes, who it would be was a dude who wound up being, essentially, the "House DJ", and one of the best drinking buddies & all-around stand-up guys you could ever meet, Mr Ian Eldorado. I don't know how we got to be such great friends, but I know that it involved Budweiser and Jameson, and vintage Rock n' Roll t-shirts....and it still does!
Luc, Tommy, Newman, Ian, and I wound up becoming the "Rivington Rebels", a sort-of mobile drinking & hanging out club who often hang out at St. Jerome, and on the Lower East Side in general. We are, maybe, reminiscent of Alice Cooper's Hollywood Vampires in the 70's, that would hang out in the secret loft upstairs at the Rainbow in L.A.
So...that's the early jist of it.
The Clubhouse has changed in this way and that way since the early days, as life always does. That said, there has been a spirit that has remains constant, and that comes from those of us who convene there. Some people have called it, "a scene", which is fine....I know that many scenes have been made there, whatever that means! Tommy went deeper and called it, "a community", which it most-certainly is. To me, though, I feel that it's in my blood at this point....so...to me, it's closer to a family. It certainly means enough to us for the Dirty Pearls to have a song about the place that we play almost every time we take the stage. I, for one, can't get through the 4-count intro on my h-hat without feeling like I'm in the corner stool with a smile on my face.
That isn't something that you can get at just any bar that opens down the street.
That's why it's the end of an era.
All of that being said.....is it the end of the world? No. All of us who have been a part of it will likely be bonded by the common experience that we had & shared in the place. And, surely, we will find other places to listen to Rock N' Roll and watch the night fold and unfold 12 or 13 times. We will all continue to....do amazing and cool shit in the early part of the evening, and then celebrate later 'til the wee hours....then call each other the next day, and ask what the hell happened. Keep your phone on.
The Clubhouse is about to close. Long live the Clubhouse. Or, as I wrote on the bathroom wall, "OUR GHOSTS WILL DRINK HERE FOREVER."
Here's a song that I got into recently that reminds me of how I feel about all of this:
Thanks for all of the good nights, great friends, and many, many drinks!
Marty E.
PS-I write this with all due deference to, besides everyone I've mentioned before, to Jonas, Kelle, Stinks, Carlos, Bryan, Starlight, Dustan, Gigi, David, Ashley, Kelly, Conrad, Niko, Yoshi, Breedlove, Seth, Danae, Josh, Wolf, Freddy Necktie, Seth, Christian, & everyone else I hung out & had drinks/laughs with.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Thursday, August 9, 2012
GOING OUT!!!
I go out all the time. More often than not, I'm out at least 5 nights a week. There are two reasons for it.
One reason is simple: I'm addicted to FUN. Call it a state of perpetual adolescence if you'd like, but that's a lot of what life in the big city is about for a lot of us.
The other reason is slightly less simple: to promote the band and support what other people have going on. I call it "productive drinking." (There's a great enabling term for you). The truth of the matter is that it works. In any kind of entertainment business, being out there and socializing is a key to getting to where you want to be. A lot of people don't understand that....but then again, perhaps they don't want to be where I want to be. God Bless.
The ironic truth about it is, when I'm promoting and socializing....I'd much rather be playing & performing. But the promoting and socializing part is essential, I feel, to get to a position where you're playing every night. Such is the duality of the core of the Big Apple.
What's really funny is that after I've PLAYED a show & sweated my way to the inch of my life...I want
to fucking CELEBRATE with my friends who are experiencing this crazy shit with me, and live it up to a job well done....and that includes ALL of the promoting, socializing, playing, and performing. For me, that's all part of the job! But....you already knew that.
To extend upon my point before about "productive drinking", etc....if there isn't either something to promote or celebrate....going out is meaningless. Sure, it's great to hang out with your friends, but....having purpose in your life makes you a better friend in the first place.
This town is made of random acts of kindness....the kind that nobody tells you about. You know, because you've been the one who did the "acting", or someone else did for you. Those "acts" come from people who, generally speaking, are happy and enjoy life, which, again, is why most of us are here in the first place. For me, the hard work, as well as the celebration thereof, are keys to happiness. It's really fucking important, and it is this fact that keeps me from getting too jaded. Remind me that I said that the next time you see me acting like an asshole out there, hahahahaha.
The bottom line is that I still think that it's a great gig if you can get it. You just need to maintain some sense of balance. But that's another story.
Let's have a drink, shall we?
What the hell is that noise?!!! or The Sounds of Summer in the City
(All song clips in this entry are songs that I was listening to at the time I'm ranting about. Coincidentally, most of it came out at that time too. Thank GOD, whoever he/she is. Music marks history, but is above & beyond it at the same time. More importantly, it's a great soundtrack).
"How can you STAND the NOISE?!!!"
"I just couldn't HANDLE it.....NO!"
"WHAT the HELL is GOING ON here?!!"
I hear it all of the time, and, frankly, I suppose I do understand the sentiment....even though sometimes those quotes are about ME.
(Sorry about that).
But, as I've probably told you....I flew into town with five suitcases that literally bruised my shoulders...only to wake up on my friend's floor (where I was very happy to be -- see previous blog for THAT story....it's a good one). I remember waking up, thinking to myself, "Holy shit! I'm here, and I'm alive....and I don't even know what that means!" I was about to grow, because I had no fucking choice!
I showered & scanned the Village Voice for job, apartment, and audition ads, like so many others undoubtedly did that day (there was no Craig's List yet, and certainly nothing resembling Social Networks).
The last thing I heard before I walked out the door ...made me think....."What the FUCK is THIS annoying HORSESHIT playing OVER and OVER again?!!! Sheee-IT, Man!!! Could you SWITCH it UP at least?!!! Play something ELSE that SUCKS, perhaps, but is DIFFERENT!!!"
Yes, it was the Mr. Softee Ice Cream Truck....and yes, I was a newbee.....but holy shit, that spooked me out!
Anyway....
I walked to the train, and heard some bird call me, "Billy Ray Cyrus", because of my leather cowboy hat that I was wearing at the time. "Welcome to New York", I was thinking. I was also wondering why the bird who said that didn't recognize a ROCKER when she saw one...or maybe she did, liked what she saw, & was trying to get me to give her a second look. I had a much thinner skin then. Looking back, that was a good one!
Soon, I found my way around town, in that relative sense. If you want to know what they mean by, "Do or die," then chuck everything for the big city, like my homeboys and I did....then come talk to me, because I want to hear your take on it! Everyone's experiences and perspectives are different, and totally valid.
But the sounds on the streets, in my speakers, and in my head....never have been lost on me. They represent a time & place...from the sound of the dude cursing & payphone & slamming the receiver down so hard that he broke the damn phone (if you see a broken payphone, you know what I mean) to the sound of the 8am subway train on my way to my first job in town (This AT THE DRIVE-IN song still sounds like the A train arriving on 44th & 8th) to....the sounds of hookers cat-calling at me on my way home from striking out at Doc Holiday's after drinking a shitloads of Pabst Blue Ribbon & Jim Beam.
I'm in a completely different place now, but these songs, when I hear them, bring me back in different ways. They can make me feel uncertain, or tired, or wistful, or irrationally determined, or melancholy, or scared, or desperate, or clueless, or whathaveyou. It makes me think of the state I was in back then, when I really didn't know what to expect from one minute to the next. It was an extremely exciting time, in a lot of ways. I think that it took a lot of courage to jump head-first into the belly of the beast, as they say. But I did it in such a state of suspended animation, as if I was watching a someone else go through all of this crazy shit.....shit that I don't think is so crazy now, really.
I mean, think about your life.....and all of the experiences you've had that you can remember. Wouldn't your life be different if you took away ONE of them? (I'm not referring to the irreparably shitty ones, of course. We can all do without those). You wouldn't exactly be YOU if you didn't have them all filed upstairs.
What's funny is that, NOW, when I hear the Mr Softee truck & all of it's inane noise, or when I see some half-drunk dude playing air-bongos on the sidewalk along with Salsa Music blaring from his car at 6pm on a Friday, when he presumably just got finished with work, or I hear the sirens going Nowhere North of Nowhere every day.....I don't mind so much. It reminds me of where I am, and that I'm well on my way with succeeding at what I came here to do. It's many years and miles away from the deafening silence of the Midwest, which I was scared to leave, and even more terrifed NOT to.
So....BRING THE NOISE!!!!
"How can you STAND the NOISE?!!!"
"I just couldn't HANDLE it.....NO!"
"WHAT the HELL is GOING ON here?!!"
I hear it all of the time, and, frankly, I suppose I do understand the sentiment....even though sometimes those quotes are about ME.
(Sorry about that).
But, as I've probably told you....I flew into town with five suitcases that literally bruised my shoulders...only to wake up on my friend's floor (where I was very happy to be -- see previous blog for THAT story....it's a good one). I remember waking up, thinking to myself, "Holy shit! I'm here, and I'm alive....and I don't even know what that means!" I was about to grow, because I had no fucking choice!
I showered & scanned the Village Voice for job, apartment, and audition ads, like so many others undoubtedly did that day (there was no Craig's List yet, and certainly nothing resembling Social Networks).
The last thing I heard before I walked out the door ...made me think....."What the FUCK is THIS annoying HORSESHIT playing OVER and OVER again?!!! Sheee-IT, Man!!! Could you SWITCH it UP at least?!!! Play something ELSE that SUCKS, perhaps, but is DIFFERENT!!!"
Yes, it was the Mr. Softee Ice Cream Truck....and yes, I was a newbee.....but holy shit, that spooked me out!
Anyway....
I walked to the train, and heard some bird call me, "Billy Ray Cyrus", because of my leather cowboy hat that I was wearing at the time. "Welcome to New York", I was thinking. I was also wondering why the bird who said that didn't recognize a ROCKER when she saw one...or maybe she did, liked what she saw, & was trying to get me to give her a second look. I had a much thinner skin then. Looking back, that was a good one!
Soon, I found my way around town, in that relative sense. If you want to know what they mean by, "Do or die," then chuck everything for the big city, like my homeboys and I did....then come talk to me, because I want to hear your take on it! Everyone's experiences and perspectives are different, and totally valid.
But the sounds on the streets, in my speakers, and in my head....never have been lost on me. They represent a time & place...from the sound of the dude cursing & payphone & slamming the receiver down so hard that he broke the damn phone (if you see a broken payphone, you know what I mean) to the sound of the 8am subway train on my way to my first job in town (This AT THE DRIVE-IN song still sounds like the A train arriving on 44th & 8th) to....the sounds of hookers cat-calling at me on my way home from striking out at Doc Holiday's after drinking a shitloads of Pabst Blue Ribbon & Jim Beam.
I'm in a completely different place now, but these songs, when I hear them, bring me back in different ways. They can make me feel uncertain, or tired, or wistful, or irrationally determined, or melancholy, or scared, or desperate, or clueless, or whathaveyou. It makes me think of the state I was in back then, when I really didn't know what to expect from one minute to the next. It was an extremely exciting time, in a lot of ways. I think that it took a lot of courage to jump head-first into the belly of the beast, as they say. But I did it in such a state of suspended animation, as if I was watching a someone else go through all of this crazy shit.....shit that I don't think is so crazy now, really.
I mean, think about your life.....and all of the experiences you've had that you can remember. Wouldn't your life be different if you took away ONE of them? (I'm not referring to the irreparably shitty ones, of course. We can all do without those). You wouldn't exactly be YOU if you didn't have them all filed upstairs.
What's funny is that, NOW, when I hear the Mr Softee truck & all of it's inane noise, or when I see some half-drunk dude playing air-bongos on the sidewalk along with Salsa Music blaring from his car at 6pm on a Friday, when he presumably just got finished with work, or I hear the sirens going Nowhere North of Nowhere every day.....I don't mind so much. It reminds me of where I am, and that I'm well on my way with succeeding at what I came here to do. It's many years and miles away from the deafening silence of the Midwest, which I was scared to leave, and even more terrifed NOT to.
So....BRING THE NOISE!!!!
Friday, August 3, 2012
Some shit that I wrote this past Spring....and yes, I changed the name of my blog
I started work on something that I wanted to turn into a radio show this past Spring. Of course, I lost focus & sort-of tucked it into the back of my mind. I dusted it off today, and decided to revamp my blog with it. Here's is my first dispatch. You can still think of it as a "Fucker's Lament" if you'd like, for it surely is!
DISPATCH #1. 4/17/12. "So this is Spring!"
It's Spring-time in New York City, and everything feels like it's about to go batshit crackerjack. Everything goes up a notch. Even more "exclamation points" are used out in the open, in every context that you can imagine!!!!!!!
"If you scandalize my name, Then you scandalize yourself." (Ray Davies)
I don't think of Spring in terms of all of that "rebirth" shit. I think about it in terms of, "GET YOUR ASS IN GEAR!" Let's call it, "positive pressure."
It's the time when you see a lot of freaks, everywhere. It's fucking awesome, yes. But it becomes a game of "freaks going batshit", and I often suspect that I might be playing! But everybody plays their own way, we find, and other people play by their own rules, just like you do. They aren't all fair either. They're a lot like life.
There's an arrogance with New York, that I sometimes think can bring out the best in some people, the worst in others, and both in most. Such is the duality of the core of the Big Apple.*
*I kind-of ripped that off from the Drive-By Truckers-Three Great Alabama Icons
If you don't let your ambition overwhelm your being so far that you use yourself up...or constantly act like a dickhead...you're doing pretty well. And remind me that I said that the next time you see me.
I feel sometimes as if I jumped off the cliff as soon as I got here, and I'm spending a whole lot of time in the air. That's where I live.
I hit the ground a lot, but I bounce back up, due to to many circumstances. The whole point is to stay in the air as long as you can, no matter how low you fall. Jim Carroll once wrote/sang, "It ain't cool to sink that low, Unless you're gonna make a resurrection." But let's face it, flying by the seat of your pants successfully requires a lot of good circumstances and luck. Fly away.
What's crazy about staying in when there are 12 parties going on is that you wonder what you're missing out there....yet lots of times, when you're out there, you're thinking, "Ah....THIS SHIT AGAIN?!" Sometimes you're at the 12th party of the night (morning, to many of you) and you wonder why the HOLY HELL you bothered....but who the fuck is keeping track?
I've been out at least 5-6 nights a week for the last 5 years. I have taken exile from the bars & clubs of NYC for 3 nights in a row. My conclusion? I sometimes regret going out, but I never regret staying in.
I thought so!
Such is the duality of the core of the Big Apple.
Spring, and every other season, is a lot of fun when you're confident about the future. The different seasons might each represent a reason why you go on with whatever it is that fills your life.
That confidence takes discipline, wisdom, and brain damage to maintain! There's a nagging feeling that you're either astronomically fucking brilliant, or you've lost your mind to such a nullifying degree that you're a lost cause. There's a razor-fine line.
There's that fucking duality again. Most people get fucked in twos, so I guess that makes sense, right?
I've always erred on the side of whatever the hell I want, at the end of the day. And my faith in my ambition is fueled by doing what I want, having a good time, working & playing hard, and hoping for the best. It's been a fun ride. But you don't necessarily want to spend your whole life in the gutter, you know?
I think it's all about being as balanced as humanly possible, between working, being creative, having fun, and keeping your head above water, at the very least....in the air tonight. I hate Phil Collins, but he had something in that tune. I can feel where he was coming from on that one. (But screw him anyway - I'm not posting that song).
Wake up, have fun, kick ass, or fall flat on your ass trying!
DISPATCH #1. 4/17/12. "So this is Spring!"
It's Spring-time in New York City, and everything feels like it's about to go batshit crackerjack. Everything goes up a notch. Even more "exclamation points" are used out in the open, in every context that you can imagine!!!!!!!
"If you scandalize my name, Then you scandalize yourself." (Ray Davies)
I don't think of Spring in terms of all of that "rebirth" shit. I think about it in terms of, "GET YOUR ASS IN GEAR!" Let's call it, "positive pressure."
It's the time when you see a lot of freaks, everywhere. It's fucking awesome, yes. But it becomes a game of "freaks going batshit", and I often suspect that I might be playing! But everybody plays their own way, we find, and other people play by their own rules, just like you do. They aren't all fair either. They're a lot like life.
There's an arrogance with New York, that I sometimes think can bring out the best in some people, the worst in others, and both in most. Such is the duality of the core of the Big Apple.*
*I kind-of ripped that off from the Drive-By Truckers-Three Great Alabama Icons
If you don't let your ambition overwhelm your being so far that you use yourself up...or constantly act like a dickhead...you're doing pretty well. And remind me that I said that the next time you see me.
I feel sometimes as if I jumped off the cliff as soon as I got here, and I'm spending a whole lot of time in the air. That's where I live.
I hit the ground a lot, but I bounce back up, due to to many circumstances. The whole point is to stay in the air as long as you can, no matter how low you fall. Jim Carroll once wrote/sang, "It ain't cool to sink that low, Unless you're gonna make a resurrection." But let's face it, flying by the seat of your pants successfully requires a lot of good circumstances and luck. Fly away.
What's crazy about staying in when there are 12 parties going on is that you wonder what you're missing out there....yet lots of times, when you're out there, you're thinking, "Ah....THIS SHIT AGAIN?!" Sometimes you're at the 12th party of the night (morning, to many of you) and you wonder why the HOLY HELL you bothered....but who the fuck is keeping track?
I've been out at least 5-6 nights a week for the last 5 years. I have taken exile from the bars & clubs of NYC for 3 nights in a row. My conclusion? I sometimes regret going out, but I never regret staying in.
I thought so!
Such is the duality of the core of the Big Apple.
Spring, and every other season, is a lot of fun when you're confident about the future. The different seasons might each represent a reason why you go on with whatever it is that fills your life.
That confidence takes discipline, wisdom, and brain damage to maintain! There's a nagging feeling that you're either astronomically fucking brilliant, or you've lost your mind to such a nullifying degree that you're a lost cause. There's a razor-fine line.
There's that fucking duality again. Most people get fucked in twos, so I guess that makes sense, right?
I've always erred on the side of whatever the hell I want, at the end of the day. And my faith in my ambition is fueled by doing what I want, having a good time, working & playing hard, and hoping for the best. It's been a fun ride. But you don't necessarily want to spend your whole life in the gutter, you know?
I think it's all about being as balanced as humanly possible, between working, being creative, having fun, and keeping your head above water, at the very least....in the air tonight. I hate Phil Collins, but he had something in that tune. I can feel where he was coming from on that one. (But screw him anyway - I'm not posting that song).
Wake up, have fun, kick ass, or fall flat on your ass trying!
Monday, May 14, 2012
A Crash Course in what you will find in NYC in one afternoon.
When I first moved to NYC, 12 years ago, I used to go an internet cafe on Bleecker
Street (it's still there....right across from John's Pizzeria, which is my favorite) to apply for jobs and look for apartments, and find a
band....which are very daunting tasks when you're new in the city, to
say the least.
On one particular day, I was doing my thing like any other day. I'd put my backpack underneath the table I was sitting at. In this backpack were my resumes, a walkman & a few mix cassette tapes (again, they were very lean times, and it was in 2000), notebooks with lyrics, and a folder with all of my resume copies as well as job/band/apartment leads -- basically, a bunch of shit that I NEEDED, but wouldn't be worth jack shit to anyone else.
As I got up to leave, I reached underneath the table....no backpack. I looked....and it was gone. POOF! Clearly, someone had pulled a fast one, literally, right under my nose, and stolen my backpack. Great. I was SO pissed off, but mostly, I was pissed at myself for allowing that to happen.
I went back to the apartment in Hell's Kitchen that I was renting a room in, and watched tv, still very pissed off. The phone rang. It was some dude who worked at a diner down the street from the internet cafe that I'd been at. He said that he'd found my bag in the bathroom, and asked if I'd like to come down and get it.
I went to the diner, grabbed my bag....and there was NOTHING missing. I ordered up a cheeseburger, and asked the dude at the counter how they'd found my bag. He said that some dude who appeared to be quite shady (probably a junkie) had come into the diner....gone into the bathroom for several minutes....then left. He apparently realized how worthless the items in my bag were (to him) and left it there.
On one hand, some asshole had stolen from me....on the other, someone else was kind enough to return it to me. I had fallen prey to the anonymous thief by being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and been blessed with the kindness of a complete stranger, both in less than two hours.
Welcome to New York!
On one particular day, I was doing my thing like any other day. I'd put my backpack underneath the table I was sitting at. In this backpack were my resumes, a walkman & a few mix cassette tapes (again, they were very lean times, and it was in 2000), notebooks with lyrics, and a folder with all of my resume copies as well as job/band/apartment leads -- basically, a bunch of shit that I NEEDED, but wouldn't be worth jack shit to anyone else.
As I got up to leave, I reached underneath the table....no backpack. I looked....and it was gone. POOF! Clearly, someone had pulled a fast one, literally, right under my nose, and stolen my backpack. Great. I was SO pissed off, but mostly, I was pissed at myself for allowing that to happen.
I went back to the apartment in Hell's Kitchen that I was renting a room in, and watched tv, still very pissed off. The phone rang. It was some dude who worked at a diner down the street from the internet cafe that I'd been at. He said that he'd found my bag in the bathroom, and asked if I'd like to come down and get it.
I went to the diner, grabbed my bag....and there was NOTHING missing. I ordered up a cheeseburger, and asked the dude at the counter how they'd found my bag. He said that some dude who appeared to be quite shady (probably a junkie) had come into the diner....gone into the bathroom for several minutes....then left. He apparently realized how worthless the items in my bag were (to him) and left it there.
On one hand, some asshole had stolen from me....on the other, someone else was kind enough to return it to me. I had fallen prey to the anonymous thief by being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and been blessed with the kindness of a complete stranger, both in less than two hours.
Welcome to New York!
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Book Review: The Drunk Diet by Luc Carl
This is a diet and fitness book for the 99% of us who refuse to listen to any horseshit from people who write diet and fitness books. Consider me to be at least one of them.
But this is a hell of a lot more than some self-help horseshit. It's a memoir about Luc's struggle for self improvement, and how he achieved it through eating right, exercising, disciplining himself, & keeping his eye on the prize. But it's also a hell of a decadent and fun ride through all of the struggling, drinking, carousing, thinking, loving, bullshitting, and, above all, ROCKING & ROLLING that goes on between the bar, the stage, the gym....and most likely, your old lady's bed. It's a dark glimpse at the wee hours of the Lower East Side of New York City, and the sun that shines in Brooklyn when the party is over.
What I really like about the educational aspect of The Drunk Diet is that Luc tells us what works for him as much as he tells us what DIDN'T work for him, in regards to losing weight & getting in shape. But he also takes the opportunity to tell us what ELSE might work for the rest of us that might be different. He's not condescending or pretentious about it, or trying to presume that everyone has the same goals, or that everyone's body is going to work exactly the same way to achieve them. He gives us a line of thinking that will help us figure out what the best way is for ourselves. I appreciate that.
I sort of think of The Drunk Diet as being The Ramones of diet & fitness books. The Ramones showed all of the Punk Rock bands in their wake (the Sex Pistols, The Clash, etc....and certainly everything passing for "punk" these days) that Rock N' Roll greatness could be achieved while still being simple, real, cool, and fun. But just as importantly, the Ramones showed us that if THEY could do it, than so could the rest of us. Luc does the same thing here. He is up-front about how difficult the process was for him to look and feel the way he wanted to, and he tells us exactly what he was thinking through all of it, which doesn't always paint a pretty picture. But he also documents every small victory and reward that he got for all of his hard work, and makes a compelling case for us doing the same thing. He makes us see that our goals are attainable. I appreciate that too.
Something else that I'm sure sets The Drunk Diet apart from its peers is that Luc put a lot of his personality into it. He uses a narrative that is straightforward & honest, and spoken in his own (often profane) language. According to an English professor I once had, that gives The Drunk Diet the makings of a Classic American Novel. Hell, I'd be willing to get that if Mark Twain was alive today, that he'd check this book out for the laughs alone, even if he wasn't interested in getting in shape!
I really fucking appreciate that, and I think you will too.
Read this fucking book.
Buy The Drunk Diet on Amazon.
Buy The Drunk Diet on Barnes & Noble.
Marty E.
2/29/12
Brooklyn, NY
But this is a hell of a lot more than some self-help horseshit. It's a memoir about Luc's struggle for self improvement, and how he achieved it through eating right, exercising, disciplining himself, & keeping his eye on the prize. But it's also a hell of a decadent and fun ride through all of the struggling, drinking, carousing, thinking, loving, bullshitting, and, above all, ROCKING & ROLLING that goes on between the bar, the stage, the gym....and most likely, your old lady's bed. It's a dark glimpse at the wee hours of the Lower East Side of New York City, and the sun that shines in Brooklyn when the party is over.
What I really like about the educational aspect of The Drunk Diet is that Luc tells us what works for him as much as he tells us what DIDN'T work for him, in regards to losing weight & getting in shape. But he also takes the opportunity to tell us what ELSE might work for the rest of us that might be different. He's not condescending or pretentious about it, or trying to presume that everyone has the same goals, or that everyone's body is going to work exactly the same way to achieve them. He gives us a line of thinking that will help us figure out what the best way is for ourselves. I appreciate that.
I sort of think of The Drunk Diet as being The Ramones of diet & fitness books. The Ramones showed all of the Punk Rock bands in their wake (the Sex Pistols, The Clash, etc....and certainly everything passing for "punk" these days) that Rock N' Roll greatness could be achieved while still being simple, real, cool, and fun. But just as importantly, the Ramones showed us that if THEY could do it, than so could the rest of us. Luc does the same thing here. He is up-front about how difficult the process was for him to look and feel the way he wanted to, and he tells us exactly what he was thinking through all of it, which doesn't always paint a pretty picture. But he also documents every small victory and reward that he got for all of his hard work, and makes a compelling case for us doing the same thing. He makes us see that our goals are attainable. I appreciate that too.
Something else that I'm sure sets The Drunk Diet apart from its peers is that Luc put a lot of his personality into it. He uses a narrative that is straightforward & honest, and spoken in his own (often profane) language. According to an English professor I once had, that gives The Drunk Diet the makings of a Classic American Novel. Hell, I'd be willing to get that if Mark Twain was alive today, that he'd check this book out for the laughs alone, even if he wasn't interested in getting in shape!
I really fucking appreciate that, and I think you will too.
Read this fucking book.
Buy The Drunk Diet on Amazon.
Buy The Drunk Diet on Barnes & Noble.
Marty E.
2/29/12
Brooklyn, NY
Monday, February 20, 2012
If I Had Known What I Was Getting Into....or....My First Day In New York
I rolled into town feeling like a cold caller trying to sell beige slacks on June 1, 2000, with about 3 grand (in checks & money orders) rolled up in my sock, over a hundred pounds of luggage on my bruised shoulders, and little the fuck else.
I flew in from Minneapolis after spending the one last night with my ex-girlfriend, and leaving my best friends & life as I knew it...and there was no turning back. (I that believe you CAN "look back" every once in awhile - to reflect, which is what I'm doing here).
On my flight, I remember the pilot saying through the loudspeaker, "Ladies & Gentlemen.....uuuuuuuuummmmmm.....if you look to the left of the aircraft.....uuuuuummmmm.....that's Lake Erie...."
It was then that it occurred to me that I didn't know where the fuck I was going to be in a day, much less a week, a month, or a year! Sure, it sounds exciting and romantic, and all of that crap....but when it's right in front of you face like a burning jungle, it's more than a little bit daunting and pretty fucking scary!
Well, I arrived at LaGuardia, and grabbled my luggage (consisting of a hockey bag that resembled an overstuffed burrito, a backpack, a case with my snare drum, sticks, and kick drum pedal....and I think I might have had my cymbal bag with me as well), and grabbed a cab to Manhattan. I was to go to the acting school where my good friend Alfredo worked and attended classes, grab the keys to his apartment in Bay Ridge (in South Brooklyn) and head to his house. So I rolled into this old brick building on Jane Street, with all of my crap....which I left in the stairwell (I figured, if anyone wants to carry this shit, go right the fuck ahead and steal it) and walked past all of the acting students. Looking like the dark shadow of death's understudy, I walked up to the desk.
"Hi....my friend Al should have left some keys in the desk for me.....??????"
The old hag behind the desk squinted, took a look at me, pulled the desk drawer out, gave it a way-too-quick once-over, and dismissed me with, "I'm sorry....there's nothing here!"
Stunned, I asked, "Are you SURE? Can you please look AGAIN?"
"I JUST DID....there's nothing HERE!"
I began to panic. I tried to call Al, but he wasn't picking up.
I didn't know what the fuck to do....I was beyond exhausted, and I didn't have anywhere to go, really. I was in a strange, ENORMOUS, cold, new place that I didn't know my way around yet, and I was weighed down with everything I owned in the world.
It then occurred to me that another buddy of mine, Lenny, was making the same move that I was, and he had emailed me his new # a week beforehand.
With nothing else to do, I called Lenny....thank CHRIST he was home.
"Hey Man....how are you? I'm completely SCREWED!"
"Well....that sucks, Man," he said, "....well....do you wanna come hang out for awhile? I'm in Astoria, but...."
I grabbed another cab, this time to Astoria, in the North-Western part of Queens....with a feeling of suspended animation, and also fucking RELIEF, that I at least could be under a friendly roof with all of my crap for at least the rest of the afternoon.
I rolled up to his apartment (which was either on 30th Ave, 30th Street, or 30th Road) and he was unpacking boxes....so I dropped my extra baggage in front if his front door, and fell into a chair.
Lenny, very nonchalantly asked, "Do you want a beer, Dude?"
It's your friends that pull you through.
I eventually got a hold of Alfredo late that night, and he apologized profusely, and said that I should head to his place. He also told me that his keys were, indeed, at that acting school of his, and that the wench at the acting school felt badly about missing them.
Anyway, I packed my luggage on my aching back and walked to the Subway for the ride to Al's house. What's funny about that, is that Lenny lived on Ditmars Ave in Queens, which is where the N Train starts.....and Al's place in Bay Ridge Ave, in Brooklyn, was, to make a long story short, near where it ends. So I took the yellow line for the 2 & 1/2-hour trek.
(Let's recap....I'd taken a cab from LaGuardia to Greenwich Village.....then got in a cab from there to Astoria, then took the train all the way from there to Bay Ridge Ave. My route that day basically was in the shape of a gigantic number 4!)
It was after 2 am when I finally got to Al's house. Before I crashed out in my sleeping bag on his floor, I called my Mom.
"I thought I'd hear from you a long time before now....where have you BEEN?"
"I'm too exhausted to tell you, but let's just say my shoulders are, literally, black & blue."
"OH MY GOD," she exclaimed.
I told her I would call her the next day, and I proceeded to pass out on the most comfortable floor I've ever laid my head upon.
This was only the beginning....and it still causes explosions in my mind to think about now. But, if I'd known then what was waiting for me after that, I'd have told you it was all worth it. And I'm here to tell you that it was!
I flew in from Minneapolis after spending the one last night with my ex-girlfriend, and leaving my best friends & life as I knew it...and there was no turning back. (I that believe you CAN "look back" every once in awhile - to reflect, which is what I'm doing here).
On my flight, I remember the pilot saying through the loudspeaker, "Ladies & Gentlemen.....uuuuuuuuummmmmm.....if you look to the left of the aircraft.....uuuuuummmmm.....that's Lake Erie...."
It was then that it occurred to me that I didn't know where the fuck I was going to be in a day, much less a week, a month, or a year! Sure, it sounds exciting and romantic, and all of that crap....but when it's right in front of you face like a burning jungle, it's more than a little bit daunting and pretty fucking scary!
Well, I arrived at LaGuardia, and grabbled my luggage (consisting of a hockey bag that resembled an overstuffed burrito, a backpack, a case with my snare drum, sticks, and kick drum pedal....and I think I might have had my cymbal bag with me as well), and grabbed a cab to Manhattan. I was to go to the acting school where my good friend Alfredo worked and attended classes, grab the keys to his apartment in Bay Ridge (in South Brooklyn) and head to his house. So I rolled into this old brick building on Jane Street, with all of my crap....which I left in the stairwell (I figured, if anyone wants to carry this shit, go right the fuck ahead and steal it) and walked past all of the acting students. Looking like the dark shadow of death's understudy, I walked up to the desk.
"Hi....my friend Al should have left some keys in the desk for me.....??????"
The old hag behind the desk squinted, took a look at me, pulled the desk drawer out, gave it a way-too-quick once-over, and dismissed me with, "I'm sorry....there's nothing here!"
Stunned, I asked, "Are you SURE? Can you please look AGAIN?"
"I JUST DID....there's nothing HERE!"
I began to panic. I tried to call Al, but he wasn't picking up.
I didn't know what the fuck to do....I was beyond exhausted, and I didn't have anywhere to go, really. I was in a strange, ENORMOUS, cold, new place that I didn't know my way around yet, and I was weighed down with everything I owned in the world.
It then occurred to me that another buddy of mine, Lenny, was making the same move that I was, and he had emailed me his new # a week beforehand.
With nothing else to do, I called Lenny....thank CHRIST he was home.
"Hey Man....how are you? I'm completely SCREWED!"
"Well....that sucks, Man," he said, "....well....do you wanna come hang out for awhile? I'm in Astoria, but...."
I grabbed another cab, this time to Astoria, in the North-Western part of Queens....with a feeling of suspended animation, and also fucking RELIEF, that I at least could be under a friendly roof with all of my crap for at least the rest of the afternoon.
I rolled up to his apartment (which was either on 30th Ave, 30th Street, or 30th Road) and he was unpacking boxes....so I dropped my extra baggage in front if his front door, and fell into a chair.
Lenny, very nonchalantly asked, "Do you want a beer, Dude?"
It's your friends that pull you through.
I eventually got a hold of Alfredo late that night, and he apologized profusely, and said that I should head to his place. He also told me that his keys were, indeed, at that acting school of his, and that the wench at the acting school felt badly about missing them.
Anyway, I packed my luggage on my aching back and walked to the Subway for the ride to Al's house. What's funny about that, is that Lenny lived on Ditmars Ave in Queens, which is where the N Train starts.....and Al's place in Bay Ridge Ave, in Brooklyn, was, to make a long story short, near where it ends. So I took the yellow line for the 2 & 1/2-hour trek.
(Let's recap....I'd taken a cab from LaGuardia to Greenwich Village.....then got in a cab from there to Astoria, then took the train all the way from there to Bay Ridge Ave. My route that day basically was in the shape of a gigantic number 4!)
It was after 2 am when I finally got to Al's house. Before I crashed out in my sleeping bag on his floor, I called my Mom.
"I thought I'd hear from you a long time before now....where have you BEEN?"
"I'm too exhausted to tell you, but let's just say my shoulders are, literally, black & blue."
"OH MY GOD," she exclaimed.
I told her I would call her the next day, and I proceeded to pass out on the most comfortable floor I've ever laid my head upon.
This was only the beginning....and it still causes explosions in my mind to think about now. But, if I'd known then what was waiting for me after that, I'd have told you it was all worth it. And I'm here to tell you that it was!
Saturday, January 14, 2012
I Sold My Soul For a Song....or at least I should have....
Slim Dunlap, the former guitarist from the Replacements, had (has) a song on his first solo album, The Old New Me, that just might be the best song you've never heard. It's called "Taken On the Chin". It carries a lot of meaning for me....and I'll tell you why!
At the end of my college days, I used to see Slim play in a local coffee shop all the time. He showed up with his acoustic guitar, and served his songs straight up with no bullshit, but with a very affable vibe. He had a great rapport with his audience, because he presented himself with a wisdom and good humor that made him come off like Ronnie Wood meets Bob Dylan (for lack of a better way of describing it). I imagine that Izzy Stradlin' might have pulled up a chair and joined him, had he only been there. He was so cool in a very sincere sort of way.
Anyway, introduced this song, "Taken On the Chin" by relating a story about how he had once gotten clocked in the face and knocked down right on the street on Hennepin Ave in Minneapolis, by some random dude. Across the street was a police car, and Slim said that he walked to the car, and told the cop sitting in it that he had been assaulted and demanded that the perpetrator be arrested. The cop looked him up and down, then looked at the other guy as he was walking away, and said to Slim, "....taken on the chin...."
Then he played this song, and it kind-of floored me because the lyrics described how I felt and where I was at the time. "You call this a hell hole, 'Cause you can't call this a life, The only forgiveness you'll find here's at the edge of a knife.....and it's taken on the chin..."
And he meant it too, which made it mean even more to me, and I started thinking about my life and what I wanted out of it a little bit more deeply because of it. I was in that limbo faze where I didn't know what the fuck to do, but I knew that I was going to have to do SOMETHING, and was scared shitless. Scared of staying where I was, and also scared of leaving.
A couple of months later, he played with his band at a Rock N' Roll bar I regularly guzzled beer at with my homeboys. It was on some holiday weekend and it was raining, and the place was severely lacking in its usual numbers. I recall that I was in some pissy, whoa-is-me kind of mood that day, and was drowning my sorrows about some most-likely insignificant horseshit of the day. Then I heard Slim say into the mic, "This song is called 'Taken On the Chin'', so....I grabbed another beer and got my ass in front of the stage.
Again, there was hardly anyone there, but he still gave everything in his heart and soul to his performance and his songs, especially this one, and it really impressed me. And I learned a very valuable lesson. Whatever bullshit I was getting down and out about didn't fucking matter, because....THIS guy was playing his heart out, no matter how many people were there, and no matter who the fuck they were, because he was doing it for HIMSELF. I realized that I was going to have to do the same damn thing, in my own way and context.
And you know what? I believe that I always have, and can often recognize when others have too. I appreciate that sort of thing.
Anyway, here's the song.
Does it sound to you the same way it sounds to me?
Marty E.
At the end of my college days, I used to see Slim play in a local coffee shop all the time. He showed up with his acoustic guitar, and served his songs straight up with no bullshit, but with a very affable vibe. He had a great rapport with his audience, because he presented himself with a wisdom and good humor that made him come off like Ronnie Wood meets Bob Dylan (for lack of a better way of describing it). I imagine that Izzy Stradlin' might have pulled up a chair and joined him, had he only been there. He was so cool in a very sincere sort of way.
Anyway, introduced this song, "Taken On the Chin" by relating a story about how he had once gotten clocked in the face and knocked down right on the street on Hennepin Ave in Minneapolis, by some random dude. Across the street was a police car, and Slim said that he walked to the car, and told the cop sitting in it that he had been assaulted and demanded that the perpetrator be arrested. The cop looked him up and down, then looked at the other guy as he was walking away, and said to Slim, "....taken on the chin...."
Then he played this song, and it kind-of floored me because the lyrics described how I felt and where I was at the time. "You call this a hell hole, 'Cause you can't call this a life, The only forgiveness you'll find here's at the edge of a knife.....and it's taken on the chin..."
And he meant it too, which made it mean even more to me, and I started thinking about my life and what I wanted out of it a little bit more deeply because of it. I was in that limbo faze where I didn't know what the fuck to do, but I knew that I was going to have to do SOMETHING, and was scared shitless. Scared of staying where I was, and also scared of leaving.
A couple of months later, he played with his band at a Rock N' Roll bar I regularly guzzled beer at with my homeboys. It was on some holiday weekend and it was raining, and the place was severely lacking in its usual numbers. I recall that I was in some pissy, whoa-is-me kind of mood that day, and was drowning my sorrows about some most-likely insignificant horseshit of the day. Then I heard Slim say into the mic, "This song is called 'Taken On the Chin'', so....I grabbed another beer and got my ass in front of the stage.
Again, there was hardly anyone there, but he still gave everything in his heart and soul to his performance and his songs, especially this one, and it really impressed me. And I learned a very valuable lesson. Whatever bullshit I was getting down and out about didn't fucking matter, because....THIS guy was playing his heart out, no matter how many people were there, and no matter who the fuck they were, because he was doing it for HIMSELF. I realized that I was going to have to do the same damn thing, in my own way and context.
And you know what? I believe that I always have, and can often recognize when others have too. I appreciate that sort of thing.
Anyway, here's the song.
Does it sound to you the same way it sounds to me?
Marty E.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
8 damn good albums that I bought in 2011
Let's face it...when it comes to fresh, new Rock N' Roll music, there's getting to be less and less to choose from in this sometimes dismal world. That's why I'm so ecstatic when I hear something that actually moves me, in one way or another. Most of these albums listed are from artists that I was already into....so, it seems that finding new artists with music to rock out, raise hell, and do "the deed" to is getting awfully rare. It's too bad.
With that said, I picked up some great albums this year. All hope is not lost!
[BTW-I BOUGHT all of these albums! Support Real Music, my friends!! Our lives depend on it!]
In no particular order:
1. The Twilight Singers-Dynamite Steps
Jesus, this album should have been called, Greg Dulli Does It Again. "Whenever you're here, you're alive," he sings in the first lines of the album opener, "Last Night In Town." Evidently, he believes in what he sings, because he delivered an album this year with more passion, angst, attitude, guts & heart-crushing melodies than I've heard from Dulli since 1993's (Afghan Whigs) Gentleman album....and that is certainly saying something. Check out "Get Lucky", "On The Corner", and "The Blackbird & The Fox" (w/ Ani Difranco).
Get it on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B004LKXAC0/ref=dm_sp_alb
2. Kasabian-Velociraptor!
I don't understand why these UK geniuses haven't caught on more in the US. They one of the most vital bands in the world today. For my ears, that's because they are so extremely creative & daring with meshing genres (Rock, Brit Pop, Trip Hop, etc) while still managing to be catchier than gum on your boots...with some damn brilliant lyrics to illustrate it all! If you haven't given this album a listen, you are seriously missing out. Check out "Days Are Forgotten", "Goodbye Kiss", & "I Hear Voices."
Get it on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Velociraptor/dp/B005LZSJ66/ref=sr_shvl_album_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1324507693&sr=301-1
3. Tom Waits-Bad As Me
I don't know how many fucking great albums this cat has made, but my mind is blown once again. What's great about this album is that Waits demonstrates all of the many reasons why you love Tom Waits in the first place - making it among his career-defining albums. What ties it all together is that all of the songs are coming from a dark, candle-lit cavern of his imagination, and they move you right in! Pretty much every song on here makes you say to yourself, "Holy FUCK this is FUCKING GREAT!" The first ones that struck me were the titled track, "Face To The Highway", "Chicago", and "Kiss Me"....but you can't go wrong at all here.
With that said, I picked up some great albums this year. All hope is not lost!
[BTW-I BOUGHT all of these albums! Support Real Music, my friends!! Our lives depend on it!]
In no particular order:
1. The Twilight Singers-Dynamite Steps
Jesus, this album should have been called, Greg Dulli Does It Again. "Whenever you're here, you're alive," he sings in the first lines of the album opener, "Last Night In Town." Evidently, he believes in what he sings, because he delivered an album this year with more passion, angst, attitude, guts & heart-crushing melodies than I've heard from Dulli since 1993's (Afghan Whigs) Gentleman album....and that is certainly saying something. Check out "Get Lucky", "On The Corner", and "The Blackbird & The Fox" (w/ Ani Difranco).
Get it on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B004LKXAC0/ref=dm_sp_alb
2. Kasabian-Velociraptor!
I don't understand why these UK geniuses haven't caught on more in the US. They one of the most vital bands in the world today. For my ears, that's because they are so extremely creative & daring with meshing genres (Rock, Brit Pop, Trip Hop, etc) while still managing to be catchier than gum on your boots...with some damn brilliant lyrics to illustrate it all! If you haven't given this album a listen, you are seriously missing out. Check out "Days Are Forgotten", "Goodbye Kiss", & "I Hear Voices."
Get it on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Velociraptor/dp/B005LZSJ66/ref=sr_shvl_album_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1324507693&sr=301-1
3. Tom Waits-Bad As Me
I don't know how many fucking great albums this cat has made, but my mind is blown once again. What's great about this album is that Waits demonstrates all of the many reasons why you love Tom Waits in the first place - making it among his career-defining albums. What ties it all together is that all of the songs are coming from a dark, candle-lit cavern of his imagination, and they move you right in! Pretty much every song on here makes you say to yourself, "Holy FUCK this is FUCKING GREAT!" The first ones that struck me were the titled track, "Face To The Highway", "Chicago", and "Kiss Me"....but you can't go wrong at all here.
Get it on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B005SMTD58/ref=sr_1_album_2_rd?ie=UTF8&child=B005SMTERU&qid=1324509478&sr=1-2
4. Vain-Enough Rope
For my money, Vain were THE best band in the Late 80's/Early 90's Hair Metal genre. Yes, you read that right; I like them better than Skid Row, LA Guns, Poison, or what-have-you. That's just me; the hooks, sexually-charged-but-not-cheesy lyrics, screaming guitars, and devastatingly huge rhythm section speak to me. Unfortunately, they got screwed by a variety circumstances, and never achieved the fame of those bands. Despite that, they have continued to release albums periodically, and occasionally tour overseas. This album is just as powerful as their debut (No Respect). Check out "Cindy", "Worship You", and "Stray Kitten Burns."
Get it on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B005QICRFC/ref=sr_1_album_1_rd?ie=UTF8&child=B005QICS56&qid=1324510405&sr=1-1
5. Kopek-White Collar Lies
I was playing in Orlando, FL last spring with The Dirty Pearls, on my way to get lunch, when Kopek's "Cocaine Chest Pains" played on Sirius Satellite Radio. "Who the fuck IS THIS?!!!!," I said, very loudly! It turns out that they are from Ireland, and are an extremely talented trio. They're one of the only new bands that I've discovered in the past year that I really dig. I think that these guys have a real shot at making it. Check out "Cocaine Chest Pains", "The Easy Way (DB Cooper)", & "Love Is Dead."
Get it on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/White-Collar-Lies/dp/B003SUOZ0A/ref=sr_shvl_album_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1324510482&sr=301-1
6. Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds
One good thing about the demise of Oasis (one of my favorite bands) is that we get to listen to two spin-off projects from it, one obviously being from their leader & main songsmith, Noel Gallagher. It's a no-brainer that this album is going to be damn good; he gives us what he always does - a set of kick-ass songs. What the fuck else do you want? Check out "Soldier Boys and Jesus Freaks", "AKA What a Life", & "The Death of You and Me".
Get it on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B006023AMM/ref=sr_1_album_1_rd?ie=UTF8&child=B006023BEY&qid=1324511997&sr=1-1
7. Beady Eye-Different Gear, Still Speeding
The other Oasis spin-off, of course, is Beady Eye, with Liam Gallagher and long time Oasis sidemen Gem Archer & Andy Bell. It's not quite as consistent as Noel's album, but there are some gems on here, and is about what you'd expect if you heard the last couple of Oasis albums (which were quite good). Check out "The Roller", "Beatles and Stones", and "The Beat Goes On."
Get it on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B004PLSLGA/ref=sr_1_album_1_rd?ie=UTF8&child=B004PLQGFI&qid=1324512839&sr=1-1
8. PJ Harvey-Let England Shake
This is an extremely ambitious album, even for PJ Harvey. In fact, it's so ambitious, that I still don't fully "get" all of it. It's not like some of her previous albums, like Stories From The City, Stories From The Sea or To Bring You My Love, which grabbed me & pulled me in right away....and probably isn't supposed to be. This is an album that has to grow on you, I think. That said, the title track, "On Battleship Hill", & "In The Darkest Places" are my favorite songs on here, and are worth the price of admission alone.
Get it on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B004M8KLYQ/ref=sr_1_album_1_rd?ie=UTF8&child=B004M8TKHK&qid=1324513689&sr=1-1
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
My first day of school, EVER, or how I learned to take the hard knocks & make sure the show goes on
I'll preface this entry by saying, what happened here is the epitome of my life, for better or worse!
The first day of school is scary for anyone, especially the first day of Kindergarten. I mean, that's where it ALL starts, you're not quite 6-years-old, and you have NO IDEA what to expect! I mean, all you know, in your little kid's mind, is that it's FUCKING SCARY!
Anyway, I went to school that early-September day, very timidly (especially for me), and I rolled with it. I did what the teacher said, made a couple of friends, took some bullshit from wise-asses, and basically minded my own business and had a good time. (I also wondered what the hell was up with the Principal, who was a nun who looked like Ernest Borgnine with a habit, but I digress).
At the very end of the day, around 2:00 or so, we had Gym Class in the field in the back of the school. We played some game called "Cowboys and Indians", which involved those who were designated as Cowboys to capture the Indians and make them one of their own....or the other way around. Anyway, it involved a lot of running around and catching people and that sort of thing.
I don't know how it happened, but I remember some girl running toward me, and I did the best I could to get the hell away from her, but....however it happened, we ran smack-dab into each other, and we knocked heads, and fell to the ground, and started crying like any kid would. At least that's how the story goes. I was helped up & my tears were wiped when the teacher and his assistant noticed that I had a bruise underneath my eye and on my cheek. The girl who plowed into me had a similar problem, although, if I remember correctly, not quite as COLORFUL as mine (of course). He said something like, "Oh....Great!" I'm sure that the prospect of sending not one, but TWO kids home from their first day of fucking KINDERGARTEN wasn't exactly how he wished to end his day, hahahaha.
So, anyway, I went home with what was turning into quite the deep black and blue shiner to contrast with my baby-blue right eye. My Mom, ever the good sport, didn't raise too much of a fuss (she'd had seven boys before me, you know), was sympathetic enough, but, clearly, I was ok. I sat down in front of the tv to watch Woody fucking Woodpecker and eat some Jello or some shit, when my Mom, with a very concerned look, poked her head in from the kitchen, saying something like, "You have to be the RING BEARER in your brother, DAVE's WEDDING with that shiner of yours!" The only thing I could muster up to say was, "UH OH!!!!"
But....what the hell were we to do? Postpone the wedding because the groom's peckerheaded baby brother, who's supposed to carry the damn wedding rings in a pillow down the aisle, got a black eye on his first day of school?!! Was some other kid going to be the ring bearer in the wedding? Hell no! My brother, Dave, and his bride-to-be, Heidi, had honored me by asking me to be in their wedding, and there was no way I wasn't going to do it!
So, the wedding day came. I was suited up in a little tuxedo that was a little bit big for me, and the bridesmaids were CRAZY about me, in my little tux with the darkest shiner in Minnesota History. I was, believe it or not, really quite shy, as I didn't become girl-crazy until the 2nd or 3rd Grade, hahahahaha. There was a flower girl in the wedding too, who was about my age, but I don't remember getting along with her as well. I do remember walking down the aisle with her, carrying a little pillow with the wedding rings, while she took flower petals out of a basket and tossed them on the ground. I remember thinking, "WHY is she DOING that?! She's making a MESS! Someone's gonna yell at her to PICK THAT UP!" No one did, hahahaha.
I learned a lot from that experience at that tender young age. From then on, it was always about getting up, dusting off, turning chicken shit into chicken salad, and making it happen. And we did! I think that it gave me my "SHOW MUST GO ON" attitude that I've always had about everything I do. I think it taught me not to be a wuss about things, to take shit as it comes and deal with the hard knocks, come what may. Why let something relatively minor tarnish the big picture? Screw that. Nothing is impossible, really. There are just different kinds of things that are POSSIBLE that will blow your mind! Furthermore, taking a hard knock or 12 along the way makes for a great story later on.
Post Script: About six months later, during Gym Class again, I got yet another black eye. This time, it was because the jerkoff next to me kept raising the plastic fucking hockey stick too high while we were playing floor hockey, and hit me in the eye. I kept telling him to stop raising his stick so high, but he wouldn't listen. He didn't even get into trouble! So, here we go again!
For some reason, I'd be willing to bet my life is a lot more fun than his is.......
The Old New Me Taken on the Chin by Slim Dunlap @ ARTISTdirect.com
The first day of school is scary for anyone, especially the first day of Kindergarten. I mean, that's where it ALL starts, you're not quite 6-years-old, and you have NO IDEA what to expect! I mean, all you know, in your little kid's mind, is that it's FUCKING SCARY!
Anyway, I went to school that early-September day, very timidly (especially for me), and I rolled with it. I did what the teacher said, made a couple of friends, took some bullshit from wise-asses, and basically minded my own business and had a good time. (I also wondered what the hell was up with the Principal, who was a nun who looked like Ernest Borgnine with a habit, but I digress).
At the very end of the day, around 2:00 or so, we had Gym Class in the field in the back of the school. We played some game called "Cowboys and Indians", which involved those who were designated as Cowboys to capture the Indians and make them one of their own....or the other way around. Anyway, it involved a lot of running around and catching people and that sort of thing.
I don't know how it happened, but I remember some girl running toward me, and I did the best I could to get the hell away from her, but....however it happened, we ran smack-dab into each other, and we knocked heads, and fell to the ground, and started crying like any kid would. At least that's how the story goes. I was helped up & my tears were wiped when the teacher and his assistant noticed that I had a bruise underneath my eye and on my cheek. The girl who plowed into me had a similar problem, although, if I remember correctly, not quite as COLORFUL as mine (of course). He said something like, "Oh....Great!" I'm sure that the prospect of sending not one, but TWO kids home from their first day of fucking KINDERGARTEN wasn't exactly how he wished to end his day, hahahaha.
So, anyway, I went home with what was turning into quite the deep black and blue shiner to contrast with my baby-blue right eye. My Mom, ever the good sport, didn't raise too much of a fuss (she'd had seven boys before me, you know), was sympathetic enough, but, clearly, I was ok. I sat down in front of the tv to watch Woody fucking Woodpecker and eat some Jello or some shit, when my Mom, with a very concerned look, poked her head in from the kitchen, saying something like, "You have to be the RING BEARER in your brother, DAVE's WEDDING with that shiner of yours!" The only thing I could muster up to say was, "UH OH!!!!"
But....what the hell were we to do? Postpone the wedding because the groom's peckerheaded baby brother, who's supposed to carry the damn wedding rings in a pillow down the aisle, got a black eye on his first day of school?!! Was some other kid going to be the ring bearer in the wedding? Hell no! My brother, Dave, and his bride-to-be, Heidi, had honored me by asking me to be in their wedding, and there was no way I wasn't going to do it!
So, the wedding day came. I was suited up in a little tuxedo that was a little bit big for me, and the bridesmaids were CRAZY about me, in my little tux with the darkest shiner in Minnesota History. I was, believe it or not, really quite shy, as I didn't become girl-crazy until the 2nd or 3rd Grade, hahahahaha. There was a flower girl in the wedding too, who was about my age, but I don't remember getting along with her as well. I do remember walking down the aisle with her, carrying a little pillow with the wedding rings, while she took flower petals out of a basket and tossed them on the ground. I remember thinking, "WHY is she DOING that?! She's making a MESS! Someone's gonna yell at her to PICK THAT UP!" No one did, hahahaha.
I learned a lot from that experience at that tender young age. From then on, it was always about getting up, dusting off, turning chicken shit into chicken salad, and making it happen. And we did! I think that it gave me my "SHOW MUST GO ON" attitude that I've always had about everything I do. I think it taught me not to be a wuss about things, to take shit as it comes and deal with the hard knocks, come what may. Why let something relatively minor tarnish the big picture? Screw that. Nothing is impossible, really. There are just different kinds of things that are POSSIBLE that will blow your mind! Furthermore, taking a hard knock or 12 along the way makes for a great story later on.
Post Script: About six months later, during Gym Class again, I got yet another black eye. This time, it was because the jerkoff next to me kept raising the plastic fucking hockey stick too high while we were playing floor hockey, and hit me in the eye. I kept telling him to stop raising his stick so high, but he wouldn't listen. He didn't even get into trouble! So, here we go again!
For some reason, I'd be willing to bet my life is a lot more fun than his is.......
The Old New Me Taken on the Chin by Slim Dunlap @ ARTISTdirect.com
Monday, July 25, 2011
The air I breathe and the wine in my glass, or 5 albums I couldn't imagine my life without (Part 1)
There are things that you see every day that could effect who you are, perhaps forever. A smile from a stranger, a new pair of boots, a new place to eat pasta....and a song! Everything in life, really, is interconnected, if you think about it, and that's what it's all about.
As usual, I'm obsessed with music, so....I'm starting an ongoing series on my blog about music that shaped who I am to the point where it goes without saying (but, if I didn't say it, nobody would know). I think that five at a time is enough to be substantive, but not so much as to bore people. Life's too short, from what I understand, so.....
1. Mother Love Bone (self-titled set, includes their Shine EP and only full-length album, Apple)
I discovered this band when I was still a pretty little kid, with designs on playing music, but still at the beginning of my formative stages, and very, VERY impressionable. I happened to find their Shine EP in the local music store, after school on a Friday night. I took a look at it, and there was definitely something different about it; the name, the image, the song titles ("Half Ass Monkey Boy", "Mindshaker Meltdown", "Chloe Dancer", etc.)....and, I only had 7 bucks anyway, so it was the only album I could afford at the time, so I picked it up. I've been hooked ever since.
What I liked about them from the get-go was the fact that they ROCKED, vaguely in the same way that Guns N' Roses did, with a tight, simple rhythm section, dynamic guitars (if not nearly as much so as Slash and Izzy's guitars), and a frontman with a HUGE, very unique personality. What was it that made Andrew Wood so unique? He had an explosive concoction of the cocksure egotist, the hilarious Rock N' Roll stand-up comedian, and the sensitive, nothing-too-sacred, bleeding-out balladeer. Who could ask for more? This is the guy who, on that first EP, sang, "I'm a Hollywood dreamboy, a pin-up in their eyes, I represent, Mama, All you despise" on one song, and, "This is my kinda' love, It's the kind that moves on, It's the kind that leaves me alone," on another. The dichotomy wasn't lost on me at all, and....despite the fact that I couldn't directly relate with his lyrics (being a little peckerhead at the time), I knew myself well enough to know that one day I certainly would. Another thing I've always loved about Wood was, simply, the charisma with which he would sing the simplest word, like, "Baby" (or "BAY-BAAAAY!!!!!") and sing it loaded with sex and longing and desperation and power and confidence. Yeah, for my ears, he was spot-on.
After I bought the Shine EP I waited for the much-anticipated debut, full-length album, Apple, to come out....and I waited, and waited, and waited....almost a year. This was before you could get your Rock N' Roll news at the click of a mouse. All I had was MTV and the Rock N' Roll ragazines, as I called them, which weren't forthcoming with any news, and I was getting really pissed off. Then, toward the end of that Summer, there was a review of Apple in Rip Magazine, saying that Andrew Wood had died that past March of a heroin overdose....the night before they were supposed to do a co-interview for the magazine with Kiss, or some kind of shit. The review also said that the album was fucking brilliant, essentially. My little heart was crushed that my Rock N' Roll hero was gone, but never more-so than when I finally picked up the album, and blasted it on my Mom's stereo in the living room without asking.
The album as a whole, probably didn't quite measure up to Gn'R's Appetite for Destruction (which is the "gold standard", probably, to this day) in terms of consistency (some of the harder-edged material could have been better), but....the gems on Apple (including all of the ballads, no less than FIVE) were nothing short of magical, and shimmered like candles in some underground cave. The songs, for the most part, were fucking real, and made me feel what I thought Wood must have felt like singing them. Whether he was singing of the love of the stage ("This is Shangrila" and "Stardog Champion") or the love of his girl ("Stargazer" & "Bone China"), I believed every word of what he sang, and the music only accentuated that.
I spent a lot of time singing along, and yes, drumming along, and this album has had a huge effect on me. If you give it a listen, perhaps it will effect you similarly. I will say this: despite the enormous success Stone Gossard and Jeff Ament had with Pearl Jam after Love Bone's demise....for my ears, this music stands the test of time in a much more poignant way.
2. Hanoi Rocks-Two Steps From the Move
Again, growing up, after listening to lots of Prince, Ozzy, Motley Crue, Ratt, Iron Maiden, etc, Guns N' Roses really rocked my little world. And it was Guns N' Roses who made me interested in a Finnish Glam Rock (not to be confused with "Hair Metal) band called Hanoi Rocks, who had broken up a couple of years before (we all know the story....if not, look it up).
Guns actually released all 5 of the Hanoi albums that hadn't been officially been released in the US, on their own Uzi Suicide label, via Geffen. So, of course, I went to check out all these albums. Unfortunately, I could afford only one, and the one that they HAD released over here was the one that caught my eye for some reason, so I grabbed that one, which happened to be Two Steps From the Move.
There are some great sleazy, Rock N' Roll songs on this album. "Underwater World" is a dark, down and dirty song that seems to be about the New York City subways....the New York Dolls or Alice Cooper would have been proud to have made such a song. "High School" is a glam-punk rave-up, with VERY, very well worked out, dueling guitar parts, despite its rather hokey lyrics, much like "Futurama" (although I think the lyrics are far better on that one). "Don't You Ever Leave Me" is a pure glam ballad, and actually, an updated version of a song from the band's first album, complete with vocal harmonies in the chorus that still remind me of the fucking Beach Boys! "I Can't Get It" is a frustrated, whoa-is-me song, that any of us can relate to sometimes ("I sit and count them, shot-by-shot-the little things that I never got!"). And of course, the singles, "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" and their cover of CCR's "Up Around the Bend" make me smile like that cat that at the canary at any party, and they often do! A lot of these songs were co-written by Ian Hunter of Mott the Hoople, presumably to give them an Arena-Rock facelift for America, and I think it worked!
Even at the time, I could understand why Gn'R had spoken so highly of Hanoi, and why they did them the service of getting their older albums. Listening via headphones, I could hear a similar Stones-on-steroids, two-guitar interplay between Andy McCoy and Nasty Suicide that Slash and Izzy had, with each guitar panned to a speaker, which I still love. Also, it wasn't lost on my that the term, "Welcome to the Jungle", is in the chorus of "Underwater World" (and I later heard the term "Rocket Queen" in the 3rd verse of the Hanoi song "Don't Follow Me", from their Oriental Beat album)....which has to be more than a mere coincidence. Their look, too, at least in the early days, certainly was reminiscent of Hanoi, w/ Axl Rose and Izzy Stadlin' in particular. But, of course, everybody lifts ideas from somewhere, whether consciously or not....at least Gn'R returned the favor, so to speak.
In any case, I sort-of consider this album to be at least somewhat of a prototype of what was to come via Gn'R's debut album, but these are two different bands, though and through. This album has more of a naivete and a sense of humor, to contrast with the all-out dark intensity that Gn'R gave us a few years later. It fits right in, though, on the same shelf as Aerosmith, Alice Cooper, the New York Dolls, and Guns N' Roses. If you're a fan of any of that music and haven't heard this, you'd be doing yourself a service by picking this up, as well as the rest of their catalog.
Sisters of Mercy-Vision Thing
This album, from the 3rd (or 4th, depending upon your perspective) incarnation of English "Goth Gods" the Sisters of Mercy, came out right on the advent of "Industrial Music", when bands like Ministry and Nine Inch Nails were seriously gaining world notoriety. And it fit right into the middle of that. The guitar riffs were very multi-layered, but extremely simple, and the music was as dark as you'd expect from the Sisters, but not as melodically sophisticated as anything they did before. The music is at the Sisters' most basic and primal, yet most intensely danceable (due in no small part to their ever-present drum machine-Doktor Avalanche) and, for lack of a better term, COOL!
That being said, this was by-far Andrew Eldritch's most ambitious, focused, and intelligently-written album, lyrically. The themes touching on greed/corruption (the title track, "More", and "Dr. Jeep") to the inevitably sadomasochistic and who's-screwing-whom nature of relationships ("Ribbons", "I Was Wrong" & "When You Don't See Me") to life's admitted uncertainties ("Something Fast") to putting the pedal to the floor in an El Dorado ("Detonation Blvd"). And, through it all, Eldritch sounds as arrogant as ever (which I like), but also, confident, and as if he might actually be having FUN (which I like even better). Eldritch is singing, whispering, and screaming on the entire album like Leonard Cohen on Amphetamines and appears to be enjoying every minute of it.
When I was a little kid, I got WAY into this album, because, while it fit in with what was becoming popular at the time (and I was listening to all of that before anyone else was anyway), THIS stuff was, perhaps, a little bit too far out-there for most of America to really understand, so....that probably got me into it THAT much more....and you might still catch me on the subway train singing along with my Ipod, "It's a small world and it smells funny, I'd buy another if it wasn't for the money, take back what I paid, FOR ANOTHER MOTHERFUCKER IN A MOTORCADE!!!"
4. The Jesus Lizard-Liar
The Jesus Lizard was probably my favorite band in the 90's. The music itself is difficult to describe; it isn't metal, but it's very intense and fucking heavy (but not particularly distorted). It's not Punk, but it's very-much against-the-grain. It's not Rock, but it's very primal, and, for my money, VERY Rock N' Roll.
There aren't a lot of vocal melodies, because the vocals aren't sung (by fellow Budweiser enthusiast David Yow) as much as they're...um....expressed....exclaimed....via screams, moans, grunts, and chants, I guess. That isn't to say they aren't (eventually) catchy, and actually, quite intelligent and informed....even though, most of the time, I never knew (or cared. particularly) what the fuck they were about. The guitar playing, courtesy of Duane Denison, is a mixture of Surf Rock, Spaghetti Western, and early Punk Rock, but delivered very cleanly, and with a precision that....well, wouldn't make a lot of sense to you the way I'm describing it (or does it?). The rhythm section is among my favorite of all time, via David Wm. Sims (bass) and Mac McNeilly (drums & one of my favorites, see one of my previous blogs), delivering and extremely intense, pile-driving foundation, that I can only compare to the sound of dropping concrete blocks on your head while building a house over it. And Steve Albini's production of this album ties it altogether and makes perfect sense out of it, for my ears anyway.
I guess it made sense to other people too. Nirvana (who did a split 7" single with them when this came out) used Steve Albini to produce their In Utero album, as Bush later did with their Razorblade Suitcase album. Both of them had very similar sounds to this very Jesus Lizard album, but obviously, the music was way different. But in many ways, these guys exemplified what was so cool about the 90's, and that was, that you could play music like this and still get a major record deal (which they did a few years later, starting with their Shot album). How fucking cool is that?
5. Afghan Whigs-Gentleman
This album could have been called "Relationship Hell"....but, never did perpetual heartbreak & emotional blackmail sound so goddamn good.
"What should I tell her? She's going to ask...." The opening lyrics of this album say it all, really. There's inner and outer conflict, deception vs. truth, betrayal vs. loyalty, and above all, uncertainty....what a hell of an introduction!
The entire album rolls that way, as a sort of concept album based on the anatomy of a bad break-up, with a whole lot of arrogance and self-loathing thrown in, smothered with drugs and alcohol, as well as a whole lot of sex (let's hope that the sex is good, but I think that's implied).
The title track states it all explicitly....consider for yourself, the second verse: "We dragged it out so long, this time, Started to make each other sick, But now I've got time for you....and me too!" How about the third verse?: "Let me in, I'm cold, all messed up but nowhere to go....Unlock the cabinet, I'll take whatever you got!" It's misery that's pathetic but not so much as to think it's the end of the world, and....give me a drink! I understand that!
"Be Sweet" has one of the most titillating lyrics I've ever heard: "I got a dick for a brain, And my brain is gonna sell my ass to you, Now I'm ok, but in time I find I'm stuck, 'Cause she wants love, And I still want to fuck..." Yup, it's anguished and it's terrible, and profoundly full of itself, all wrapped in a killer rhythmic cadence, dripping from a tearful guitar line (and Rick McCollum's guitar lead after the first verse is fucking irresistible).
The album is chock-full of gems along the same lines, from the first single, "Debonair" ("I'm not the man my actions would suggest....tonight I go to Hell for what I've done to you") to "What Jail is Like" ("If what you're shoveling is company, Then I'd rather be alone, Resentment always goes much further than it was supposed to go") to "My Curse"-sung by Marcy Mays from Scrawl ("Hurt me, Baby, I flinch so when you do, your kisses scourge me..."). This is all saturated with swirling, anguished guitars, and punctuated with impeccably slamming rhythms (drummer Steven Earle plays incredibly on the album, and I was disappointed when he left after the tour for this album).
Hell, if Ronnie Van Zandt christened himself a "Simple Man", Greg Dulli could have written an answer called, "Complicated Man", but instead, he gave us this entire album, which, since its release, I've basically lived, front-to-back, at least three times!
As usual, I'm obsessed with music, so....I'm starting an ongoing series on my blog about music that shaped who I am to the point where it goes without saying (but, if I didn't say it, nobody would know). I think that five at a time is enough to be substantive, but not so much as to bore people. Life's too short, from what I understand, so.....
1. Mother Love Bone (self-titled set, includes their Shine EP and only full-length album, Apple)
I discovered this band when I was still a pretty little kid, with designs on playing music, but still at the beginning of my formative stages, and very, VERY impressionable. I happened to find their Shine EP in the local music store, after school on a Friday night. I took a look at it, and there was definitely something different about it; the name, the image, the song titles ("Half Ass Monkey Boy", "Mindshaker Meltdown", "Chloe Dancer", etc.)....and, I only had 7 bucks anyway, so it was the only album I could afford at the time, so I picked it up. I've been hooked ever since.
What I liked about them from the get-go was the fact that they ROCKED, vaguely in the same way that Guns N' Roses did, with a tight, simple rhythm section, dynamic guitars (if not nearly as much so as Slash and Izzy's guitars), and a frontman with a HUGE, very unique personality. What was it that made Andrew Wood so unique? He had an explosive concoction of the cocksure egotist, the hilarious Rock N' Roll stand-up comedian, and the sensitive, nothing-too-sacred, bleeding-out balladeer. Who could ask for more? This is the guy who, on that first EP, sang, "I'm a Hollywood dreamboy, a pin-up in their eyes, I represent, Mama, All you despise" on one song, and, "This is my kinda' love, It's the kind that moves on, It's the kind that leaves me alone," on another. The dichotomy wasn't lost on me at all, and....despite the fact that I couldn't directly relate with his lyrics (being a little peckerhead at the time), I knew myself well enough to know that one day I certainly would. Another thing I've always loved about Wood was, simply, the charisma with which he would sing the simplest word, like, "Baby" (or "BAY-BAAAAY!!!!!") and sing it loaded with sex and longing and desperation and power and confidence. Yeah, for my ears, he was spot-on.
After I bought the Shine EP I waited for the much-anticipated debut, full-length album, Apple, to come out....and I waited, and waited, and waited....almost a year. This was before you could get your Rock N' Roll news at the click of a mouse. All I had was MTV and the Rock N' Roll ragazines, as I called them, which weren't forthcoming with any news, and I was getting really pissed off. Then, toward the end of that Summer, there was a review of Apple in Rip Magazine, saying that Andrew Wood had died that past March of a heroin overdose....the night before they were supposed to do a co-interview for the magazine with Kiss, or some kind of shit. The review also said that the album was fucking brilliant, essentially. My little heart was crushed that my Rock N' Roll hero was gone, but never more-so than when I finally picked up the album, and blasted it on my Mom's stereo in the living room without asking.
The album as a whole, probably didn't quite measure up to Gn'R's Appetite for Destruction (which is the "gold standard", probably, to this day) in terms of consistency (some of the harder-edged material could have been better), but....the gems on Apple (including all of the ballads, no less than FIVE) were nothing short of magical, and shimmered like candles in some underground cave. The songs, for the most part, were fucking real, and made me feel what I thought Wood must have felt like singing them. Whether he was singing of the love of the stage ("This is Shangrila" and "Stardog Champion") or the love of his girl ("Stargazer" & "Bone China"), I believed every word of what he sang, and the music only accentuated that.
I spent a lot of time singing along, and yes, drumming along, and this album has had a huge effect on me. If you give it a listen, perhaps it will effect you similarly. I will say this: despite the enormous success Stone Gossard and Jeff Ament had with Pearl Jam after Love Bone's demise....for my ears, this music stands the test of time in a much more poignant way.
2. Hanoi Rocks-Two Steps From the Move
Again, growing up, after listening to lots of Prince, Ozzy, Motley Crue, Ratt, Iron Maiden, etc, Guns N' Roses really rocked my little world. And it was Guns N' Roses who made me interested in a Finnish Glam Rock (not to be confused with "Hair Metal) band called Hanoi Rocks, who had broken up a couple of years before (we all know the story....if not, look it up).
Guns actually released all 5 of the Hanoi albums that hadn't been officially been released in the US, on their own Uzi Suicide label, via Geffen. So, of course, I went to check out all these albums. Unfortunately, I could afford only one, and the one that they HAD released over here was the one that caught my eye for some reason, so I grabbed that one, which happened to be Two Steps From the Move.
There are some great sleazy, Rock N' Roll songs on this album. "Underwater World" is a dark, down and dirty song that seems to be about the New York City subways....the New York Dolls or Alice Cooper would have been proud to have made such a song. "High School" is a glam-punk rave-up, with VERY, very well worked out, dueling guitar parts, despite its rather hokey lyrics, much like "Futurama" (although I think the lyrics are far better on that one). "Don't You Ever Leave Me" is a pure glam ballad, and actually, an updated version of a song from the band's first album, complete with vocal harmonies in the chorus that still remind me of the fucking Beach Boys! "I Can't Get It" is a frustrated, whoa-is-me song, that any of us can relate to sometimes ("I sit and count them, shot-by-shot-the little things that I never got!"). And of course, the singles, "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" and their cover of CCR's "Up Around the Bend" make me smile like that cat that at the canary at any party, and they often do! A lot of these songs were co-written by Ian Hunter of Mott the Hoople, presumably to give them an Arena-Rock facelift for America, and I think it worked!
Even at the time, I could understand why Gn'R had spoken so highly of Hanoi, and why they did them the service of getting their older albums. Listening via headphones, I could hear a similar Stones-on-steroids, two-guitar interplay between Andy McCoy and Nasty Suicide that Slash and Izzy had, with each guitar panned to a speaker, which I still love. Also, it wasn't lost on my that the term, "Welcome to the Jungle", is in the chorus of "Underwater World" (and I later heard the term "Rocket Queen" in the 3rd verse of the Hanoi song "Don't Follow Me", from their Oriental Beat album)....which has to be more than a mere coincidence. Their look, too, at least in the early days, certainly was reminiscent of Hanoi, w/ Axl Rose and Izzy Stadlin' in particular. But, of course, everybody lifts ideas from somewhere, whether consciously or not....at least Gn'R returned the favor, so to speak.
In any case, I sort-of consider this album to be at least somewhat of a prototype of what was to come via Gn'R's debut album, but these are two different bands, though and through. This album has more of a naivete and a sense of humor, to contrast with the all-out dark intensity that Gn'R gave us a few years later. It fits right in, though, on the same shelf as Aerosmith, Alice Cooper, the New York Dolls, and Guns N' Roses. If you're a fan of any of that music and haven't heard this, you'd be doing yourself a service by picking this up, as well as the rest of their catalog.
Sisters of Mercy-Vision Thing
This album, from the 3rd (or 4th, depending upon your perspective) incarnation of English "Goth Gods" the Sisters of Mercy, came out right on the advent of "Industrial Music", when bands like Ministry and Nine Inch Nails were seriously gaining world notoriety. And it fit right into the middle of that. The guitar riffs were very multi-layered, but extremely simple, and the music was as dark as you'd expect from the Sisters, but not as melodically sophisticated as anything they did before. The music is at the Sisters' most basic and primal, yet most intensely danceable (due in no small part to their ever-present drum machine-Doktor Avalanche) and, for lack of a better term, COOL!
That being said, this was by-far Andrew Eldritch's most ambitious, focused, and intelligently-written album, lyrically. The themes touching on greed/corruption (the title track, "More", and "Dr. Jeep") to the inevitably sadomasochistic and who's-screwing-whom nature of relationships ("Ribbons", "I Was Wrong" & "When You Don't See Me") to life's admitted uncertainties ("Something Fast") to putting the pedal to the floor in an El Dorado ("Detonation Blvd"). And, through it all, Eldritch sounds as arrogant as ever (which I like), but also, confident, and as if he might actually be having FUN (which I like even better). Eldritch is singing, whispering, and screaming on the entire album like Leonard Cohen on Amphetamines and appears to be enjoying every minute of it.
When I was a little kid, I got WAY into this album, because, while it fit in with what was becoming popular at the time (and I was listening to all of that before anyone else was anyway), THIS stuff was, perhaps, a little bit too far out-there for most of America to really understand, so....that probably got me into it THAT much more....and you might still catch me on the subway train singing along with my Ipod, "It's a small world and it smells funny, I'd buy another if it wasn't for the money, take back what I paid, FOR ANOTHER MOTHERFUCKER IN A MOTORCADE!!!"
4. The Jesus Lizard-Liar
The Jesus Lizard was probably my favorite band in the 90's. The music itself is difficult to describe; it isn't metal, but it's very intense and fucking heavy (but not particularly distorted). It's not Punk, but it's very-much against-the-grain. It's not Rock, but it's very primal, and, for my money, VERY Rock N' Roll.
There aren't a lot of vocal melodies, because the vocals aren't sung (by fellow Budweiser enthusiast David Yow) as much as they're...um....expressed....exclaimed....via screams, moans, grunts, and chants, I guess. That isn't to say they aren't (eventually) catchy, and actually, quite intelligent and informed....even though, most of the time, I never knew (or cared. particularly) what the fuck they were about. The guitar playing, courtesy of Duane Denison, is a mixture of Surf Rock, Spaghetti Western, and early Punk Rock, but delivered very cleanly, and with a precision that....well, wouldn't make a lot of sense to you the way I'm describing it (or does it?). The rhythm section is among my favorite of all time, via David Wm. Sims (bass) and Mac McNeilly (drums & one of my favorites, see one of my previous blogs), delivering and extremely intense, pile-driving foundation, that I can only compare to the sound of dropping concrete blocks on your head while building a house over it. And Steve Albini's production of this album ties it altogether and makes perfect sense out of it, for my ears anyway.
I guess it made sense to other people too. Nirvana (who did a split 7" single with them when this came out) used Steve Albini to produce their In Utero album, as Bush later did with their Razorblade Suitcase album. Both of them had very similar sounds to this very Jesus Lizard album, but obviously, the music was way different. But in many ways, these guys exemplified what was so cool about the 90's, and that was, that you could play music like this and still get a major record deal (which they did a few years later, starting with their Shot album). How fucking cool is that?
5. Afghan Whigs-Gentleman
This album could have been called "Relationship Hell"....but, never did perpetual heartbreak & emotional blackmail sound so goddamn good.
"What should I tell her? She's going to ask...." The opening lyrics of this album say it all, really. There's inner and outer conflict, deception vs. truth, betrayal vs. loyalty, and above all, uncertainty....what a hell of an introduction!
The entire album rolls that way, as a sort of concept album based on the anatomy of a bad break-up, with a whole lot of arrogance and self-loathing thrown in, smothered with drugs and alcohol, as well as a whole lot of sex (let's hope that the sex is good, but I think that's implied).
The title track states it all explicitly....consider for yourself, the second verse: "We dragged it out so long, this time, Started to make each other sick, But now I've got time for you....and me too!" How about the third verse?: "Let me in, I'm cold, all messed up but nowhere to go....Unlock the cabinet, I'll take whatever you got!" It's misery that's pathetic but not so much as to think it's the end of the world, and....give me a drink! I understand that!
"Be Sweet" has one of the most titillating lyrics I've ever heard: "I got a dick for a brain, And my brain is gonna sell my ass to you, Now I'm ok, but in time I find I'm stuck, 'Cause she wants love, And I still want to fuck..." Yup, it's anguished and it's terrible, and profoundly full of itself, all wrapped in a killer rhythmic cadence, dripping from a tearful guitar line (and Rick McCollum's guitar lead after the first verse is fucking irresistible).
The album is chock-full of gems along the same lines, from the first single, "Debonair" ("I'm not the man my actions would suggest....tonight I go to Hell for what I've done to you") to "What Jail is Like" ("If what you're shoveling is company, Then I'd rather be alone, Resentment always goes much further than it was supposed to go") to "My Curse"-sung by Marcy Mays from Scrawl ("Hurt me, Baby, I flinch so when you do, your kisses scourge me..."). This is all saturated with swirling, anguished guitars, and punctuated with impeccably slamming rhythms (drummer Steven Earle plays incredibly on the album, and I was disappointed when he left after the tour for this album).
Hell, if Ronnie Van Zandt christened himself a "Simple Man", Greg Dulli could have written an answer called, "Complicated Man", but instead, he gave us this entire album, which, since its release, I've basically lived, front-to-back, at least three times!
Thursday, February 10, 2011
That little itch in the deep dark night...or....You're never alone....no, really....never!
This is my first blog entry in months and months....so I'm going to make it a good a titillating one, that you won't soon forget.
About six months after I moved to NYC, I started living in what was perhaps the shittiest apartment building in Manhattan, near the southern border of the neighborhood known as Hell's Kitchen....in the West 30's. The place was shady to say the least, but my room was relatively cheap, I paid in cash, and the landlord usually left me alone, which is usually just fine with me. But this landlord was the kind of guy who, on one hand, would lock someone out of his apartment if he didn't pay his rent on time....and on the other, would have letters from lawyers (and even The People's Court, once) piling up by the mail boxes because of unreturned security deposits (and, I'm sure that it's no coincidence that I never got mine back). His name was Kamal, but he asked to be called "John." File that in the back of your mind if you're looking at apartments/rooms in that neighborhood.
So, to begin with, these were anything but deluxe accommodations. There was no living room (I used to point at the tall buildings and streets outside when friends came over, and exclaim, "NEW YORK CITY is my fucking LIVING room, ok?!!" Hahahahaha), and nothing but the most basic of amenities (the kitchen and bathroom were at least sufficient). The walls between the bedrooms (and between each apartment) were paper thin at best, and shoddily put together. Hell, I believe there was even open space at the top of my bedroom wall...which I think I covered up with something. We all need a LITTLE bit of privacy, by God!
Well, it turns out that I didn't have as much of that as I had hoped.
One night I decided to stay in and get some decent rest and a little peace of mind. I was lying in my bed listening to the Verve, and just starting to go to sleep. Do you know the feeling when you're trying to sleep, and for some reason, you get taunted by these pesky, unexplainable, spontaneous itches? Well, that's what I thought was happening. But then...something....fucking HURT all of the sudden. I shot out of my bed, and there, on my leg, was this little reddish black bug, feasting on me. I pulled the blankets back and there were a couple more of them. I grabbed a tissue and....well, crushed them. They became red splotches against the white tissue. BLOOD! I pulled my mattress back, and there was a mini-New York City of BEDBUGS going on...in MY BED!!!! The HORROR!!!!
I don't recall having been so terrified or helpless at any point in my life, before or since. But I had to do something....these are the days when I had work in the morning. So, I think I found some bleach or some similar cleaning product and a bunch of rags, and basically caused a mini chemical tsunami on the city beneath my mattress and temporarily remedied the situation enough to get a somewhat decent night's sleep.
I felt trapped because I didn't have the wherewithal at the time to just pick up and split; Craig's list wasn't really happening yet, so it was WAY harder to find a roof then. Complaints to my landlord fell on deaf ears, and from what I heard, the entire building was infested. FUCK.
The best solution I could come up with was to clean everything up as best I could, get a new mattress....and my roommate and I would get Raid "bug bombs", which were essentially, bug sprays that you'd open up, then leave the apartment for a few hours while they emptied out and did their work. It didn't really harm the bugs, but at least it scared them into neighboring apartments, and kept them out of ours, for the most part....until we finally just couldn't take it anymore, and split.
I still walk by the place to this day, as I often visit someone I'm very fond of who now lives down the block from there. Whenever I walk by there, I usually utter some kind of expletive. The memories are deeply ingrained I guess.
There was one funny thing that happened because of our bedbug problem. I very briefly dated a girl who lived a very privileged life in her dad's HUGE apartment in a Park Avenue high rise....but he was never home. Anyway, once, she decided so "slum it" and spend a night at my place. A couple of days later, she called me up, said something about having some kind of bug bites, and asked if this might have come from my apartment.
In my best Jackie Chiles from Seinfeld voice, I quickly blurted, "I-dunno-anything-about-it!" and hung up the phone. I haven't heard from her since, which is fine. Sorry about that.
Anyway....needless to say, I don't miss those days one bit!
Thanks for reading! I know it wasn't easy. Hell, I'm itching all over now just from writing it....ahahaha....I think!
Marty E.
About six months after I moved to NYC, I started living in what was perhaps the shittiest apartment building in Manhattan, near the southern border of the neighborhood known as Hell's Kitchen....in the West 30's. The place was shady to say the least, but my room was relatively cheap, I paid in cash, and the landlord usually left me alone, which is usually just fine with me. But this landlord was the kind of guy who, on one hand, would lock someone out of his apartment if he didn't pay his rent on time....and on the other, would have letters from lawyers (and even The People's Court, once) piling up by the mail boxes because of unreturned security deposits (and, I'm sure that it's no coincidence that I never got mine back). His name was Kamal, but he asked to be called "John." File that in the back of your mind if you're looking at apartments/rooms in that neighborhood.
So, to begin with, these were anything but deluxe accommodations. There was no living room (I used to point at the tall buildings and streets outside when friends came over, and exclaim, "NEW YORK CITY is my fucking LIVING room, ok?!!" Hahahahaha), and nothing but the most basic of amenities (the kitchen and bathroom were at least sufficient). The walls between the bedrooms (and between each apartment) were paper thin at best, and shoddily put together. Hell, I believe there was even open space at the top of my bedroom wall...which I think I covered up with something. We all need a LITTLE bit of privacy, by God!
Well, it turns out that I didn't have as much of that as I had hoped.
One night I decided to stay in and get some decent rest and a little peace of mind. I was lying in my bed listening to the Verve, and just starting to go to sleep. Do you know the feeling when you're trying to sleep, and for some reason, you get taunted by these pesky, unexplainable, spontaneous itches? Well, that's what I thought was happening. But then...something....fucking HURT all of the sudden. I shot out of my bed, and there, on my leg, was this little reddish black bug, feasting on me. I pulled the blankets back and there were a couple more of them. I grabbed a tissue and....well, crushed them. They became red splotches against the white tissue. BLOOD! I pulled my mattress back, and there was a mini-New York City of BEDBUGS going on...in MY BED!!!! The HORROR!!!!
I don't recall having been so terrified or helpless at any point in my life, before or since. But I had to do something....these are the days when I had work in the morning. So, I think I found some bleach or some similar cleaning product and a bunch of rags, and basically caused a mini chemical tsunami on the city beneath my mattress and temporarily remedied the situation enough to get a somewhat decent night's sleep.
I felt trapped because I didn't have the wherewithal at the time to just pick up and split; Craig's list wasn't really happening yet, so it was WAY harder to find a roof then. Complaints to my landlord fell on deaf ears, and from what I heard, the entire building was infested. FUCK.
The best solution I could come up with was to clean everything up as best I could, get a new mattress....and my roommate and I would get Raid "bug bombs", which were essentially, bug sprays that you'd open up, then leave the apartment for a few hours while they emptied out and did their work. It didn't really harm the bugs, but at least it scared them into neighboring apartments, and kept them out of ours, for the most part....until we finally just couldn't take it anymore, and split.
I still walk by the place to this day, as I often visit someone I'm very fond of who now lives down the block from there. Whenever I walk by there, I usually utter some kind of expletive. The memories are deeply ingrained I guess.
There was one funny thing that happened because of our bedbug problem. I very briefly dated a girl who lived a very privileged life in her dad's HUGE apartment in a Park Avenue high rise....but he was never home. Anyway, once, she decided so "slum it" and spend a night at my place. A couple of days later, she called me up, said something about having some kind of bug bites, and asked if this might have come from my apartment.
In my best Jackie Chiles from Seinfeld voice, I quickly blurted, "I-dunno-anything-about-it!" and hung up the phone. I haven't heard from her since, which is fine. Sorry about that.
Anyway....needless to say, I don't miss those days one bit!
Thanks for reading! I know it wasn't easy. Hell, I'm itching all over now just from writing it....ahahaha....I think!
Marty E.
Friday, September 10, 2010
The trials and tribulations of a musician with standards or shitty auditions I have known
For the umpteen-millionth time, I've been in New York City for ten years. I moved here with wide eyes, hopes and dreams the size of Madison Square Garden, and little more than the remotest clue on how to really make shit happen for myself.
You know, a lot of kids move here from other parts of the country thinking that it's some hotbed of talent and ambition.....they think that the people who inhabit places like (sadly, the now-closed) CBGB's (for example) are all cooler than hell & going somewhere.
What you quickly realize, once you get here, and the cold reality nips at your earlobes, is that there's just MORE of EVERYTHING. Sure, there are a lot more talented, creative, cool people who know where they're going. But, by the same token, there are also many, MANY more dipshits and dildorods who can't play (or sing or act or write or whathaveyou) their way out of a cardboard box....and most of them think that they're just fucking GREAT!
That all being said, one has to start somewhere, so I immediately began getting my ass out there and jamming with anyone who seemed like they might be cool, fun, & interesting, and/or had something promising happening for them. I would take the Subway train all over the place, full of hope that THIS was going to be the one that was going to result in something I'd always dreamed of. What I found, more often than not, wasn't even in the same solar system.
I had my first "audition" (remember, when these so-called "auditions" happen, you're often "auditioning" them as much as they are you) about a week after I arrived here. Hell, I hadn't even found a place to live yet (I was still crashing on a floor in Bay Ridge...thanks yet again, Alfredo!). It was in some sweat box on Dekalb Ave in Brooklyn. These guys (I won't mention what the band's name was, as I don't want to slander anyone....but the name sucked) described themselves as an old-school, melodic Rock N' Roll band, ala-Cheap Trick (one of my favorite bands), so....I went for it.
They were the kind of band that....well, they'd rehearse often, but it was always for ONE show at Arlene's Grocery, maybe ONCE a year. Great. And....they kept talking about how they knew some chick who worked at Atlantic Records who will "probably" show up. Riiiiight.
Their music was ok....not great, but good enough for at the time. I had a good vibe with the guitar player, which showed some promise. In any case, they never called me back after that.
Years later, I became pretty good friends with that guitar player. He told me they never called me back because the singer didn't think I was a good enough drummer. Granted, my chops were rusty, and my playing was probably a bit loose. You see, I'd just MOVED to NEW YORK CITY from the MIDWEST, which....takes some TIME and ENERGY, ahahahahahaha!!!! But this same guitar player came to see a band I used to play in at the Pussycat Lounge (is that place still open?) WAY downtown. After he saw that show, he called the said singer who dismissed my drumming skills, and left him a voicemail with three words: "YOU FUCKED UP!!!!" Hahahahahaha!!! (Thanks Kelly!).
This wouldn't have been the band for me anyway, really. They were the kind of guys who, instead of going OUT there and playing gigs, and building a following and socializing and being cool & making it happen....they would constantly prepare for ONE fucking show that was always three months away, a 9PM slot at Arlene's on a Friday with a bunch of other bands they didn't know.....and yeah, this chick from Atlantic might go. I always came from the school of thought that one learns the ropes of DOING something by DOING it! You aren't going to learn how to satisfy a woman by doing the "five-knuckle shuffle" to porn every night....you know what I mean? Relatively speaking, in terms of playing Rock N' Roll, that's what this band was doing, and they never got anywhere close to where I was to go.....and I'm not all the way there YET, either! Hahahahahaha. But the truth is, I think maybe a couple of these guys were scared. Enough said.
Another time, I set up an audition for some "chick band" (which I didn't mind....I'm not sexist, for God's sake! If PJ Harvey had called me up, I'd have died of a heart attack....by the way....Polly Jean....call me! Hahahahaha). They seemed to be smart enough, and....well, I think they had a residency at some place called the Orange Bear. This didn't inspire confidence, exactly, but I figured, what the hell? It would be free rehearsal for two hours for me (every time you play, it makes you better the NEXT time, you know?), and maybe I'd make some friends.
So....I walked to the rehearsal studio, and was about to open the door....but I heard them playing music already. They were playing Fleetwood Mac's "Landslide".....I felt my heart race....I mean, I like Fleetwood Mac, don't get me wrong but....I'm not fucking PLAYING it, or anything LIKE it. So, I made what may have amounted to a chickenshit move: I BOLTED. To my credit, I went straight to Ultra Sound & gave them 10 bucks to let me drum in one of their open rooms for an hour (I did this a LOT and it saved my ASS when I didn't have anything going on. A drummer needs to drum, not only to keep his chops in shape, but in order to FEEL good).
A similar occurrence happened more recently....maybe five years ago, after I left one of my old bands, and was looking to start fresh. I found some band who described themselves as being Motley Crue meets Bowie or some shit....oh, and they were being looked at by Universal (I've heard THAT more times than I care to divulge). But, I figured, what the fuck, it's right down the street....let's fucking JAM!
Well, I showed up....opened up the door....and this one guy, the guitar player, looked pretty cool. Had the long hair, black jeans, and Black Crowes-esque shirt. Cool. But this....SINGER guy...was quite a portly mammal....and he had an afro that looked like STEEL WOOL on the top of his head....and he was wearing ZUBAZ!!!! Are you fucking KIDDING ME?!!! I'm getting onstage with THIS guy? And Uni are interested? The pungent smell of BULLSHIT filled the room.
I said something like, "Oh SHIT Man....I forgot, I gotta take a piss....I'll be RIGHT back....ok?!!" I stifled a laugh, and wondered if they wondered why I would need to take my drumsticks with me to the bathroom. And I did what any self-respecting, red-blooded American Rock N' Roller would do....I HAULED ASS! Once downstairs, I called my girlfriend (at the time), and said, "Hey Baby.....the bad news is, there's no way in HELL I'm going to play with these dudes, so I split....the good news is, I'm coming home, and am wondering if you're hungry!" Hahahahahahahaaha....
I know what some of you are thinking. You're thinking that, maybe the music would have been great, and that I shouldn't have judged a book by its cover, right? Wrong. The way you look, just as the way you carry yourself, has a BIG effect on how you're perceived. Call it superficial, and call it whatever else you'd like, but that's just the way it is. Someone who is likely to do his or her best to look their best is very likely to play their best....or maybe they just needed a drummer who wore ZUBAZ!
There were many, many auditions I went on, and played (ie, I didn't split before touching the damn drums). I tried out for Chubby Checker's band, and even got called back (I declined. With all due respect, I didn't move here to do THAT). Hell, I played with LOTS of people, some of which I'm still friends with to this day. But, really, it took me at least six months before I found people to play with who were on the same page as me in the least. But, I considered that to be a part of my initiation process, and I knew that with time, commitment, and perseverance, I'd finally get on track to where I needed to go. And I did!
As Bon Scott once sang, "It's a long way to the top if you wanna Rock N' Roll!"
Thanks for reading!
Your good friend,
Marty E.
You know, a lot of kids move here from other parts of the country thinking that it's some hotbed of talent and ambition.....they think that the people who inhabit places like (sadly, the now-closed) CBGB's (for example) are all cooler than hell & going somewhere.
What you quickly realize, once you get here, and the cold reality nips at your earlobes, is that there's just MORE of EVERYTHING. Sure, there are a lot more talented, creative, cool people who know where they're going. But, by the same token, there are also many, MANY more dipshits and dildorods who can't play (or sing or act or write or whathaveyou) their way out of a cardboard box....and most of them think that they're just fucking GREAT!
That all being said, one has to start somewhere, so I immediately began getting my ass out there and jamming with anyone who seemed like they might be cool, fun, & interesting, and/or had something promising happening for them. I would take the Subway train all over the place, full of hope that THIS was going to be the one that was going to result in something I'd always dreamed of. What I found, more often than not, wasn't even in the same solar system.
I had my first "audition" (remember, when these so-called "auditions" happen, you're often "auditioning" them as much as they are you) about a week after I arrived here. Hell, I hadn't even found a place to live yet (I was still crashing on a floor in Bay Ridge...thanks yet again, Alfredo!). It was in some sweat box on Dekalb Ave in Brooklyn. These guys (I won't mention what the band's name was, as I don't want to slander anyone....but the name sucked) described themselves as an old-school, melodic Rock N' Roll band, ala-Cheap Trick (one of my favorite bands), so....I went for it.
They were the kind of band that....well, they'd rehearse often, but it was always for ONE show at Arlene's Grocery, maybe ONCE a year. Great. And....they kept talking about how they knew some chick who worked at Atlantic Records who will "probably" show up. Riiiiight.
Their music was ok....not great, but good enough for at the time. I had a good vibe with the guitar player, which showed some promise. In any case, they never called me back after that.
Years later, I became pretty good friends with that guitar player. He told me they never called me back because the singer didn't think I was a good enough drummer. Granted, my chops were rusty, and my playing was probably a bit loose. You see, I'd just MOVED to NEW YORK CITY from the MIDWEST, which....takes some TIME and ENERGY, ahahahahahaha!!!! But this same guitar player came to see a band I used to play in at the Pussycat Lounge (is that place still open?) WAY downtown. After he saw that show, he called the said singer who dismissed my drumming skills, and left him a voicemail with three words: "YOU FUCKED UP!!!!" Hahahahahaha!!! (Thanks Kelly!).
This wouldn't have been the band for me anyway, really. They were the kind of guys who, instead of going OUT there and playing gigs, and building a following and socializing and being cool & making it happen....they would constantly prepare for ONE fucking show that was always three months away, a 9PM slot at Arlene's on a Friday with a bunch of other bands they didn't know.....and yeah, this chick from Atlantic might go. I always came from the school of thought that one learns the ropes of DOING something by DOING it! You aren't going to learn how to satisfy a woman by doing the "five-knuckle shuffle" to porn every night....you know what I mean? Relatively speaking, in terms of playing Rock N' Roll, that's what this band was doing, and they never got anywhere close to where I was to go.....and I'm not all the way there YET, either! Hahahahahaha. But the truth is, I think maybe a couple of these guys were scared. Enough said.
Another time, I set up an audition for some "chick band" (which I didn't mind....I'm not sexist, for God's sake! If PJ Harvey had called me up, I'd have died of a heart attack....by the way....Polly Jean....call me! Hahahahaha). They seemed to be smart enough, and....well, I think they had a residency at some place called the Orange Bear. This didn't inspire confidence, exactly, but I figured, what the hell? It would be free rehearsal for two hours for me (every time you play, it makes you better the NEXT time, you know?), and maybe I'd make some friends.
So....I walked to the rehearsal studio, and was about to open the door....but I heard them playing music already. They were playing Fleetwood Mac's "Landslide".....I felt my heart race....I mean, I like Fleetwood Mac, don't get me wrong but....I'm not fucking PLAYING it, or anything LIKE it. So, I made what may have amounted to a chickenshit move: I BOLTED. To my credit, I went straight to Ultra Sound & gave them 10 bucks to let me drum in one of their open rooms for an hour (I did this a LOT and it saved my ASS when I didn't have anything going on. A drummer needs to drum, not only to keep his chops in shape, but in order to FEEL good).
A similar occurrence happened more recently....maybe five years ago, after I left one of my old bands, and was looking to start fresh. I found some band who described themselves as being Motley Crue meets Bowie or some shit....oh, and they were being looked at by Universal (I've heard THAT more times than I care to divulge). But, I figured, what the fuck, it's right down the street....let's fucking JAM!
Well, I showed up....opened up the door....and this one guy, the guitar player, looked pretty cool. Had the long hair, black jeans, and Black Crowes-esque shirt. Cool. But this....SINGER guy...was quite a portly mammal....and he had an afro that looked like STEEL WOOL on the top of his head....and he was wearing ZUBAZ!!!! Are you fucking KIDDING ME?!!! I'm getting onstage with THIS guy? And Uni are interested? The pungent smell of BULLSHIT filled the room.
I said something like, "Oh SHIT Man....I forgot, I gotta take a piss....I'll be RIGHT back....ok?!!" I stifled a laugh, and wondered if they wondered why I would need to take my drumsticks with me to the bathroom. And I did what any self-respecting, red-blooded American Rock N' Roller would do....I HAULED ASS! Once downstairs, I called my girlfriend (at the time), and said, "Hey Baby.....the bad news is, there's no way in HELL I'm going to play with these dudes, so I split....the good news is, I'm coming home, and am wondering if you're hungry!" Hahahahahahahaaha....
I know what some of you are thinking. You're thinking that, maybe the music would have been great, and that I shouldn't have judged a book by its cover, right? Wrong. The way you look, just as the way you carry yourself, has a BIG effect on how you're perceived. Call it superficial, and call it whatever else you'd like, but that's just the way it is. Someone who is likely to do his or her best to look their best is very likely to play their best....or maybe they just needed a drummer who wore ZUBAZ!
There were many, many auditions I went on, and played (ie, I didn't split before touching the damn drums). I tried out for Chubby Checker's band, and even got called back (I declined. With all due respect, I didn't move here to do THAT). Hell, I played with LOTS of people, some of which I'm still friends with to this day. But, really, it took me at least six months before I found people to play with who were on the same page as me in the least. But, I considered that to be a part of my initiation process, and I knew that with time, commitment, and perseverance, I'd finally get on track to where I needed to go. And I did!
As Bon Scott once sang, "It's a long way to the top if you wanna Rock N' Roll!"
Thanks for reading!
Your good friend,
Marty E.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
The Best Little Kiss-Off in Texas...Or Was That a Blow-Off?
This past March, my band The Dirty Pearls played at South By Southwest in Austin, TX. It was a week full of adventures, fun, and Rock N' Roll. I had a great time playing Rock N' Roll and partying with my homeboys. That's what we do!
But the funniest thing I remember about it happened the night we got there.
I was walking down the massively crowded street on my own after checking out some band somewhere...I was wearing my new (at the time) Chinese Police Hat, and was feeling pretty damn good about it. While I was carefully considering just where the source of my next beer might be, a gaggle of DIPFUCKS walked by me. One of them had the panache to yell to me, "HEY, nice HAT ya fucking FAGGOT!!!"
I was stunned, not only that this cock mongrel had the insolence to imply that I was a homosexual, but by the fact that he was clearly an ignoramus for not recognizing a fucking cool hat when he saw one! And, let me tell you, Gentle Reader, there was going to be RETRIBUTION!!!!
I turned around, and I BELLOWED after the whole lot of them, these immortal words that will make them think twice before ever again disparaging another Rock N' Roller (at a MUSIC FESTIVAL, no less).
I screamed, "HEY!!! If I'm such a FAGGOT, why don't you come on OVER here, and SUCK MY FUCKIN' DICK?!!!!!"
The blowhard in question then turned around, and said, "WHAT?! WHAT WAS THAT?!!!"
I then pointed to my pelvic region with both hands, and answered, "I SAID, 'SUCK MY DICK!!!!' AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!"
Of course, the boys in shorts didn't attempt to intervene any further, and I walked away, very satisfied with myself! And, I hit the drums even harder than I normally would at the gigs we played over the next couple of days. Here is some footage:
Thanks for reading!
Marty E.
But the funniest thing I remember about it happened the night we got there.
I was walking down the massively crowded street on my own after checking out some band somewhere...I was wearing my new (at the time) Chinese Police Hat, and was feeling pretty damn good about it. While I was carefully considering just where the source of my next beer might be, a gaggle of DIPFUCKS walked by me. One of them had the panache to yell to me, "HEY, nice HAT ya fucking FAGGOT!!!"
I was stunned, not only that this cock mongrel had the insolence to imply that I was a homosexual, but by the fact that he was clearly an ignoramus for not recognizing a fucking cool hat when he saw one! And, let me tell you, Gentle Reader, there was going to be RETRIBUTION!!!!
I turned around, and I BELLOWED after the whole lot of them, these immortal words that will make them think twice before ever again disparaging another Rock N' Roller (at a MUSIC FESTIVAL, no less).
I screamed, "HEY!!! If I'm such a FAGGOT, why don't you come on OVER here, and SUCK MY FUCKIN' DICK?!!!!!"
The blowhard in question then turned around, and said, "WHAT?! WHAT WAS THAT?!!!"
I then pointed to my pelvic region with both hands, and answered, "I SAID, 'SUCK MY DICK!!!!' AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!"
Of course, the boys in shorts didn't attempt to intervene any further, and I walked away, very satisfied with myself! And, I hit the drums even harder than I normally would at the gigs we played over the next couple of days. Here is some footage:
Thanks for reading!
Marty E.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Time to make an album....and this is the music that's going to inspire me while I do my part!!!
Tomorrow, the Dirty Pearls start pre-production on our debut album, with producer David Kahne.
We're planning on taking over the world with this shit, and I've been preparing for this since I was drumming along with Kiss Alive II on my bed for my brothers' girlfriends (most of which became wives).
So...it's time, now, to play the fucking drums as if my life depends on it....for it DOES.
Anyway, this is the music that I'm re-immersing myself in to make sure I'm as inspired as inhumanly possible and sticking with the spirit & the groove that I hold so dearly. I'm not going to do much explaining about it....I mean, it's pretty self-explanatory, don't you think?
#1. Led Zeppelin
#2. My Motown Favorites (The Four Tops, The Temptations, and Marvin Gaye)
#3. My Not-Sung-Enough Heros (Jerry Nolan [New York Dolls/Heartbreakers] & Nicky Turner [Lord of the New Church])
#4. The Clash
#5. Aerosmith
#6. AC/DC
#7. The Rolling Stones
#8. Red Hot Chili Peppers
#9. Cheap Trick
#10. Guns N' Roses
I'm sure there are many others. You know how I am!
Wish me luck!!!!
Thanks for reading!
Marty E.
PS-I forgot about Deep Purple....Ian Paice is one of the best ever!!!
We're planning on taking over the world with this shit, and I've been preparing for this since I was drumming along with Kiss Alive II on my bed for my brothers' girlfriends (most of which became wives).
So...it's time, now, to play the fucking drums as if my life depends on it....for it DOES.
Anyway, this is the music that I'm re-immersing myself in to make sure I'm as inspired as inhumanly possible and sticking with the spirit & the groove that I hold so dearly. I'm not going to do much explaining about it....I mean, it's pretty self-explanatory, don't you think?
#1. Led Zeppelin
#2. My Motown Favorites (The Four Tops, The Temptations, and Marvin Gaye)
#3. My Not-Sung-Enough Heros (Jerry Nolan [New York Dolls/Heartbreakers] & Nicky Turner [Lord of the New Church])
#4. The Clash
#5. Aerosmith
#6. AC/DC
#7. The Rolling Stones
#8. Red Hot Chili Peppers
#9. Cheap Trick
#10. Guns N' Roses
I'm sure there are many others. You know how I am!
Wish me luck!!!!
Thanks for reading!
Marty E.
PS-I forgot about Deep Purple....Ian Paice is one of the best ever!!!
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