The Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band Soundtrack

I’m beginning what I’ll call the Mother-In-Law series, which is merely a handful of long-players that she brought to me because she knows that I like music.
Evidently, this is a common phenomenon; I’ve heard that my cousin’s in-laws also hand over the occasional vinyl album and my father is also a fan of the “Here’s some scratchy old albums that you beat to hell when you were little” gift.
“I remembered that you liked The Beatles,” she said as she handed over the records.
As I noticed the familiar cover of the Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band Soundtrack and chuckled a little.
It was this album that ignited a passionate hatred for the Bee Gees, Peter Frampton and Alice Cooper and it caused me to think that Aerosmith may indeed have a problem with drugs.
Understand that I liked all of them up until that album-hell, I even tolerated the shitty I’m In You for Frampton-and now he does this to me?!
The movie is awful, but the soundtrack is just as bad with Aerosmith throwing out a decent cover of “Come Together” and Earth Wind & Fire offering a nice version of “Got To Get You Into My Life.”
These have proven to be the only two good tracks on the album,
Did I mention it’s a double?
Every thing else is just awful and with George Martin’s name on the project, it’s an embarrassment.
What I don’t understand is how even at that young of an age (12) I knew this thing was going to be a bust. So how did a group of smart adults let this thing get started?
Who knows? But Robert Stigwood dropped a fortune on this thing to the tune of “bankrupt” almost immediately after people started to notice that this thing smelled like a turd.
It worked for a moment; the album reference, Aerosmith, Alice Cooper, and that wild and crazy guy Steve Martin got us all excited to see the movie. The trouble was, nobody could remember what the hell the film was about only five minutes after we left the theatre.
I wish I could say the same thing for the soundtrack.

And Of Course Harry The Horse Who Dances The Waltz

My daughter and I share some eerie similarities. She’s four months shy of her third birthday and I’ve noticed some of the very same patterns that I displayed when I was her age: a fascination of water towers, a perverse sense of humor, and an obsession with music.
The boy, who’ll be seven in four months himself, is more of a sensitive cat with more of a “help me with this level of Mario Bros” kind of attitude. He too has an attraction for music, but he’s more of a ham and likes putting on a little show for everyone.
And while they’re both social animals, the girl does enjoy going up to her room alone sitting at her desk and playing music.
Unfortunately for me, her music consists of two cds: the aforementioned original cast to Hairspray, a children’s cd with a bunch of kiddy songs like “The Itsy Bitsy Spider,” and a substantial children’s playlist in both my and my wife’s IPod.
There is no “Itsy Bitsy Spider” on those, but there is a couple of Laurie Berkner songs, a few tracks from Yo Gabba Gabba and-gulp-a Hanna Montana song, or as the baby describes it “Hantana.”
Even though it was my credit card used to buy that Miley Cyrus gem, I’m still trying to assert my influence with the other tracks on the playlist and with a recent even spurred by my own memories as a child.
Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band was in constant rotation in my 3-year-old bedroom, along with Jesus Christ Superstar and the Original Case Recording of Hair. My folks should have probably hidden both from me as Hair is way inappropriate for a three-year old (even though they don’t know about cunnilingus or fellatio) and Superstar just for the fact that the 39 lashes part freaked my shit.

But Sgt. Pepper’s?
Hell, I practically learned how to talk with that album.
Thanks to last year’s remasters, I now have two cd copies of Sgt. Pepper’s, so what better time than to give my daughter her very own copy of the album just like my parent’s did for me. The difference is that I really think my folks used music as a way to not have to deal with me whereas I’m using it as a way to turn my kinds into music obsessive weirdoes.
After all, it’s so much easier to walk around with a chip on your shoulder because of a Smiths’ song instead of any real life event.
I give her the disc and she looks at the cover.
“Is this yours, Daddy?” she asks inquisitively.
“Yes, but you can have it now.”
“Here you go, Daddy.” she says, trying to hand the disc back to me. She doesn’t understand what a rare event it is to have me give a part of my collection to someone.
After she figures out that she can keep my 1987 copy of Sgt. Pepper’s, she goes to her room to give it a spin. I hear her through the baby monitor the familiar words “It was twenty years ago today” and smile, thinking that I have done something meaningful.
Suddenly, before you can say “Billy Shears,” the song stops and I hear her fumbling with the cd player. She runs back into my bedroom and tries to give the disc back to me.
“Here you go, Daddy.” she offers. “I don’t like the Beatle bugs.”
I plead with her, explaining that there is more than one track to listen to. I tell her that “For The Benefit Of Mister Kite” is about a fun circus, suggest that the sitar in “Within Without You” is actually a kitty cat singing, and remind her that Ethan thinks “When I’m Sixty-Four” is a great song.
“I don’t like the Beatle bugs!” she repeats again, growing frustrated that I’m not taking her criticism seriously.
Finally, we compromise. I suggest that she keeps Sgt Pepper’s because “One day, you might like it.” I put it under her other two cds so that it doesn’t distract her from her true favorites and within moments I hear the familiar refrain “Good morning, Baltimore!” as she spins the Hairspray soundtrack for the millionth time.
At least I know that a splendid time is guaranteed for all when she’s ready for it.

The Boss On Spectacle

Well, color me impressed!
I sat down on a Saturday morning and watched Elvis Costello’s Spectacle on Sundance and wasn’t overwhelmed by pretentious snobbery. In fact, the show featured Bruce Springsteen and the pair dished out a great set and some interesting conversation.
The highlight(s) were a stunning medley of The Boss’ “Radio Nowhere” and Elvis’ “Radio Radio.” I always hated that Springsteen song too, so imagine my surprise at how much I liked this version.
Watching Bruce with the backing band showed him in a very frisky mode-it reminded me of his backing band for the Human Touch/Lucky Town tour, when he made the set extra rowdy to compete with the dirty grunge supporters. He was great, for what it’s worth, and the performance on Spectacle seemed to suggest a fire that I haven’t seen him play with on recent E Street Band clips or with that dismally pedestrian Rock & Roll Hall of Fame show.
Could it be that Bruce is a man in competition with the cash cow that is his longstanding band and with where his heart wants to go musically?
He spoke at length about how he felt when his youngest took a liking to Dylan, recalling the Newport show as “Epic” and secretly hearing “Chimes of Freedom” through the door of his son’s bedroom.
I can’t wait for that type of shit.
Today, I caught the little man singing “All aboard for fun times” today as Iggy Pop’s The Idiot blared on the way to Lowes.
I’m tryin’, Boss.

Fever Ray At The P3 Guld

Snagged this one from Lefsetz, who is strangely enough a fan of Fever Ray. It's a great album (and according to Karen Dreijer, it may be the project's only release) and it recently won an award in Sweden for something.
All I know is that when Karen walked up to accept the award, it was obviously an attempt to mock Lady Gaga's outrageous sense of fashion.
When suddenly it turns into a weird, David Cronenberg moment.
Long live the new flesh!

Danny Kortchmar Tells Fall Out Boy To 'Get Off My Lawn!'

As much as I enjoy reading the Lefsetz Letter, there’s always a prevailing sense of fogeyism lodged in between the articles of technology, the end of days of the recording industry and the constant reminders to people throughout the record industry to shit or get off the pot in terms of how they market their product.
And it is about product in Bob’s mind-a number one like Vampire Weekend’s current offering, Contra, isn’t really a “hit” based on the tepid sales figures. Ten or so years ago, the sales results that Contra is putting up wouldn’t be enough to earn a #1 spot. Letsetz points this out in a way that occasionally borders on hostility-I mean have you actually seen pictures of Vampire Weekend? They’re not the kind of kids that are going to put up much of a fight, so why bother taking a swing at them with the “let’s see what sales they can do next week” kind of post.
We all know that it’s going to fall off the radar from here on out and it will probably struggle to get near gold status. The fact that everyone’s talking about them and they can only throw up a little over 100,000 in one week speaks little to the band’s hype machine but it speaks volume of how fragmented all of the outlets are in actually getting the word out to the mainstream.
They’re not, but you know what, neither is radio, network television, magazines, etc. etc.
The real story is Heidi Montag’s dismal debut of “Superficial” which posted 658 copies last week.

Where are the gloves there?
The song practically begs to be given an internet beatdown because it actually declares that Heidi “rock(s) the latest fashions and I set the latest trends” when-after looking at those embarrassing totals-she obviously doesn’t.
And then there are the occasional emails that Lefsetz receives, like a recent one by Danny Kortchmar:

Hey Bob,
Fuck all this bullshit….
A message to the Killers ..the yeah yeah yeahs .. mgmt…fall out boy..etc..try writing ONE song that has the power and truth of The Pretender, or Millworker by JT, or anything by Bruce or "Not Dark Yet" by Dylan or "Won’t Get Fooled Again…how ’bout it,"Monsters Of Folk? Do you have enough ass in your britches?
Don’t look like it…
The Supreme Court just decided to turn over the whole policital process to the corporations…any one got any thing to say about that? Ting Tings? Killers? Lady Gaga? Anyone?
It’s not bad enough that our leaders are of no help…where are the "artists"?
If you have nothing to say except "look at me" then… fuck you…remember when music used to mean something? Get your head out your collecitive asses and write something that speaks to the hearts of men (and women) or go away..
DK

For those of you not familiar with Mr. Kortchmar’s work, he’s a notable guitarist who’s played with many famously talented people. You can check out his work on Tapestry, which should be enough to get you to understand that he was kind of a big deal.
But am I the only one sensing a bit case of fogeyism with Kortchmar’s apparent displeasure over some of alternative rock’s most notable artists? I know, it’s hilarious how he lumps Killers and Fall Out Boy into an obvious disconnect as to what’s hip, but it’s bizarre how he chastises those artists to produce something on the level of Jackson Brown, Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, and James Taylor.
By the way, Kortchmar was actually a part of James Taylor’s first band-the Original Flying Machine. The band was in their twenties, a war was raging and the political process was in disarray. Kortchmar and Taylor were actually around the same age as those artists that he recently lambasted.
So what were they doing to “speak to the hearts of men?”
They were knockin’ around the zoo on a Thursday afternoon according to one song. On another, they declared themselves to be night owls who enjoyed sleeping all day long. And Kortchmar-in an act that screams “look at me”-wrote a song and titled it “Kootch’s Song.”
It’s presumptuous and fairly egotistical to believe that music no longer means something today, and I may add it's common to hear baby boomers lecture other generations about doing more after squandering their own beliefs of the sixties.
Most people Danny's age are more like their Eisenhower loving fathers than they were.
Kortchmar sounds like he feels entitled to light a fire under the younger generation’s ass to do something while he couldn't find a Bic to burn his own to actually get up and find the exact kind of music he’s throwing a temper tantrum about. It's out there, but like an old man in the gaming section of Best Buy, he doesn't know where to find it.
His idea of who rock’s left-field spokespersons are is skewed because his fact checkin’ cuz is Rolling Stone, Billboard, that Spin he bought in the airport on the way back to Martha’s Fucking Vineyard, and the curmudgeon commentary of Bob Leftsez.
So why don’t you go fuck off yourself, Kootch. I’m paying for your goddamn social security benefits and I am tired of hearing your generation’s opinion on things that it has no business on offering its “advice” on.
Just look at the shit that you've started.

And by the way, nice dick move that you and Taylor pulled on the Flying Machine album. You want full album price on just an ep’s worth of false starts and studio chatter wrapped around three or four mediocre sock hop rock songs?
The ass in your britches reeks of adult undergarments and sour grapes.

Tune Yards - Bird Brains

DIY don’t mean shit if you ain’t got the chops to back it up. I’ve got boxes full of “DIY” cassettes in my storage room of captured crap, but thanks to limited ability, you won’t be hearing any of my collected “works” anytime soon.
You should, on the other hand, spend a few moments checking out the project of Merrill Garbus’ Tune Yards, a collection that deserves more than finding a resting place in the storage room or on the oxide of the tapes she sells at shows.
4AD has come to the rescue with issuing Tune Yards’ Bird-Brains on a larger scale, but not before treating those familiar with Garbus’ quirky persona with a limited edition screen-printed release.
To be fair, Garbus can be an acquired taste; I saw a video of Tune Yards’ “Hatari” on You Tube once-seemingly recorded in a small apartment-an immediate felt sympathy for the neighbors enduring her yells and howls while remaining transfixed at the beauty that her near-tribal delivery offered. Sealing it for me was how oblivious Garbus was in this performance-for-one; she was in another realm, channeling something fortunate enough to be captured.
For all of the DIY ethos running throughout Bird-Brains, there’s a sense that once a particular sound, rhythm, or chord is struck, Garbus has the good sense of capturing the moment and revisiting it. What’s even more exciting is the possibility of hearing how these songs have progressed in a year or two. There’s nothing to suggest that what we’re hearing in Bird-Brains is indeed the final word, note, or sound.
Her ukulele-evidently a family hand-me-down that spurred this foray into music-is ever present alongside homemade rhythms of breath, hands, and found objects. The back story suggests that the entire project was funded on the cheap with handouts and freeware, and it sounds as such accordingly. But the entire record is rich with passion and artistic vision, and it’s a rewarding headspin as Bird-Brains leaps from continent to continent, genre to genre, while managing to patch everything together in a sonic quilt that’s as precious as a family heirloom.
Of course, family heirlooms mean more to those it speaks to and Bird-Brains is designed to speak more to those who find value in the places and things that may be right in front of them.

This review originall appeared in Glorious Noise.

Superchunk Performing "Cast Iron"

Goddamn these guys were good, and woefully underapreciated.

The OCD Chronicles: Hairspray-"Mama, I'm A Big Girl Now"

I’ve heard this song at least ten times today. That’s on top of the dozen that I endured yesterday. This is in addition to the reality that the song may end up as the most-played song on my wife’s IPod as well as mine.
Blame my parents.
They are the ones who introduced the Hairspray musical to my daughter. At 2 ½, she doesn’t know all the words, but she can sing the phrasing and inflections, hitting the critical spots and giving a true theatric production to her performances.
“Mama, I’m A Big Girl Now” was originally restricted to my folk’s house. It was a cute little “Grandma’s House” routine, much like her princess skirt and tiara. She’d request the song and Grandma would put in the cd in their Bose Wave Radio with optional cd player. In case you’re wondering, they do sound pretty good, but I’m not convinced of the high asking price.
For Christmas, she received her own copy of Hairspray and a barely-functioning Coby cd boombox was acquired for her room. The song is now played endlessly and, on occasion, the version gets longer depending on the number of times the song skips while being played.
It’s reached an epidemic point where I’m mouthing “If I get a hickey then don’t have a cow” while also making more inappropriate lyrics that I struggle to keep out of earshot from the little girl.
As for right now, The Runaways “Cherry Bomb” remains as my IPod’s top track, but there’s a very good chance that this will change before summer returns.

Husker Du Live In London 1985

Check out the first song, "Every Everything," where it looks like Greg broke his bass strap and someone is physically holding the bottom of the bass for him. The song charges ahead and with a deep breath, they kick out "Makes No Sense At All."
As powerful as the band was on record, they delivered similar results on stage.

Two interesting observations:
1.) Mould doesn't look like he's wearing any hearing protection (having seen Husker Du live, I can attest that this is a very bad decision).
2.) This is professionally shot footage and it would be great if cleaner copies were made commercially available. Husker Du is a band who's legacy is going underserved with a lack of posthumous material.

Nikki Sixx - The Heroin Diaries

So I finished Nikki Sixx’s The Heroin Diaries after looking at the book, snickering, and then looking at it again for another 10 minutes. When I got tired of looking like a cheap bastard by reading the entire thing in the store, I bought it. It has occupied the top of my toilet tank and a trip to the in-laws with positive results.
Can I recommend it? If you’re a fan of the Motley Crue biography, The Dirt, then yes. If you’re not, then I need to recommend reading The Dirt again, because it’s fucking awesome. Seriously, you can be the world’s biggest Crue hater and still enjoy the piss out of The Dirt because it’s better than anything in their catalog.
The Heroin Diaries follows a similar pattern of interviews and quotes from various band members, management, record company executives, and anyone who seemed to get in the way of Nikki Sixx’s penchant for self-medication.
It just seems so hard to believe how a guy who professes inspiration from several well-deserved sources could be the man responsible for much of what was wrong with 80’s music. The decadence sometimes overshadowed the music and Sixx even supports that claim himself. The Heroin Diaries explains how a pointless and piss poor live version of Elvis’ “Jailhouse Rock” actually made it on Girls Girls Girls: they rain out of ideas.
With such contradictory information (buying into the Motley myth while acknowledging that much of it was merely a turd of complacency) being admitted, one has to wonder if he’s throwing his brand under the bus. Does Motley Crue even have enough material to make a vital entry? Do we take it for what they appeared to be: a decent metal band from L.A. that started out with a promising debut, followed it with a more aggressive bit of imagery and then discovered a formula for funding a never-ending vacation without ever having to consider a world based in reality. Want proof? That aforementioned album of mediocrity made it to #2 on the album charts and fueled a sold-out arena tour. Could it be that a lot of what fed Sixx’s addiction was knowing that, despite the success, Motley Crue was turning into a corporate machine, the same kind of beast that Sixx rebelled against while growing up?
Probably not, as Sixx continually rails against his Mother for abandoning him throughout the book, offering a half-hearted “I’m not mad anymore” response at the end of the book while suggesting that most of his bile originated from her irresponsibility.
He also tiptoes around the idea that he may be repeating exactly the same kind of harm to his own children as his mother did to him. Of course, not of the same degree, but I find the fact that Sixx wasn’t able to develop a healthy relationship with the mother of his own children as incredibly telling.
He goes on to project an almost congenial and pedestrian attitude for his band. I can’t understand how he could see all of vocalist Vince Neil’s inadequacies under the haze of heroin, but now that he’s clean and sober, he doesn’t seem to notice that the vocalist has become even more limited in his abilities and even lazier in his performances. Is Sixx merely trying not to rock the money boat or does he even give a shit anymore?
With that being said, The Heroin Diaries mirror The Dirt is the sense that it barely talks about the Crue’s music. From that perspective, it is highly entertaining while shedding no insight on why we’re even talking about Motley Crue nearly two decades removed from their limited impact on rock music.

Neil Young "Pants On The Ground"

Jimmy Fallon worked his great Neil Young impersonation last night for a cover of General Larry Platt's American Idol viral hit "Pants On The Ground." In case you haven't seen it, I'll leave it to you to seek it out. It's essentially a sixty-two year old dude making fun of teenagers walking around in baggy pants. I had no idea they were still in style, but evidently the old fart had something to say about the youth's fashion faux-pas.
Once you've located the original version, put it up against Fallon's Neil Young version.

Jimmy Fallon Features All Ringo Episode

Holy shit! Late Night with Jimmy Fallon is still on the air! I've seen it once, but then got frustrated and turned the channel. Every subsequent viewing prompted the same reaction until I finally gave up on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon completely.
Until last week when I was caught up in the late-night wars and notice that Fallon was having an hour-long show with nothing but Ringo.
I lasted about 15 minutes.
Ringo gets props for putting up with Fallon's awful interviewing, but it's quite apparent that Starkey is not as quick as he was before and his jokes are remarkably unfunny. In short, he's getting along in years and the "peace and love" bit is getting as tired as grandpa's war stories.
He's got a new album out-which is probably as good as his last one-which wasn't worth your time at all.
Here's a fairly embarassing version of "I Wanna Be Your Man" from the show. If anyone can explain why Ringo needs a back up drummer, feel free to share. Check out the part right before the piano solo where Ringo forgets the musician's name and then resorts to a scream of "Piano!"

Teddy Pendergrass R.I.P.

I’m burning a copy of Teddy Pendergrass’ Anthology for a co-worker. She’s a single, black woman in her mid-thirties who moved to Iowa from the South side of Chicago. She’s working to support her two school age boys and-from what I’ve heard from others in the office-she’s also dealing with her Mom’s health, causing her a few drives back to Chicago and a few days of FMLA. She’s a hard worker and she doesn’t suffer fools well. She’s the one who told me about Teddy Pendergrass passing.
I have to credit Brad Company for even considering Teddy. He worked for a record store and a used copy of the album Teddy came across the counter. Brad praised Teddy’s prowess and knack for knockin’ the ladies.
In short: Teddy Pendergrass should definitely be on the shortlist of your mixtape for coitus.
Don’t believe me? Check out the “Live Medley” on Anthology, where Teddy does a goddamn suave into to the band and backing singers and then proceeds to kiss the audience on the neck and behind the ear by telling them how important they are to him. Then Teddy reminds the crowd how he began with Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes and he proceeds to start a medley of some popular songs with them. He starts with “If You Don’t Know Me By Now” and you can literally hear all the women in the audience orgasm after he utters the first three words of the song.
He got my co-worker talking, that’s for sure.
“Luther’s (Vandross) gone. Now Teddy’s gone. There’s no one left.”
She did go on to say how she saw Freddie Jackson on an old rerun of Family Matters and how her two boys think Michael Jackson is the shit-just like she did when she was their age.
I remember thinking it was a bit weird that there was a transvestite in his car the night of his car accident. Now I understand that if you’ve fucked as much trim as Pendergrass did, you probably go out of your way to find new forms of excitement, including befriending chicks with dicks.
Idiocyncracies and fetishes aside, Teddy had a great set of pipes and an impeccable sense of drama. That climaxing crowd was not much of an exaggeration and Pendergrass did it all by continually projecting that those songs were as intimate as if he was undoing the back of their bras.
Plus, as my friend Brad pointed out “Teddy doesn’t just ask you to do something…he tells you to do it.” It’s not ‘Could you turn of the lights please?’ it’s ‘Turn ‘em off!’ Pendergrass had such authority that he could drop the drawers on nearly anyone in earshot of the speaker and that’s what made him a badass on top of being a remarkable vocalist.
See you later, Teddy.
Heaven better lock up the daughters now that you’re there.

Jay Reatard - Watch Me Fall

“Here in this bedroom/Is where I sit/’Cuz I don’t really/Give a shit” goes the first single (“It Ain’t Gonna Save Me”) from Jay Reatard’s Watch Me Fall. But giving a shit doesn’t necessarily mean that Reatard’s bedroom time isn’t productive. Judging by the whirlwind of recorded output he’s bestowed on us for the past few years, he’s been pretty busy with bashing out an impressive repertoire of manic punk/pop.
Enter the “pop” era of Reatard, and someone’s on hand to make sure the needle doesn’t go into the red so much. Is that a bad thing? I guess it depends on your perspective; I mean, Blood Visions was certainly a breath of fresh air even when it wasn’t anything totally original. It-and the Singles collections that followed-were a testament to how incredibly influential the Buzzcocks were, and how little their formula has changed when artists like Reatard re-interpret them.
Watch Me Fall may be the first effort that begins to transition Jay from that easy tag, but it shouldn’t come as a complete surprise. After all, punk rock’s a dangerous game-it causes morons to jump on stage and pull out your guitar cord and it incites others to simply grab your Flying V and slam it on the floor for no reason-and who wants to put up with those shenanigans as they approach 30?
Better to plan for a long-term plan now instead of well into a new decade of lofty and strident expectations. So Reatard delivers Watch Me Fall with hints of his past and glimpses of where he may travel.
It’s obvious that New Zealand is in his itinerary, with hints of Tall Dwarfs (whose co-founder Chris Knox recently suffered a stroke) and Kiwi stalwarts The Clean making noticeable impacts on Reatard’s new direction. These are all admirable building blocks, if one devotes the necessary care in delivering smart hooks with attention to detail.
Early on in Watch Me Fall, Reatard succeeds in spades before quickly losing steam by the albums second half-immediately after the deliciously infectious “Wounded.” Thankfully, the album is just around the thirty-minute mark so that right around the time you’ve become dulled with fake British accents, squeaky falsettos, and incessant whines-the album ends.
It’s the record’s “side A” that will keep you coming back, and they’re so downright good that you’re forgiven for letting them overshadow the album’s weaker moments. There’s no evidence that Reatard has actually fallen with his latest, but perhaps he has stumbled a bit while finding solid footing into adulthood.

This review originally appeared in Glorious Noise.

Jay Reatard R.I.P.

Twenty nine years old is too young to die. Everyone needs to endure the weirdness that is the 30’s, and then by 40 you finally realize you'll never become a rock star.
Jay Reatard wasn’t a rock star, and it’s unlikely that he’d ever become one. But he was one step ahead of the rest of us because he had talent and he made some nifty punk rock songs that were wonderfully infectious. Of course, I’m old enough to namecheck the influences and I’m old enough to not get hung up about it.
I don’t know much about his past and I can’t identify his demons. All I know is that fucking around with his Flying V generally got you in trouble with Reatard and that’s a completely logical reason to resort to violence.
Throw on Matador Singles 08 and think good things about those around Jay who are probably more shocked of his passing than the rest of us.

The Tonight Show with Conan O'Brien 2009-2010

“Good evening. My name is Conan O’Brien, and I may soon be available for children’s parties.”
And with that, The Tonight Show with Conan O’Brien-post NBC/Jay Leno scandal-began with absolutely no regard for job security, probably because there is no job security for Conan O’Brien.
Admittedly, I wasn’t impressed with O’Brien’s Tonight Show debut, but I never dreamed NBC would pull something so shitty as pulling the plug on him seven months into his tenure.
I mean, didn’t they have seven years to work out this transition?
And if it was about the ratings, didn’t one of those highly compensated executives at NBC notice that O’Brien wasn’t pulling good ratings at his Late Night time slot?
It was almost like NBC was trying to assure everyone that they had learned a lesson from the Leno/Letterman fiasco by securing a plan for the future of one of the most recognizable brands on their network: the Tonight Show. On the surface it looked like Leno was ready to retire as King of the Late Night mountain, but there apparently something bigger than Jay’s chin at play here: his ego.
It was obvious when NBC wiped the entire M-F schedule for a prime time Leno monologue. And when that failed, the network spun it with “It makes us money.” And when the ratings tanked further, the local affiliates bitched because it didn’t make them money.
Rather than chalking it up to experience and admitting defeat, Leno sidestepped any accountability and went after his replacement. In a word: Leno threw Conan under the bus and took his wallet in the process. Leno is betting that the TV babies have a short memory being a witness to his shittiness and Conan is left with the “Kick Me Hard” sign taped to his back.
The unbelievable thing to me is how people who make a lot more money than you and I still have a job after creating this public relations nightmare. At the end of it all, this fiasco will ultimately ruin Conan’s career, tarnish Leno’s legacy, completely gut the Tonight Show brand and ultimately have no impact to NBC’s overall viewership.

Live Nation/Ticketmaster Merger

Any fan of live music would probably be instinctively apposed to the idea of Ticketmaster/Live Nation/Comcast merger, and you should probably send your thoughts on the proposed merger to the department of justice.
Anyone who’s ever wondered what a “convenience fee” is on their ticket purchases, grumbled at the idea of an $8 beer, or has reservations about the idea of this entity having complete control over the concert business should drop the DOJ a line. antitrust.complaints@usdoj.gov
And don’t forget: when the venue/ticket outlet/promoter conveniently runs out of your already exorbitantly priced ticket, you can always visit their in-house ticket re-seller where you can get raped even more.
http://ticketdisaster.org/

All About Soul, the 2010 Rock Hall Nominees, and that asshole Billy Joel

My Dad brought up the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame concert to me over the weekend, completely unapologetic in his fondness for the proceedings. “You know me,” he said, “I don’t know anything about today’s music, so I like it when those old guys get together and do those old classics.”
We laughed at how my Mom thought the audience was yelling “Boo!” when Lou Reed came out on stage.
I praised how Iggy and the Stooges are now in the HOF while questioning why Abba should even be allowed it.
I told my Dad about Rage Against The Machine guitarist Tom Morello.
You read that right.
It was my Dad who asked about him. “Who was that guitarist playing with Springsteen?”
“Tom Morello. He’s in Rage Against The Machine.”
“Man, he is good!” my Dad admired. “I don’t know any of his stuff. Is it worth anything? What is ‘Rage Against The Machine’ like?”
“They’re this lefty revolutionary heavy rock band. They’re pretty full of themselves.” I explained.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” I continued, “I don’t know what to think of a band that encourages everyone to ‘rage’ against corporations while signing a contract with Sony, one of the planet’s biggest corporations.”
I went on to explain my whole thing about Abba and the Hall, which I’ll revisit now.
I’ve got no quarrel with Abba, in fact, I kind of like them. Oh sure, I was a kid when they were making hits in the late 70’s and I had an opinion about them then too. You see, I was a big “disco sucks” kid, which was really just a way to align myself with some of the older, rocker kids in the neighborhood. I didn’t have anything against disco, but it took a few years to admit that.
Fast forward to Abba Gold. The radio station got a copy of it and since we didn’t play Abba anyway, I got to take the disc home.
Feeling a bit nostalgic, I put the disc in and pressed play. For over an hour, I was able to recite song lyrics that I hadn’t heard in well over a decade. Song titles that I didn’t recognize sudden became familiar the moment I heard the song. Even in hatred, Abba had successfully planted their music into my head where they took up permanent residence. You have to admire a band that can do that.
But the thing I discovered about Abba was within their arrangements. They sounded unique and I’ve yet to find another band that is comparable to the way in which their songs were arranged.
It’s because they seldom used traditional R&B arrangements in their records, one of the primary ingredients of rock and roll. Listen closely and you’ll hear similarities with European classical music but very little in terms of the two basic ingredients of modern-era pop hits: R&B and C&W.
As a result, Abba belongs nowhere in the halls of the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame because they don’t fulfill a basic necessity of that honor: rock.
It looks like Iggy is finally on the way in, even though it’s a bunch of shit that they’ll make it after Ashton died.
Kiss is stirring up interest, but before they even touch that band, the Hall needs Alice Cooper in.
And as always, not even a peep about Rush.
The Rock & Roll Hall of Fame concert? It may have pleased my Dad to no end, but for me it looked like a bunch of phoned in performances by a few artists who haven’t tried hard in quite a while. It was a spectacle of entitlement, a set list by people who looked like half the milestone was getting signatures on the performance contracts.

Someone needs to tell Billy Joel to shut the fuck up. For real, the dude hasn’t written a new tune in years (and that classical shit doesn’t count either, dude. You and I both know that’s only your ego talking, that the dude who started in a silly hard rock duo called Attila has no place tinkling the ivories on classic gas), hasn’t written a decent album since Glass Houses (sorry, The Nylon Curtain sounds like it was written by overdramatic college freshman who probably got his ass beat by a few rubbernecks from Allentown) and who’s penned three of the worst songs ever written in the past 50 years (“We Didn’t Start The Fire,” “Leave A Tender Moment Alone,” and “All About Soul”).
Fuck you, Billy Joel. Nice one on letting your (then) old lady paint your album cover. Did you look at that thing before you sent it off to the art department at Columbia?
Anyways, the Hall of Fame is a joke, the concert sucked, and Billy Joel’s a douchebag.

The 2009 Baker's Dozen

It’s that time of year again, the annual Baker’s Dozen Best Albums of 2009. The 13 best albums of the year-with an extra 13 Honorable Mentions that I couldn’t let go unnoticed.
The idea being that you should at least get hip to a new album every month and then try to nab another one from your friend’s cassette carrying case in his 1982 Subaru Brat.
Yeah, the entire notion of a year end list is laughable provided that 1.) people don’t actually buy records any more and 2.) the art form that is a long-player is quickly becoming obsolete.
But I’m taking a staunch view of the album in the sense that I will continue to support it as a necessary art form for music, if only for the fact that it is all I know. I’ve never lived during a time when albums didn’t exist. Maybe my folks can relate to an era of “singles only,” but a huge chunk of my life has been broken out in 30-45 minute intervals and I kind of like the notion of a band scrapping together ten or twelve songs in a package that says “Here’s a few tunes we’ve been working on this year!’
The collected tunes below are really good and deserve your attention. Find a way to check them out and consider them. There’s a brief blurb about the release and a link to a review if applicable. Observant readers may even notice that the list changes over the years in a futile attempt to look halfway relevant.
Seriously. Check out my list from 1989 and notice how the number one album went from White Lion Pride to Sonic Youth Daydream Nation.
For now, the following pleasured my earhole in 2009:

1.) Animal Collective – Merriweather Post Pavilion
Gingerly accessible while exposing an incredible array of complexities that only seem to reveal themselves after each subsequent listen. There’s a feeling that this album holds something very special and the joy is how it doesn’t present itself as such on first spin.

2.) The Flaming Lips – Embryonic
The Lips finally return to organic territory and make the album that longtime fans have been patiently waiting for. It’s a record that steers them away from their recent notoriety as festival closers and it brings them back towards the darker side of recreational drugs and humanity itself.

3.) Sonic Youth – The Eternal
S.Y. have released a lot of good albums since Daydream Nation but the argument can be made that they haven’t release and great albums since that landmark some twenty years ago. Until now; The Eternal is efficient, smart, and uniquely melodic. Jams run free, but here they’re branded with the band’s growth as musicians and reflect a maturation that doesn’t necessarily mean they need to change from ‘Sonic Youth’ to ‘Sonic Dad.’

4.) Baroness – The Blue Album
I have no idea what’s in the water around the Atlanta area, but its fueling one of the best metal scenes in some time. Baroness obviously are taking Mastodon’s lead and have managed to release their first great album in about the same amount of time as their homies. By incorporating metal with psychedelia and a hint of southern rock, Baroness is already on their way in mirroring their older brother’s creative statements and establishing their city as the new capitol of metal.

5.) Polvo – In Prism
It’s not just the fact that the band sounds like they haven’t missed a beat since their last album some 12 years ago, it’s the fact that it’s better than their last album some 12 years ago. In Prism is a big sounding record by Polvo’s standard and that newfound fidelity allows listeners to fully hear what they’ve been missing since these math rock pioneers carried Sonic Youth’s alternate tuning crown for the better part of the 90’s.

6.) Fever Ray – Fever Ray
Recorded while Karin Andersson was gestating her own little one, all of those hormones helped create an album that’s quirky, lightly arranged, and strangely infectious. A near-perfect Nordic electronic album that reflects the tundra it was created on. I once drove in a snowstorm with this playing and had to shut it off because I kept thinking shit was jumping in front of the road.

7.) Blue Roses – Blue Roses
Blue Roses’ debut is so eloquently arranged and surprisingly mature that it’s hard to believe that Laura Groves hasn’t been doing this for longer than what she has. The comparison to early Kate Bush isn’t a burden, it’s a responsibility. Laura Groves sounds up to the challenge and she’s come out of the gate with a debut that rivals The Kick Inside.

8.) Japandroids – Post Nothing
Look, there’s little that’s really new in Japandroids’ sound-how much can you do with a drum and a guitar-but what’s awesome is how that doesn’t seem to bother them as they belt out songs about girls. How much can you do with a drum and a guitar? Quite a bit if the mood fits and the motivation is real.

9.) Mastodon – Crack The Skye
We’re right around …And Justice For All era Mastodon and they’re still releasing more consistent albums with more complex performances and better arrangements. Mastodon is at a point where the only way down is if they record a blatantly commercial record geared for people with more accessible tastes. Crack The Skye doesn’t sound like they’re ready to do that.

10.) The XX – XX
Mega infectious primitive electronic pop that sounds like it clandestinely recorded the thoughts of a young couple on the verge of parting. With everything slowed down and to a whisper, this band manages a rapt audience for a half and hour with almost an immediate need to hit repeat after the first play.

11.) Slayer – World Painted Blood
The fact is, Slayer could have stopped caring about their releases and they’d still be a revered as ever. World Painted Blood sounds like they give a shit and it also points out how great they are when they really try. This is dryly recorded and drummer Dave Lambardo is back and way up front in the mix. Awesome stuff.

12.) The Church – Untitled #23
The idea that The Church could produce an album this focused and well-executed at this stage in their career says a lot for the spirit of the band and for the power of what rock music can do to a few high school friends. They’re still at it, still better than most bands half their age, and still releasing albums that rank with their finest.

13.) The Clean – Mister Pop
Albums from The Clean don’t come around that often so when they do-even when the material seems a bit wary compared to other releases-it’s a celebrated thing. Why? Because they’re a band that’s influenced countless others, some of which may not even be aware of it. Mister Pop may be down a ways on the catalog relevance, but it sounds better than the imitators and has enough charm to warrant repeated listens.

Honorable Mentions (the other 13):

Them Crooked Vultures – Them Crooked Vultures
Woods – Songs Of Shame
Tune Yards – Bird Brains
Black Moth Super Rainbow – Eating Us
Allen Toussaint – The Bright Mississippi
William Elliot Whitmore – Animals In The Dark
Golden Silvers – True Romance
Spiral Stairs – The Real Feel
Richard Hawley – Truelove’s Gutter
The Dead Weather - Horehound
Hope Sandoval & the Warm Inventions – Through The Devil Softly
Robyn Hitchcock – Goodnight Oslo
Heaven & Hell –The Devil You Know

Quit rolling your eyes and talk back with your own list.

Merry Christmas From Glam-Racket!

We've been bringing you random Trapped In The Closet videos for Christmas on Glam-Racket since 2006 because nothing says the holidays like R. Kelly's modern-day opera.
This is Episode 9, the one with "I'm gonna heat this chicken." in it.
And chicken is close to the turkey which is what a lot of people eat for Christmas.
Surprisingly, pears aren't usually part of the menu.

The Residents - Santa Dog '84

I think this is the 1984 version.
I only had the 1978 version.
Apparently, there's a 1972 version.
All behold the greatest Christmas song of all time.

"Ding ding ding
Dong dong dong
Effervescent eels"

I, Ed Kowalczyk, Alone

Did you know there is trouble in the Live camp?
Did you even know the band Live is still around?
Me either, but I find the latest drama fascinating. Evidently, the band is still pretty big in a few places (other than America) and most recently they took their show over to Europe and even captured one of the more memorable shows on DVD.
Some other opportunities arose in Early 2009 and the band considered a few extra dates. Lead vocalist Ed Kowalczyk demanded an additional $100,000 before agreeing to the performance. In case you’re wondering if he was asking for the extra money on behalf of the band, the answer is “No.” This money was for “I Alone” apparently-a “lead vocalist fee” as it were.
And the rest of the band got pissed.
I vaguely remember that these guys had been performing together since high-school, so it must have been doublely shitty to learn that you’re “bro” and lead singer for the past couple of decades was, in fact, a douchebag.
I’m being a dick and have no reason to really do so. We played their songs at the radio station I was working at and I remember being surprised that there was a song in our playlist that contained the lyrics “Her placenta falls to the floor.” It’s not everyday where you get a little bit of afterbirth on radio.
In case you forgot, here’s a glimpse. Selling the drama, indeed.

John Frusciante Leaves Red Hot Chili Peppers To Give Fans More Drug-Addled Solo Albums

OMG! There are reports that Red Hot Chili Peppers’ guitarist John Frusciante has left the band while Frusciante himself is stating that he left the band over a year ago, but the story is just now coming to light as the band has initiated the recording of their 10th album sans Frusciante.
We here at Glam-Racket are setting the record straight by reminding everyone that Frusciante left the Chili Peppers after Bloodsugarsexmagic in ’92, around the last time we even gave a shit about the Red Hot Chili Peppers.
What this all means is that we’ll have to endure another 18 months of the band trying out an endless parade of replacement guitarists before finally settling in on the guitarist for Jane’s Addicition once again or DJ Ashba.
Make up you mind dude, are you in or out? It’s not like you’re not going to get back together with them again and reminisce about all the good times you had walking around with a sock on your dick. And then you’ll remember all the money you made and the suddenly, that reunion tour doesn’t sound like a bad idea after all.
Do you get the sense that the rest of the dudes were waiting for over a year, anticipating Frusciante would come around again and change his mind? I also think that a band who stifles one another to not bring up “the John question” during interviews has lost sight of who their beholden to and put up a fucking statement on their website.
Frusciante’s already beaten them to the punch.

Tears Are Falling: Cat Power-"Colors And The Kids"

Hey, whaddya know. Chan Marshall hints that the new Cat Power album will be more of a solo affair instead of a band effort. Either way, Chan, you could shit on some magnetic tape and I would buy the cd and DVD of the results.
As a matter of fact, I did; it was called Speaking With Trees.
But let’s go back to the amazing Moon Pix and a little ditty called “The Color & The Kids” that gets the tear glands agitated.
No seriously, there’s something in my eye.
It sounds like the two things in life that keeps Chan from staying in the garage with the car running are 1.) Colors, those visual hues that we see unless we’re unfortunately colorblind and 2.) little munchkins between the ages of 2 and 12 that test our patience, dirty our carpet, and require you to wipe their ass for a couple of years.
As a parent, I understand the appeal, but this record was released before I began spraying semen everywhere, with the hopes of impregnating a willing partner.
Wait, bad analogy.
But I think you get the idea, there’s something about those little shits that get your heartstrings chiming.
“Colors And The Kids” is a heart-wrenching tale about someone with “slender arms” and “slender fingers,” the kind of person that you want to be with because they make you a fucking better person.
“I could stay here,” she says, but her voice breaks during the next line “Become someone different/I could stay here/Become someone better.”
How many times have you been in a relationship where you promise yourself that you’ll be able to change only to find out that all of your faults and idiosyncrasies are fucking permanent.
Like your hair color, the records in your collection, the way in which you eat M&Ms, they’re part of your fucking dna.
And it breaks my heart when I hear Chan plead in desperation. Because when the love that you want to keep doesn’t feel the same way, it’s hard to see the full list of your reasons for living.
But colors and kids is a start.

Cursive Live In Des Moines

The fag-rock band Cursive played in Des Moines a few days ago. A few folks showed up and felt the show was very enjoyable. A few others stayed home, certain that the band hadn’t released anything good since The Ugly Organ.
Besides, it was cold out and we were out of condoms.
For those of you not in the know, Cursive is a band from Omaha, Nebraska, but no one busts their chops for being in such a shitty state because they're on Saddle Creek.
Some of the members used to be in a band called Slowdown Virginia who were marginally better than Cursive.
The lead vocalist for Cursive got divorced and wrote the lyrics for the album Domestica.
When I got divorced, I moved to Iowa City.
The band did the album The Ugly Organ, released a couple of indulgent turds after that, and showed up in Des Moines this week, trying to hit on our women.

Setlist:
Mothership, Mothership, Do You Read Me?
Dorothy At 40
From The Hips
Driftwood
Radiator Hums
Let Me Up
Gentleman Caller
Retreat!
A Red So Deep
Recluse
Mama, I'm Swollen
Art Is Hard
What Have I Done?

Encore

Big Bang
Couldn't Love You
The Casualty
A Red Handed Sleight Of Hand

Isaac Hayes - Hot Buttered Soul

My wife and I went to my company’s Christmas party last weekend where the theme was “rock and roll.” For dinner, they had food named after famous rock songs. For entertainment, they had a karaoke dj and in the main ballroom a cover band called Crazy Delicious. For table settings, they had real 45s and vinyl lps along with their corresponding album jackets.
The table my wife and I sat at for dinner had a real Beatles 45 with the swirly yellow and orange Capitol records label. When we went to the main ballroom of the Marriot, there was a copy of Isaac Hayes Hot Buttered Soul album on the neighboring table.
It looked lightly scuffed, but surprisingly playable for an album nearly forty years old.
I took it home, having remembered that Hank Rollins thought the world of this album and having enjoyed what little I heard of the record beforehand.
Side one is totally awesome, with two songs including a twelve minute version of “Walk On By.” There’s the uber-funky “Hyperbolicsyllabicsesquedalymistic” which closes out the first half with complete perfection.
The ballad “One Woman” which begins side two isn’t necessarily bad-it just doesn’t fit well with the rest of Hot Buttered Soul’s easy and rhythmic flow that organically weaves in and out of the record at the most perfect spots. The ballad slows down the record’s momentum and, ultimately, becomes the one stumbling block that keeps the album from truly being an essential piece of vinyl.
Essential or not, it’s the album’s epic track-the 18 minute closer “By The Time I Get To Phoenix” which makes Hot Buttered Soul a very worthy record. Hayes gives a love monologue for the first third of the song-turning it from Campbell’s simple tale of broken love into a novel of heartbreak.
The strings and wide arrangements found throughout the album are a unique touch, but what’s even better is how Hayes just lets the band The Bar-Kays just have their way with his record, sometimes allowing them to go off of extended jams and just work a groove to dead on other occasions.
Look, I caught a break with my copy of Hot Buttered Soul, but rest assured if the grooves wear out, I’d have no quarrels at digging in my pocket to fund a replacement copy.

The Broken West Perform With Jason Segel Tonight

Hey listen, normally I wouldn't ask you to watch that piece of shit Craig Ferguson but tonight is different. You see, Jason Segel will be a guest tonight on the Late Late Show and he'll be doing a live rendition of "Dracula's Lament" from the movie Forgetting Sara Marshall.
I believe you can also catch a glimpse of his penis in that movie.
Anyway, it's a funny bit at evidenced below but the real charmer is that our boys in The Broken West will be his backing band.
Since they're cool dudes and since the scene is a hoot, you may wish to consider catching the broadcast or setting your Betamax to capture the proceedings.

AC/DC 1974

I always thought that AC/DC circa 1974 sounded like, well, sounded like 74 Jailbreak, but evidently they sounded a lot like Sweet. Thanks to Cousin J for sending me a link to this crazy-ass AC/DC promo clip prior to Bon Scott, Phil Rudd, and Cliff Williams from even joining up.
Malcolm looks like he's about seventeen and Angus looks like he doesn't even hold a license yet. You'll notice that, even though this doesn't come close to the power that the Scott-era band unleashed, Angus still shuffles back and forth, keeping perfect time while playing.
That's Dave Evans on lead vocals, sporting a very glam look. But it's the music that really gets your attention. The band is past thirty-five years old now and they're know for exactly one style of rock and roll. For real, this band has deviated maybe a few inches throughout their entire career, and come to find out that in their earliest incarnations they did manage to examine another facet of the rock sound.
The song was originally written when Malcolm Young was in his band prior to AC/DC. The band was called The Velvet Underground, seemingly unaware that in America had pretty much sealed the deal on anyone ever being able to stake claim to the moniker.
It's kind of catchy, but they certainly wouldn't get thirty-five plus years of mileage out of it.

Doc Ellis and the LSD No No

Good Lord, this is funny.

Rites Of Spring Live Performance

I befriended a young guy at work who has remarkably sharp music tastes for someone his age. He’s infatuated with much of SST’s catalog and has a penchant for the Minutemen.
The other day he asked what cd he should buy and-knowing he had Raw Power and The Stooges the logical next step was Fun House.
Fun House qualified as one of the ten best rock albums ever in my book, and sure enough, the recommendation was a success.
He mentioned that he had found Rites of Spring and ordered their album.
Again, another winner.
Evidently, he noticed that there were a few posts of Rites of Spring up on You Tube. I distintly remember hearing about how great their shows were, but have not seen any real live footage.
Until now.
God bless You Tube.
Here’s the last song at a Rites of Spring gig at the 9:30 Club in Washington D.C. from 1985. Guy destroys his guitar and starts climbing the walls of the stage.
Awesome.

More Tower, More Power

Well look who's a new Arbitron diary carrier!
At one point in time, this would have been big news to me, but now all I could think was "Damn, I really don't listen to radio that much."
Actually, that's not entirely true-I do catch a bit of NPR's All Things Considered and Morning Edition, but there are days that go by where I will not even listen to radio at all.
But now that I've been named as someone to keep track of my time with local radio stations, I think about all of the things that I'd like to comment on and give diary support to some of the more obscure stations. I'd like to tell KKRQ that it sucks how they let Brad Company go and how I don't listen to that station at all as a result. I'd like to let people know how annoying the afternoon guy "Shark" is on another rock radio station. I'd like to tell them how much I miss satellite radio every time I have to endure listening to a terrestrial station.
But why punch a bunch of dumbasses when they're down?
And more importantly, what good would it really do?
It's not like radio will ever get over the hump and return to profitability again. That media may not be dead, but it sure is becoming less and less relevant while old-school program directors scratch their balls as listeners figure out they don't have to deal with all of the static (ads, retarded DJs, limited playlists) when they listen to their iPod instead.
Remember when people paid radio stations to play records? Christ, you don't even bother nowadays because I don't think that anything's getting bought when radio says it's good.
Radio will more than likely continue to be a part of the telecommunications piece, but it certainly has fallen out of flavor which may explain why the sweet revenge with my Arbitron diary doesn't taste as good these days as it did before.

Blogstalking: David Wm. Sims

One more post on the Jesus Lizard.
After the show, I learned that bassist David Wm. Sims is a fairly consistent blogger. Most recently, the blogs have involved Lizard news and tour date information. There’s a bunch of cool posters for various shows and if you’re looking for Christmas ideas for me, nothing “I love you Todd” like a framed copy of the 11/28 poster from the Metro gig.
Actually, I like the 11/27 gig poster better and it sounds like I would have preferred the show too.
I also found a recent review of the Lizard’s reissue treatments on Paste Magazine’s website and another reference to the Jesus Lizard vs. Steve Albini falling out. Paste printed their take on the argument, Sims attempted to clarify and insulted Albini in the process. Albini replied to the comment and Sims replied to Albini.
Here’s some tidbits from their tit-for-tat:

Thanks for the kind review, Austin. You've got a few facts wrong here, though:
1. Duane, David, and I started the band in Austin before the three any of us
moved to Chicago.
2. "Pure" is combined with "Head" on the remastered CDs,
but is released as a separate EP on vinyl, as was the case with the original
releases.
3. There was a rift that developed between the band and Albini
around the time we signed to a major label, but it wasn't because we signed to a
major label. Think about it for a second: he's recorded albums for Bush,
Nirvana, and Helmet, and others, for major labels. The major label explanation
doesn't hold water. For a variety of reasons, we decided while recording "Down"
that we were going to use another producer on the next record. This was before
we had decided to leave Touch & Go. Some of the reasons had to do with the
way the last couple of records sounded, others were more personal. Albini,
master of self-promotion that he is, spun getting fired into the Brave Stand for
the Indie Kids. Gotta hand it to him, it was genius.
Again, thanks for the
props.
Best regards,
David Wm. Sims

Then Albini responds:

Not to get all tit-for-tatty, but I haven't ever said to anyone, public or
private, that I stopped working with the Jesus Lizard because they left T&G.
David remembers the end of our working relationship accurately, though the bit
about me promoting myself can blow me. I basically didn't utter a word
pertaining to the Jesus Lizard for the next few years after they made the
corporate leap, which was just the consummation of a swing toward
"professionalism" or something like it the band had undertaken.
It was
evident from their dealings and the people they chose to work with that they
were changing teams. Though they might pretend they were never part of a
unified, cooperative underground culture, they certainly behaved like everyone
who was, and benefited from the structures and people who identified with it. It
isn't overstating it to say that when they turned that corner I was in a kind of
mourning.
For the record, the resuscitated Jesus Lizard is just as good as
the regular old everyday one from the early 90s, and pretty much destroys any
other band working right now. They have been playing brilliantly and blowing
minds anew, and I hope they wring the sponge and get everything they can out of
this revival.

And a final reply from Sims:

There is no need for tit-for-for tat. Honestly, I meant the self-promotion crack
as a compliment. I didn't mean to give offense, and apologize for any taken.
As I'm sure you're aware, the assertion that you stopped working with the
Jesus Lizard because we signed to Capitol is one of the most repeated items
about the band out there. I haven't tried it, but I'd wager if you Google "jesus
lizard" and "steve albini" together, it will appear somewhere on almost all the
results. It has become the conventional wisdom, and I'm gratified that you've
set the record straight.
"Professionalism" made me laugh. Thanks!
We
haven't ever pretended that we weren't a part of the underground rock scene,
although the scene I remember was anything but unified. People helped us and we
helped people, and it was an amazing place and time to be. I feel sorry for kids
starting band today. We made our decisions for what we believed were the right
reasons, sometimes knowing the decisions were going to disappoint some people.
Life can be like that.
Thanks for all that about the resuscitated Jesus
Lizard. The shows have been a stone-cold gas. And thanks for your and Bob's
great work on the remasters.

So there it is, the real reason why Albini severed his relationship with the Jesus Lizard after the Down album.
Personally, I thought it was mainly because Down sucked and the band (rightly) needed to get someone else’s hand on their album sound, simply because Albini records and doesn’t produce.
The band needed a producer at this point in their career.
The general consensus was that Albini got pissed that the band signed with a major label to release Show. It was a one-off record, but it did pave the way for them to sign with Capitol. Albini did have a point: how many more records could a band like the Jesus Lizard really sell on a major and would they really be better off under Capitol’s umbrella.
The answer was obviously “No,” but it turns out that this was only part of the argument between the two.
What's cool about this is how Albini, even in the comment above, has nothing but good things to say about the band's musicianship. Even back in the day he would refer to his work with the band as one of his best works and praised their performances.

One of these days, I’ll get around to reviewing some of those old Jesus Lizard albums, but for now I’m spent.

The Jesus Lizard Live

I think it’s safe to say that in all of the live rock shows that I’ve seen, at least two of the top ten of “best shows” would be reserved for the Jesus Lizard.
Prior to the penultimate performance that I saw on Saturday night, I’d seen them a total of three times, one for each of their best Touch & Go studio albums: Goat, Liar, and Down.
On the first show, I was close to the stage and suddenly found myself holding up David Yow over my head. By the end of the show, I’d gotten intimately close to his genitalia and found an efficient way to pass a small, sweaty man overhead. During the times he was on stage, I had time to breathe and watch three incredible musicians pounding out a menacing arrangement for their most recent album.
David called some dude “Shitmouth”
The second show was in the same venue. On the way up, a loud metallic jackhammer sound came from the engine compartment over the blaring of Goat on my factory cassette player. It was a hideous sound, and I understood the engine of my Ford Ranger pick-up truck was in grave danger.
I continued driving.
As long as I maintained a steady speed, the truck was tolerable. But the moment I accelerated-particularly when going up a hill-the sound returned.
The good news was that the truck was under three years old and still had time on its factory warranty. If I ruined the engine, I was damn sure going to make the Ford Motor Company paid for the repairs.
When I got to the club, I snuck it a small airline bottle of vodka. I made my way towards the front of the stage and stuck through the endless ebb and flow of bodies, capturing the smell of beer, cigarettes, and sweat in the process. I handed Yow the small bottle. He looked at it and considered it for a few verses. He then opened the bottle with his free hand and sprayed it over a few lucky souls being smushed in the front row.
I guess he didn’t like Absolut.
David yelled “Hey shitmout!” at someone during the set.
The third show was at First Avenue in Minneapolis after the release of Down. The main room is a great venue; it’s still a trip to consider how Purple Rain was filmed there. Anyway, that particular night was all about the Lizard. My girlfriend and I circled around the back of the club looking for a place to sit-there weren’t any.
Right as we’re walking downstairs from the balcony, the band begins playing. The first few bars of the song are dished out and within the first twenty seconds of the song, Yow had run full speed from the back of the stage and clears about half a dozen rows when he jumps into the crowd.
At one point, David responds to an overzealous fan “Shitmouth, I love you.”
And then there’s the fourth show, the reunion gig that was originally going to be the last show, but then they added a New Years Eve show and….you know the rest.
A full accounting of the show is over at Glorious Noise, but there’s always room for additional bitching.
Firstly, a kind “fuck you” to The Metro for a shitty “pre-party” that served no purpose and fucked me from getting a good view.
They gave away shit-like a reserved table upstairs-but you had to have a ticket to participate. Even though my wife and I were literally the fourth and fifth persons in the door, we got no ticket for showing up, on time, like the venue’s email monkey suggested.
More critically, the email hinted that you’d be able to get into the venue without having to wait outside in the cold, but no one seemed too concerned to actually tell us that THEY BEGAN LETTING PEOPLE INSIDE WHILE WE CONTINUED TO BUY DRINKS TO PASS THE TIME IN THE SHITTY SMARTBAR. By the time I’d hear T-Rex’s “Jeepster” for the second time (seriously, they put in a mix cd when we walked in, pressed play and pushed the repeat button). Ironically, “Jeepster” had already played on my IPod during the trip over to Chicago as we played all of the sequential song titles beginning with the J section.
It was hell when we went through a bunch of reggae songs that all began with the word “Jah.”
When we finally went upstairs and noticed people walking up to the main room, we found the only visual spot we could. We were slightly behind a fairly clean grad student couple and in between a couple of silly longhairs in their early 30’s. I reminded myself of the time I approached thirty with long hair and recognized the moment when I finally cut if off. Some people may think that it had something to do with my advancing age or desire to better mesh with the corporate culture. The reality is that it was my Grandma fault. She noticed the top of my hair thinning once as she walked downstairs and felt the need to mention my growing bald spot out loud.
She should have the same talk with the dude next to me at the JL show.
My wife hated it (more so because of the longhaired dude and the fact that she had to stand the entire time) and I was a tad disappointed.
The opening band Triclops had a few flashes of cleverness, but the lead singer used a dorky pitch shifter on his mic and would jump down into the security row in front of the stage for dramatic effect.
Then Yow was in a chair for the entire night and drank bottled water.
At one point, Yow screamed, “Shitmouth, I love you. Will you marry me?”
It's great that the band is back together, albeit for a short while, but there is no doubt that the prime era to see the Jesus Lizard was back when they were a hungry, working unit. Today, they're merely a glimpse into the kind of danger that occurred each night when they took the stage.
Today, I would have definitely stopped the truck and called AAA.

Poster by Diana Sudyka

Random Cell Phone Shot From Our Hotel Window

I didn't get room service.
:(

Jesus Lizard Penultimate Performance

I have no idea what the Jesus Lizard were doing on ABC's Amplified a few months ago and I have no idea what Amplified even is. But I do know that it's totally hilarious to me that there's an obligatory sound bite newsroom edit job on the piece they did on the band. And I do know that I'll be at the penultimate performance this evening. I also know I'll be ordering room service tomorrow morning.

Blue Roses - Blue Roses

Too often, when an up-and-coming artist tries to mine Kate Bush territory, they focus on those big, panoramic records like Never For Ever and beyond. Never mind that those albums were adventurous even for Kate herself. It would make more sense to step back to examine some of her earlier work, when she was still a precocious teenager finding her voice (literally) and finding her place among a growing muse.
Blue Roses, the creative moniker for Laura Groves, is an organically derived debut that sounds more homespun than The Kick Inside, but it wonderfully shares that album’s obvious sense of exploration even when there’s no clear map to follow. It could easily be considered as the true offspring of that album since it shares so much of its unfettered vision and, on occasion, similar styles in arrangements. With one listen, you begin to ponder if Groves herself is about to embark on a journey of comparable success or, in a more cynical view, are we in a commercial market where we no longer allow the time and kid gloves to let such artists grow.
Blue Roses was built from Groves’ own blueprint, but it took a bunch of local generosity to really get off the ground. From the friends and acquaintances that contribute their own voice and instruments to the project, to the locales in which the album was recorded, this is an album of honest collaboration and admirable friendships. There’s the story of the wealthy owner of a Steinway concert piano who agreed-solely based on hearing Groves’ work-to allow her to use the expensive instrument for the recording of Blue Roses before being able to use it for themselves. Think of it this way: would you let the instrument of your dreams be played before you got your own hands on it? I certainly wouldn’t.
Then again, I haven’t been blessed with coming across someone with such inherent talent as Laura Groves. Lyrically, Blue Roses is full of wide-eyed songs of places yet visited, of relationships dreamed, and images built from imagination rather than experience. But musically, Groves shows an old soul at work, weaving complex piano arrangements over double-tracked harmonies that eerily evoke those first few Kate Bush albums. When other instruments are introduced, they’re of the acoustic variety, lending Blue Roses a rural feel where true escape comes in the form of learning a few chords from antique shop discoveries.
“I wish that I could photograph my moods/Show them to you” Laura sings on the album’s vast centerpiece “I Wish I,” but there’s enough imagery throughout the song’s six-and-a-half minute running time to put together a cohesive picture of what makes Laura Groves tick. More importantly, it points to the possibility that Blue Roses may be the beginning of a very worthy career, provided that she doesn’t stray from those beautiful visions in her head.

This review originally appeared in Glorious Noise.

All Will Be Carved...