coming separate

I forget how hard and complicated being in a band can be, especially in the embryonic stages, and every project I've ever done has been stillborn or aborted. I don't know what this is, and maybe it's too early to tell, the last few times have been with relative strangers so it was easier to bow out early. They've got other projects, this is my only one and I want it to be something I love, I wonder if this is selfish sometimes, but I can't play what I can't believe in.

must I paint you a picture

So me and homie went down to see Billy Bragg last night, after hanging out on my front porch awhile, and decided we weren't interested in the opener so we wandered around Kent and I geeked out over all my old haunts and how much it's changed down there... the apartments where Devo lived are gone, the "pet sematary" art installation that me and my roommates loved is replaced by a big house, the swings on the playground that we used to haunt have been replaced by park benches to keep The Children safe, my old grotty house on College Street is still there, but the street was really quiet that night. We loved hanging out down the river, walking along in the darkness along the paths, something I would never do on my own, and bailed over a fence across the railroad tracks to get back like the punkass teenagers that we sometimes still feel like.

Maybe we were in the wrong mood the whole night, maybe it was the comfortable chairs and the relative affluence of the general demographic. Maybe it was that we're economically hovering a few grand above the poverty line and can only afford a reasonable quality of life because we live in an extremely economically depressed region, so it's hard to hear about "power in a union" and the "working class" when your experience with unions has been so negative and someone's singing about it who probably hasn't been in one for decades, and you're trying to figure out what to do as winter comes and work gets slow and you wonder how you're going to make ends meet.

Maybe because you know too much, and there's something a little embarrassing about watching a guy justify his kissing the Queen's hand because his mom likes the Queen, and talking about his cowboy boots and authentic western shirts, and lambasting the usual easy targets and talking about the working man and how England is so much better at everything, which is kind of crazy because even though it's got healthcare, it's still pretty damn anti-immigrant.

So Thatcher's dead, but there's a lot of other scumbag powers that be that are still alive that you could go after, but heaven forbid you offend that demographic by suggesting that the current administration might suck as much as the last one so let's just talk about crazy wingnuts right? Because both parties aren't pretty much the same or anything. It's hard for me to believe in power to the people when the majority of people are selfish mofos who don't care much for their fellow humans as long as they get what they want. Yeah, healthcare's important, but last time I checked your country and my country were getting cozy about surveilling on dissenters, but who wants to hear about that? We want to feel good about feeling smart and progressive! I do have to give him props for dissing Dawkins, but otherwise. Low hanging fruit's already been picked clean.

It's awkward and strangely hilarious watching an old punk rabblerouser try to validate himself and act like he's all radical when he's got a big mansion in a crackerific oceanside town and writes get-off-my-lawn screeds in the newspaper aimed at those skateboarders who get in the way of big developers. And then to see the audience hanging on every word without necessarily questioning anything, and I wonder what the hell happened to me, have I really swung to the left of this guy? 

 And so  we're sitting off to the side, happy to hear the occasional song we wanted to hear, but feeling like it's not terribly fair to our fellow concertgoers ( no one was really sitting too close to us) if we're going to whisper snarkitudes to each other and be bent over trying not to laugh out loud, so we leave about halfway through, take another spin through the town down the sidestreets and past the grain elevators and drive back to Clevelandia laughing to stay up way too late again.

albums of the year or something like that

I can't say which one I like more than the others, hence alphabetical order. I told one of my friends that all the albums I liked are either by bands I've loved for pretty much ever, or stuff that's metal, which means maybe three people care about it or something in real life. It's a dirty word for my hipsteriffic cousins, for sure, and in fairness, the stuff I dig falls outside the usual manic guitar solo djentery and the heavier end of things. Also, I know what I like, but it takes awhile for tuneage to soak in for me...

Alcest - Les Voyages de la'me
More songs about fairies and stuff, or something, since it's in French and I can barely read or speak it. The opener on here's the best song and made it onto a few mix CDs because it's just that good. I was honestly a little underwhelmed at first, but it's continued to grow on me. Strangely enough, I like the ones with the last vestiges of black metal best on here, if for the dynamic shifts and the way the songs take a few more directions.

Ecailles de Lune will always be special, and sometimes I need a little more crunch to my tunes, but this is shimmery and shoegazey in a way that I love and haven't been able to find since the halcyon days of early 90's Brits like Ride. The metal kids seem to be doing it better than the indie kids right now, but no one believes me on this. Also, Fursy's swank art nouveau-inspired design is always lovely.

Corrosion of Conformity - s/t
I got into CoC junior year of high school while still stuck in the morass of progrock wankery and pre-college radio immersion, heard Congratulations Song on WMMS wedged between Staind and Nickelback and got Wiseblood from the library, loved it, tried to share it with lunch table homies who weren't nearly into metallic Southern rock that was smarter than Pantera (Flannery O'Connor references were not gotten until later but hey) and definitely not hip with The Kids then or now. Forgot about them for a bit during the undergrad years, rediscovered said sweetness during esoteric morning coffee rituals.

I also dig 80's hardcore punk for reasons I can't quite explain, but the alt-rock Pepper Keenan incarnation for those vocals alone is still my favorite, and this record would be completely golden if he was singing on here. Still, the songs are great, swampy and murky and ragey and letting out some of that frustration that shit is indeed still fucked up.

Dead Can Dance - Anastasis
so the first time I heard this I felt there was too much synth and rolled my eyes when Brendan was singing about children of the sun with flowers in their hair but then I kept listening and it kept sounding better and better. It sounds more like Spleen and Ideal than Aion, but the songs are there, sufficiently long and beautiful. I wasn't sure how I felt about this on first listen, since I prefer all those dulcimers and strange percussion to the more meditative feel of the earlier work, but I keep coming back to it. Something about the ancientness that it evokes makes it perfect for those nights when I get super-introverted and decide to paint, read, drink pots of tea and burn a lot of incense.

Earth -  Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light II
More of the same lovely stuff as the first installment, with a little extra jazz perhaps. One of The Kids told me this was too metal but I don't hear that at all and he probably digs Of Montreal or something anyway. Lovely unspooling drone sounds dull to the unititiated, but carries enough weight, and the sonorous cello conquers all. It's like classical music for people who listen to rock and roll, I guess. I guess this year I've either been rocking out or spacing out. Nothing wrong with that.

Elder - Spires Burn EP
A guy I know who loves the Smiths turned me onto this band, go figure. About a month or so later, I paid five dollars cover to watch them rock out muchly at one of the best shows out of many seen this year. I've played the heck out of Dead Roots Stirring and this on my show. It fills that Soundgarden-shaped hole with the long numbers of power-trio psych-sludge goodness that calls to mind Seattle but without the mope or the heroin. Nice guys too. My dad likes it. Go see them if they come through your town. This is on vinyl only, but it's on the Youtubes.

Hammers of Misfortune - 17th Street
I don't know why I like this record so much, or why other bands mining similar sonic territory get more press. The songwriting chops are here, the lyrics hover between fantastical-quasi-epic and rage against The Man and forces of gentrification, more technical than punk, less pretentious than prog. It reminds me of if X was a classic metal band that took more from Deep Purple or Queen than the Doors, with the male/female vocal interplay, galloping rhythms, generous keyboard lines, intertwining guitars (Leila's SG-rocking and vocals warmed my heart when I saw them play to six people including me this summer), unvarnished production that keeps it from being overly ponderous. It's driving music in the Corolla and something I keep in regular rotation when I fill in the metal slots.

 
Les Discrets - Ariettes Oubilees 
A cousin to the Alcest record, especially sharing band members and such. More acoustic, more melodic, heavier at parts, a step up from their stellar debut. I wish I could be as crazy-talented as Fursy. Songs for rainy days, for autumn, for winter, for wanting to be out in the woods and far away from pollution and drama. Words really can't describe here.

 

Melvins - Freak Puke
This one hasn't completely been absorbed yet, but something about sludge played with some jazztastic drums and upright bass genius via Trevor Dunn is fabulous... and there's strangely sweet harmonies on top of that. Seeing Buzz Osbourne's amazing rock and roll hair bob up and down in front of me has finally been scratched off the nonexistent bucket list. Still don't understand the couple in front of me who spent the whole set making out. Still, so damn good.

Soundgarden - King Animal
so I've been moaning the past few years about how Chris Cornell has sucked massively since Soundgarden called it quits in the mid-90's and I still stand by that.Thankfully the rest of the band does not suck, and the reunion disc isn't the rifftastic cornucopia of sweetness that was Superunknown, the downer-psych thorniness of Down on the Upside, but it really could have been much much worse, but Thayil's one of my all-time favorite guitarists, Ben Shepherd and Matt Cameron are stellar on the rhythm end and Cornell's at least put off shilling for Obama and hitting on younger chicks at the club to put out a disc of songs that could have been way longer and more jammy (there are lots of times when it seems like it's about to cut loose but never seems too) but aren't bad and surprisingly good. It hasn't left my car yet, thanks especially to cuts like Eyelids Mouth, Attrition, and Non-State Actor. It's no Superunknown, but it's a good listen, and those days are long gone.

  Torche - Harmonicraft
Torche is what should be getting played the hell out of by The Kids instead of whatever twee milquetoast represents their generation on the radio. It somehow manages to be catchy as hell in a way that theoretically would have been more radio-ready in days when Jawbox was on a major label, but also bottom-heavy at the same time. Punky raveups, My Bloody Valentine-esque walls of sound, perfect for summer driving and blowing out my old boombox during punkrocksoftball this summer. I missed their gig at the rock hall but loved them opening for CoC. The guy I went with liked them but didn't like the other bands too much. Mike Huckabee likes them even though there's a high amount of gayness lyrically inherent. Snots on the Internet say it's what your girlfriend listens to. They're not wrong.

Worm Ouroboros - Come the Thaw
I described this on first listen to Randal as sounding like if Hildegard Von Bingen or that girl from Portishead started a doom band. I don't know how accurate this is, but it's the only words I have for such cathartic gorgeousness. It may not be as technically brutal but the emotional heft is there in its own right, each instrument has its room to breathe and resonate, and comes together so perfectly. Don't let the name scare you away from such ethereal beauty.

Songs:

Amadou & Mariam: Dougou Badia
The collab-heavy album doesn't do it for me like previous stellar efforts, but this song is pretty fabulous and about as perky as it gets here in my melancholic world. Santi White knows how to add to a song and not overwhelm it, the hook is catchy as hell even if I don't know what's all being said, and the guitar and harmonica work lovely here.

Corin Tucker Band - Neskowin
Half of this album is fabulous, the other half isn't bad but gets skipped a lot. The lower-profile Sleater-Kinney alumni and band of other oldsters from when indie kind of rocked put out a nice little record. There's a little bit of punky reggae skank in here and some lovely slashy guitar work and girl-power teenage memories.

 Mark Lanegan - St. Louis Elegy
Not my favorite Lanegan outing but this could be a lost Gutter Twins take with the melancholic mood and Greg Dulli's harmonies.

 Witch Mountain - Bloodhound
Haven't quite gotten into the sophomore effort that was Randal's album of the year, but this song is pure heavy awesome from the viola intro to the blistering guitar solo at the end. I've played this on every metal show I fill in on. Also, it's about police brutality, which would make Balko proud.

folked up

So I've been talking to the former bandmate of some friends who wants to do a side project, and given my familiarity with both heavier tuneage and the folk music instilled at a young age by my parents and because he's a good guy, I said I'd be up for jamming but upon talking about what that kind of mashup would entail, it seems we've got some very different visions of how that would play out.

In theory, I should be all about folk-punk or folk-metal but in general it really does nothing for me since it seems to combine the worst offending elements of both genres in question to make something even worse. Or maybe I just don't drink enough for it to sound good, because both seem to be the soundtrack for people who want to get drunk and in touch with their inner primitive European or something. No offense to my fellow crackers meant, of course, but why does everything have to sound all chug-chug-oompah or as cornball as Celtic Woman meets Manowar?

 And the thing is, there's modern stuff that does take older elements and does it well, or at least in a more meditative minor-key way that hits me in the gut way more. I guess I can't say that people aren't taking old songs and old texts and adding to them, the prevailing trends just don't do it for me.

earthing

The car is 3/4s done, these Clevelandia roads take a toll on frames and inner parts, I got it back from the mechanic, walked the Jungle Puppy, fed the cats, scrounged together some leftovers, called a friend to talk about possibly starting to go to Al-Anon to figure out how to deal with the drunks in my life, and drove out to the east side to get my drone on.

Got a cup of coffee near closing time, drank it outside, ended up talking to Dylan (generally I don't seek out the band, but he was out there, a few others were, and it coalesced naturally) with a couple of college radio people from the community college in the next county over, and found out there were mutual friends, because this world up here is so very small. We made the requisite black metal jokes, discussed the might of the Melvins, and talked radio business about the FCC.

The first opener was half the headliner playing chilled out bass and mellotron jazzness, Eagle Twin was heavy and more compelling live than on online clips, oodles guitar hero riffage, propulsive drumming, and lyrics referencing a whole lot of literature that made for a satisfying set.

Earth is a slow-burning thing, watching the interplay of keyboard/trombone, basslines and ringing chords, and the deliberate drumming (sadly no cello this time, probably would have dissolved into emotional sappitude if it was there). Reflective Powers have led to earplug wearing which was good because everything was loud, and clear even through the foam. By the end of the night I was sleepy and lost in the sounds, resting my tired legs on a chair in the corner since most people in this town work early and were starting to disperse.

Maybe it's the socialness that nicotine engenders, the small turnout, or something in the crisp November air, but despite the introverted music, it was a friendly crowd, or maybe I was more social because I was there alone and so were others who drove from other rusty environs to congregate in the meditative sounds, but people were mingling and talking in ways that I don't always see at shows. I don't have the idealistic view of music bringing people together, but there was something nice about watching some good tunes with some nice folks that felt really good in the middle of a long week...

melvins

My first exposure to the Melvins, along with other underground tuneage was a K-Tel "indie rock" comp that was way more awesome than what The Kids are into these days, and my first tipoff that the radio sucked worse than I realized. I knew that Kurt Cobain was a fan, but it took a few years to get into.

Fast forward a good decade and a few years and I'm heading out to the east side with a new homie after drinking much coffee since we both work early shifts, and we missed Tweak Bird, and I forgot my earplugs, because now I'm too old since it's too loud, but holy crap this band has been larger than life for so long it's a little surreal to see Buzz and his incredible hair bobbing ten feet away from me,b because he looks like a cartoon character brought to life.

I'm shorter than most of these hesher dudes and my camera is little use. But yeah, upright bass amazingness, swank drums, I forget how many hooks and jazz runs are buried within that sludge, it's hard to describe except that it was awesome from start to finish, big deconstructed Sabbathy riffs and  harmonies.

Given that there's 25 albums of which I've only heard a few, I don't know all the songs, but the songs are all good, not a dull moment, and I wish I had an upright bass I could play that well, a bunch of dudes were moshing, it was mostly dudes unsurprisingly, a chick and her boyfriend were making out and bumping into everyone, we both ran into a lot of people we knew, good times were had by all, picked up a t-shirt a smidge big, we drove back to the west side, fell asleep on the couch where I'm housesitting next to the protective Jungle Puppy and miraculously am awake and coherent. Behold the power of the sludge, indeed.

through restriction and repetition I'm growing old

so I thought that taking a creative writing workshop would make me write more but it hasn't. I can't write anything. I've tried, some would say maybe not enough. Even when I demarcate the hours and the caffeine to sit there nothing happens.  Nothing remotely worth sharing with the world is dribbling out of my brain.  All the streams of story have dried up and gotten tangled, khattam shud.

It's nobody's fault but mine, of course. The prompts are good, there are some gifted folks and I've got a notebook full of inspiring concepts about the craft but it's just not working, it's not working at all. At least twenty false starts in Google Docs and sundry notebooks, what the hell, I think too much and even when I try to crank it out I despise the end result so much, because I know it's not true, because if I don't like it how could anyone else?

Discontent with mediocrity, how many short stories have I read that were so uncompelling and self-consciously clever, characters I couldn't care about, incidents uninteresting, endings unsatisfactory.  How many novels that unravelled and fell apart halfway through, go all the way or not at all, and I don't have the endurance and for that honestly a sense of shame.

It's like when I've tried doing the band thing, and the songs are so profoundly mediocre that I feel the life being sucked out of me as I play the chords or basslines, why bother? Why contribute more mess and averageness. 

At least in art class you can keep throwing paint at the canvas, scrawl missives in pen and colored pencil on the canvas, collage the hell out of that trouble spot or at least smother it under a coating of white and start over again. With this it's harder to cheat. Either it's there or it's not and it's just not there.

I used to listen to a lot of Idlewild from the summer between junior and senior year all the way through my English litster undergrad and realize that they really need to make their way back into my Tuesday morning music rotations. I'm glad I caught them on their last tour through Clevelandia almost ten years ago now, because they haven't returned since and are now on hiatus. I was kind of pretentious about my punk rock back then to the point of being a jerk, but I still don't understand why this band never got big, cursed by falling through major label cracks and being a bit too brainy I guess. Songs about being socially awkward and reading books probably weren't quite as accessible maybe as songs about making out and getting cheated on. These tunes were what I once tried to write to. If only I could recapture that creative thirst again.

last blasts

We converged in Chinatown for an exhibit on the community's history, with photos, oral history, and a lion dance, which I've never gotten to see before. Wandered around the building and some galleries and then ended up at the kind of Chinese restaurant where there's no crackers and weird game shows on the TV, and picking something to eat is like picking lucky numbers in the lottery, but good times were had.

Helped my mom out in the morning, braved the grocery store on Saturday and chortled at "Born to Be Wild" on the Muzak, drove out to the lands of the east to a beautiful Victorian house for the nuptials, which were of course lovely.

The reception was under a big circus-style tent, with burgers and homemade pies and and popcorn. Cute kids were running around, I got to catch up with some people I don't get to see as much as I'd like, animal crackers were set on fire with the candles, much laughter, everyone around me instagramming the hell out of everything, hence images.  I don't drink at these gatherings, because I get absurd enough as it is in the right company. I'm so happy for them, it seemed like everyone had a good time, and everything was just kind of perfect and festive the way these things should be more often.

Sunday, plans were altered, me and one of my Parmastani girls went down to the festival that was going on all weekend, no longer under the bridge, but in a warehouse down by the harbor, which, given that it was daytime and not in a sweet Gaimanesque space, didn't quite have the same magic, kind of reminded me of a convention center with loud bands and echoey acoustics.

We looked at some nice art, ran into some people we knew, didn't find anything that was really all that super exciting and spent the rest of the afternoon eating ice cream on the rocks along the lake, walking through the park and chilling on the balcony before I picked up the Queen of the Bondo and met up with Cookbook for rocking out courtesy of Corin Tucker's new band. It's no Sleater-Kinney to be sure, though if I could have another record with the sound and fury of The Woods I'd be all too pleased, but still satisfyingly punky and noisy.

No wonder bands are skipping this town, because evidently everyone'd rather get fat at swank restaurants than go see live music. Or maybe it's because Corin Tucker doesn't have a TV show. I don't know. Anyways, the club was near-deserted when we got there, and decided to go and venture outside to find caffeine and by the time the show ended there were maybe 40 or 50.  Still, they played a great set, there was lots of loud guitars and her band was fantastic, fabulous rhythm section and strong chemistry, way more dubby in a postpunk way than I thought it would be, and I'm glad I've gained enough Reflective Powers to wear earplugs now so I don't feel disoriented when I leave. Unlike Wild Flag, who in comparison seemed to be phoning it in, the crowd was mostly dudes which was surprising.  Also, my camera sucks so youtubes it is.

Picked up the CD (not much on the youtubes, but stream here), we drove back through the dark quiet streets, I couldn't sleep last night, thank God for the espresso in the coffeepot.

folila

I suck at writing album reviews, but hearing a couple of the songs off the new Amadou & Mariam made me look forward to what was to come. Dimanche en Bamako blew me away in the spring of 2007 when I first delved into the waters of that nebulous thing called "world music" which has connotations of boomers trying to get in touch with their nonexistent third world roots and synthesizer heavy overproduced collaborations. The West African sounds, that product of cross-pollination of the blues that crossed over the Atlantic and then bounced back in the 20th century somehow manage to be simultaneously new and somewhat still accessible, those chord changes haven't change that much, I guess and there was enough melancholy to pervade the brightness that it moved me.

"The Magic Couple" of Mali, with a sweet love story and some amazing guitar playing on the part of Amadou, has stuck with me in the subsequent years when I need something that isn't doomy and full of crushing power chordage. Welcome to Mali had the glossy production that still allowed the lovely guitars and the flourishes of balafon and kora shine through even the most pop-like moments, and the collaborators blended seemlessly, so I was looking forward to the next one, despite not being too crazy about seeing that every track had someone different on it.

Dougou Badia, featuring Santigold, who was in a punk band that I liked muchly and now does pop music that I still kind of dig because it's got the same dub/punk/reggae touchstones that I appreciate, like if No Doubt was actually good., lends an immediacy to the opening track, soaring over the guitars and the looping harmonicas. I had this on repeat for a few weeks and passed it around to a few people who I thought might like it.

The next cut has Tunde Adebimpe from TV on the Radio on it, who also had a great cameo on the last Tinariwen record, injecting a beautiful voice and understatedness that gives space for the song to breathe, and I could have listened to the chorus repeat itself ala oldschool Faith No More, but....

But the rest of it? Where's the guitar lines that I love so much, the exuberance that marked the earlier work? I hear more of the guest vocals and instruments than I do of the people whose names and photos grace the liner notes. It's like having a party and being crowded out by the guests who do all the talking. The songs just aren't there like they once were, which considering that they've had a musical career as long as I've been alive, shouldn't be that surprising, but I think I'll be passing on this one...