A Eulogy for the Charm City Artspace

A little while ago, I walked into a serendipitous hang out with three other former CCAS members. During our conversations, we went around the table asking ourselves when was the last time we walked through the doors of CCAS. All four of us boasted and gloated that we, in fact, did not remember the last time we graced our old flame with our presence. And this was more than an aloof cool appearance; I really could not figure out the last time I went to the artspace. I had to really ponder. By the time CCAS closes, I would have attended a show there twice in the last year. While, again, this may seem like some sort of positioning for a tepid appearance or is actually not that impressive to you, my lack of attendance of this venue is edifying to me.

I read many platitudes about CCAS being this special community, and I won’t deny the community aspect. CCAS, more than anything, was an opportunity for responsibility. No other place would hand all responsibility to a 19-year-old after one training session with Rob Sullivan. That is what made CCAS a special community to me. It gave young people their first attempt at being responsible and essentially heading a project themselves. Granted, as a 19-20 year old, many shows ran well past their curfews, things were not effectively cleaned, mics were not effectively stored, and money tended to be a little mishandled. That was the other thing that made CCAS a little special: it was a fucking mess. It was frustratingly a mess, but it was this mess that became its charm. It’s a clueless clumsy friend that you’re not sure why you still hang out with, yet every Saturday night, there you are hanging out with him. I was an artspace member for seven years before walking away a little disheartened. Why disheartened? I’m not sure. It’s a complex answer that I’m sure the same gentlemen who could not remember the last time they attended a show at CCAS are unsure of. I suppose because I felt it wasn’t mine anymore. Maybe I thought it was disorganized, which to be fair it was not anymore disorganized than it ever was. I have a feeling my vexation was due to the decline in interest. Not just of the community, but my own unexplained one. Or perhaps, CCAS merely completed its duty for me. It gave me the foundation to becoming a functioning and ambitious adult, and I was ready to achieve it.

I feel bad for the future because they will not have a venue like the Charm City Artspace. The group that runs CCAS has told me they are planning on finding a new location, which I hope they successfully accomplish; however, what has kept CCAS alive for almost fifteen years is unmistakably one factor: luck. CCAS was lucky to be put in an area where no one gave a shit. The community didn’t give a shit. The police had better things to do. No one cared, even the people who lived above it strangely enough. The way Baltimore itself is changing, I doubt such luck will be found. It’s a shame that a DIY venue does not exist that will allow kids to take on responsibility and allow them the latitude to fuck up. Make no mistake about it, CCAS, myself included, has made big mistakes; yet, these mistakes helped the group and individuals grow. I take back what I said earlier because that is what might have made CCAS special.

To end this eulogy, I would like to make a public record of occurences that I either experienced first hand, or heard from the first hand party that occurred at both locations:

• I was shaken down by a band for two dollars.
• I once open palmed slap someone continually smoking weed outside.
• A cop walked into the CCAS show that had an exorbitant amount of people, and simply said, “be careful” before leaving into the dead of night.
• I saw a singer go to the bathroom and presumably take a shit during his band’s set without breaking stride.
• The Cro Mags played CCAS once. John Joseph shit in a parking lot, walked around the absolutely filthy inside of the venue stark naked for an uncomfortable amount of time, and called the promoter of the show Darryl the whole night despite his name actually being Darrin. To his credit, Darrin never corrected John.
• I once booked a ska band, which should be a bullet point of its own. Said ska band complained to me for over an hour about how people don’t like them, to which I replied, “Yea, you’re a ska band…”
• There’s a rumor that Modern Life is War and Latterman played CCAS to one paying person. It’s actually not true. There was more than one person. I believe it was about ten.
• I only kicked one person out of a show – a crust punk who tried to pay a nickel to get into a Surroundings show.
• The best band name to email for a show: “My Gay Uncle.” I never listened to them. I didn’t want to ruin the perfection of their name.

How Conan the Barbarian Almost Got Me Expelled.

I was recently reminded of a memory that was long repressed in the depths of my mind, and I would like very much to share it with you. This takes place in a time long long ago (5th grade to be exact). I attended Our Lady of Fatima, a local Catholic school I’ve been a patron to since Kindergarten. Not being Catholic, I was treated differently from the other boys and girls. Sometimes, I was treated with extreme prejudice relating to my family’s religion or culture. Most of the time, I was treated with a suspicious cautiousness with all matters of religion (i.e. “What do they do in your religion? Oh, isn’t that nice, class?” I hope you sensed the patronization.). I felt no sense of acceptance from my superiors, which led to my rebellion against the Catholic school system. It started off with small things, I would not chant along with the hourly prayer sing-a-long, I would purposefully harm my uniform, etc. The amount of demerits and detentions received during this period steadily increased to an almost weekly formality. It was because of my frequent write ups that I learned how to bullshit, and let me assure you, I became a very astute and sagacious bullshitter. By 5th grade, I trashed a table during a school function, cited Jesus destroying the church because of constant gambling and got away with a slap on the wrist (not literally). This leads me to this repressed event, which looking back at now, I am equally entertained and amazed at how I was not expelled or severally punished.

During my youth, I always spent a portion of my weekend watching movies with my father. My dad, a self proclaimed cinema buff, used this as a means of quality time and, in my opinion, as an attempt to shape my cultural taste. On this fateful day during my 11th year, my father decided to show me a personal favorite of his, “Conan the Barbarian.” If you’ve never seen it, this movie was what launched Arnold Schwarzenegger into stardom. It is a fantastically cheesy sword and magic movie that I still love to this day. On my initial watch, one line did stick with me. If you’ve seen this picture, you can’t help but to remember the monologue Conan gives as he prays to Crom, his god. He famously ends the prayer with “…and if you do not listen, then to hell with you!”

I cannot remember why this stuck with my 11 year old person; however, I was enthralled by this monologue. So enthralled, that I could not wait for the following Monday so school could begin. As mentioned previously, prayer was an almost hourly thing in Catholic school, and the first opportunity I had, I struck. Morning bell. The “Our Father” begins the day.

(Class in unison)

Our Father

Who art in heaven

Hallowed be thy name

Thy kingdom come

Thy will be done

On earth as it is in heaven

Give us this day our daily bread

And forgive us our trespasses

As we forgive those who trespass against us

And lead us not into temptation

But deliver us from evil

(Phil yells by himself)

AND IF YOU DO NOT LISTEN, THEN TO HELL WITH YOU!

This is funny to me for several reasons. First, this is funny to me now, because at the time I was still two years away from becoming an atheist. I had no anti-ecclesiastical motive. I was still of the belief that there was a god. I merely thought “…and if you do not listen, then to hell with you,” was a great way to end a prayer. Second, I love the context of the prayer with the added Swarzennegian influence. The prayer turns into “You better give us this day, this bread, forgive our trespasses, because hey, we forgave those who trespassed against us, and don’t you even think about leading us into temptation, and while you’re at it, deliver us from evil, or you can screw yourself.”

Needless to say, the nuns were none too pleased with me. I was immediately whisked away into the principal’s office, who asked me where I got the idea for this added conclusion to the prayer. Not wanting to sell my dad out, and potentially ruin our weekend tradition, I quickly came up with a complete bullshit story of how I was peer pressured by my classmates to say the line. I asked for forgiveness from her and the lord, saying that I had no idea where it came from and I only did it so I can become accepted by my classmates, all while forcing tears to accentuate my claim. I was lectured about not following the crowd, followed with some story about Jesus… I can’t tell you for sure because I wasn’t really listening to good ol’ gullible Sister Patricia. Instead of being expelled, which was what I learned was my original sentence, I talked the nun down to completing a rosary. Let me say that again so it can sink in more, instead of getting kicked out of school mid semester, I had to do a necklace of prayers.

I eventually accepted atheism as my lord and savior in 8th grade, ironically because the idea of prayer made no sense to me. With my atheism, a source of complacence washed over me. I still got in just as much trouble, but I no longer felt I needed to bullshit. I saw that the nuns went out of their way to turn me into a pariah because, for lack of a better phrase, I was different, and almost inexplicably I decided it was best to just “turn the other cheek,” and muscle through the school year, as I had no plans of attending a high school with a religious undertaking. No matter if my offense was gargantuan or mild, I was punished with detention after detention. I was the only student to receive three detentions in a day in the history of the school – a record I am confident still resides with me. Today, Our Lady of Fatima is no longer a school, probably because of the old fashioned, hellfire and brimstone, dusty panties nuns that refused to deal with anything different, if you don’t count resentment as a plausible action. I imagine there was a good amount of prayer in Fatima’s final days for a miracle to save the school. Perhaps if the nuns were more aggressive with their prayers, like Conan was with Crom, they would have received their desired reaction. By the way, in case you were wondering, the rosary I had to complete as penitence for my “outburst,” I said “…and if you do not listen, then to hell with you,” after every prayer.

Baltimore’s alright…

…if you like saxophones.

Tips for Booking and Promoting Shows

With my countless years (6 if you wanted to count) of booking and promoting a wide array and variety of shows, I felt it my duty to pass any experience I have to the next generation of promoters. It’s nothing to be embarrassed by, heading advice from another. If it wasn’t for an older friend answering my questions, I wouldn’t be the successful promoter I am now. The responsibility to properly prep anyone interested in starting in this business lies in this post. Read carefully and take notes.

Promote properly- How successful your show will be depends on many factors; however, the most controllable one is to properly promote your show. Getting the word out to your show-going peers is an invaluable tactic, which formula has survived through the decades. First, make a flyer with all the proper information (band names, venue address, start time, price). Next, post it directly on a facebook event. Third… there is no third – you’re done. DO NOT print the flyer out and give them to physical humans. You know who passes out papers to people? Cops. Narcs. Are you a cop? Are you a narc? Would you go to a show run by a bunch of nerdy narcs? No. Because it’s probably a drug raid. I cannot stress how important it is to not have the perception of a drug raid show. Promote exclusively on the internet. Make a facebook event and constantly badger your friends with the invites and a daily reposting. Make a passionate tumblr post about the show. DO NOT give the flyer to a physical person.

Trust booking agents. They are your friends – A booking agent’s job is to secure a fair price for the band they represent. You can trust that they will demand a price that is equal to a band’s worth. There is no chance that they inflate the price of a guarantee in order to make more money for themselves. That is against the booking agent code. Booking agents are social beings. They spend their 9 to 5s making connections with people, and eventually emailing those people. Why would they want to betray their social credo by ripping the promoter and band off? Who would they email then? It makes no sense. So, if a booking agent sends you a contract, sign it. Don’t keep a copy for yourself either. Why bother, right? If there is no contract, make your own contract and send it to them. Sign it in blood. This shows how willing you are to work with them and will forge a relationship that will go past business.

Book bands only on recognition, not on musical taste- Remember, being a promoter is a business. Your money is involved in this venture. While musical talent holds some importance in a band, it holds no bearing on how your show will do. Only book bands based on the recognition they have. Research their booking agent. See what bands they use to play in and what other bands they represent. If they either played in a very popular band or represent very popular bands, go ahead with the show. If the agent does not fulfill at least one of the previous criteria, ask the band for a minimum of three letters of recommendation from the higher level of their scene hierarchy. Research these names to see how relevant their opinion can be. Form a committee to receive final approval to go ahead with the show.

Book 6 – 8 local bands for the show – While booking a 10 band show might seem a nuisance to some, it is a literal slam dunk for the promoter. If you book 6 – 8 local bands, the chances that you will meet your financial goal for the show is easily reached, as all bands will have supportive friends who will pay to seem them. If each local band draw even 10 people, it is a win for you. Sure, an 8 hour show on a Wednesday may not be the best circumstance for the touring band, who will play last to, most likely, a fraction of the crowd; but, they’re not the promoter. This is a go to for every show. If it’s more than 10 bands, call it a fest. Make it an event. Having double digit bands is also a proper guise to charge more for the show, as well.

Don’t bring water or food. That’s the band’s problem – What are you, their parents? Are you expected to pick out clothes for them after you feed them? If a band asks for water, point them to the direction of the closest gas station. A band’s hunger or thirst is of no concern to you, unless it’s in the aforementioned contract. If it’s in the contract, buy them the cheapest water you could possibly purchase, and cook them noodles with no sauce or toppings. This is a show, not an Olive Garden.

Finally, after the show has concluded, instead of paying the band, kill them – The show is over. Instead of forking over the hard earned money that YOU have slaved away at procuring, simply kill the band. Get a gun. Murder them in the coldest blood. Place the bodies in the tour van and light it on fire. Take the money, move away, and start a new life. If you’ve signed a contract with a booking agent, find the booking agent, and kill them too. After you’ve killed him or her, assume their identity, and continue their work as the booking agent.

I hope this information fuels your journey as a promoter well and true.

Long Explanations of Music I Enjoyed Released This Year…

Well, here we are. Another blogger, another favorite album list. I’m tired of them too; however, I haven’t written in a while due to many different factors: studying for the GRE, work, trying to find a new job, depressingly depressing depression. So, in an attempt to kick my creative juices into flow, I present to you my favorite releases of this year. Now, I’m aware the majority of the list makers generally stick to the looooooooong playing records, or at least separate LPs, EPs, singles, demos, etc; but, I’m not going to stick to that method. Not that I’m not into the minutiae, but I feel a good release is a good release, even if its just one song on each side. With further ado, I give you my favorite releases of 2013:

Honorable Mention: Arcade Fire – Reflektor. I don’t usually believe in honorable mentions, especially when I’m not giving myself a limit for how many albums I can post. The reason I’m putting “Reflektor,” as an honorable is because personally the music, although played very well, is, as Spike Lee would say, not my thing. The band’s music, album art, demeanor is derived in the jerking off aesthetic – which I totally back. That’s why I put them as an honorable. I respect their jerking off music, look, and the fact that they put on a dress code for their shows. I just imagine them always having a hand down their pants, caressing with palms and fingers their respective savage gardens and ripe vegetables, eyes closed off to the world because of their constant excess and pleasure. Kudos on completely embracing an aesthetic and running with it. 

17. Angel Du$t – Xtra Raw

Let me begin by saying Angel Du$t is a great name for a punk band. Angel Du$t may be the BEST name for a punk band. To answer your question, there are more reasons than just a great name I put this release on this list.

I appreciate the band’s aesthetic. The name of the game for Angel Du$t is sketchy. By watching their music videos or reading their lyrics, their is an aura of badness that’s resonating from this band. Let me clarify this badness and sketchyness, because I have used these adjectives before and it has confused some people. This EP permeates with the image of bad kids who shoplift, get into school yard brawls, have constant unprotected sex, etc. I’ve noticed that while reading reviews of hardcore punk albums in zines, somewhere along the line the reviewer will note that the gentlemen in the band are “good dudes.” Angel Du$t is doing their best sonically to show the inverse of that sentiment, and I for one love the overall feel of the album.

The album is called “Xtra Raw,” for a reason, this album is pretty untamed. The music  can vary from sounding like the Bad Brains, Pennywise, Poison Idea, Bad Religion, to vocal deliveries that remind the listener of Ian Curtis. The songs are slogan-esque and are infuriatingly catchy. You can listen to this EP twice and memorize all the lyrics. I also enjoy the subtle nuances in the music that add to the aforementioned catchyness. For example, the double snare hit in the chorus of “Slam,” not only ties the song together, its constant reminder to the world of its existence truly makes the song as catch as it is.

I’m a fan of unfiltered and wild music, and Angel Du$t is in the business of wild and unfiltered. There is no one in the ear of the musicians providing advice or saying this is good or bad – these guys know what they’re doing and what they’re going for. What they’re going for is a controlled errantness. Exhibit A: let me bring up my favorite lyrics from this EP. From the song “Tulsa:”

Once upon a time I was living a lie

and then I fucking died. Go!

This debut EP is very good, although I do feel like some songs are superfluous and do not serve a great purpose. I also wish that some of the leads were louder – they are a bit shrouded and easy to pass over at times.

For fans of: Skateboarding, Bad Brains,  Dead Kennedys 

Favorite Song: “Jean Shorts”

16. Title Fight – “Spring Songs”

I’ll admit, Title Fight’s attitude towards the music business always helps me stay interested in the band. Not to say that their music has suffered, in fact it’s still great; however, I am always impressed when bands stick to their guns and do not fully rid themselves of their earlier morals and values. No that Title Fight is a full fledged Fugazi DIY band; however, their constant ability to find ways to play community centers and rec halls when possible, despite being a bigger band, is something that I cherish about them, and will continue to. I can only expect a similar mantra from this band as they are in their free agency period.

Like their previous releases, I’m a fan of “Spring Songs,” although I feel it’s placement chronologically is its biggest hindrance to me. This feel like an EP that should of come between their two previous LPs. It’s a perfect transition between the heavier Hot Water Music influence present in “Shed,” and the Jawbreaker and meandering shoegaze influence heard in “Floral Green.” I will follow formula; however, and keep criticisms until the end.

“‘Spring Songs'” is entranced in influence from the 90s, following the lead of Title Fights’ previous releases. While this continues with previous influences such as Jawbreaker, I personally hear a touch of bands such as Superdrag present in the music. Its release on the historical Revelation Records would group it in with the “Rev Rock” bands present on the label’s roster in the early 90s. Title Fight easily tops the list as the best Rev Rock band, but really, have you heard Sense Field? They were clearly in the forefront when this release was announced.

Well, since I’ve already broken formula, I’m just going to roll with it. The production on this EP is very solid, although I will admit I was a bit disappointed following “Floral Green.” Again, not that the production was bad; however, when you are constantly hitting home runs, as Will Yip does, when something does not meet up to your exact high expectations, you cannot help but be a bit let down. The somber production does fit the somberness present in the four songs. While “Blush” kicks the EP off with a bouncing energy, Title Fight quickly takes it away with “Be a Toy.” And let me tell you, although this album may be considered very “explorative” or “experimental” by some, you probably will not hear a catchier Title Fight album. The hooks are the driving point and the EPs strongest qualities. Songs like “Receiving Line” seem to build the entire song around a chorus that will immediately be embedded in the listener’s mind for the rest of the day.

“‘Spring Songs'” is an EP that borders on both familiar and different grounds for Title Fight. One can hear bits and pieces from their previous LPs present in the four tracks presented. While progress is shown, the familiarity of it makes me fear that, in the greater scheme of Title Fight’s music, this EP might be considered more of a forgotten material. It’s a challenge for me to say that this is a better release then “Floral Green,” or “Shed,” and this EPs greatest challenge in the future will be to remain in the historical mix. Despite that, they still show off their song writing chops and show no reason why they will not continue releasing great music.

For Fans Of: Hot Water Music, Texas Is the Reason, Jawbreaker

Favorite Song: Hypnotize 

15. Kanye West – Yeezus

 This album seems to be at a disconnect between fans and reviewers. Reviewers like it, fans are more mixed on it. There are several reasons I believe for this, all of which are responsible for it being on my list.

This album is… different. Clearly stifled by the restrictive boundaries of a pop artist, Mr. West went on to to release an uncatchy, experimental, anti-pop album. What we have is a dark album with minimalist music inspired by European techno music, among other things. As much as its weird to write, “Yeezus” is a artsy album. It’s weird to write because as little care as Kanye put into fitting into his previous mold, its still completely memorable in its ability to work as a cohesive unit. Every song leads and plays into each other well, and while not having a true pop single until maybe the 7th track in “Blood on the Leaves,” and despite not having any hooks to speak of, Kanye manages to hook the audience.

The previously mentioned disconnect is natural to come when one makes such an experimental and different album. Judging from the music and the lyrics, its clear that many of Kanye’s fans do not connect with Yeezus, and it could be because Kanye is no longer connecting with us normal humans. He’s completely obsessed with legacy, and looking to make his name royalty, and that comes out full force in this album. His visions of grandeur, although not a new thing for Kanye West, have grown exponentially grander, and that will always lead to fans turning away from an artist.

The subject may be one of the weaker points of the album. Kanye’s inability, or perhaps his unwillingness, to connect with his audience – something that was his strong point and what made him who he is – is something that might hold this album back. Then again, what true artist has their work liked by everyone? That’s truly what I enjoy about this album: it’s a risk. From the opening track, which may be the most uncatchy Kanye West song yet, to the subject matter and allusions of God, this album lets the listener know early on that they will have to make a decision: ride with him or be left behind. And Mr. West has made it apparent, if you’re not on his level, you are the ones on the left. The poppy songs do feel a little thrown on, maybe to appease the audience, or the business men. While individually great, in the context of Yeezus, they do seem to be a negotation, “You made it this far, so I’ll give you something you’ll like.” Also, as great of a job as Rick Rubin has done in production, I can’t understand why the vocals are so loud on “Bound 2.” It is a very interesting beat which could bring trouble in finding the correct level; however, with that still in mind, the vocals are on karaoke level. But, all in all, this is an album I truly hold as possibly the most memorable release of Kanye’s repertoire. Also, anytime Nina Samone is sampled, I’m generally a fan.

For Fans Of: Egos, Self Interest, Heresy

Favorite Song: Blood on the Leaves

14. White Lies – Big TV

If you know anything about me, it should be that if you’re a rock band from England, I’m probably going to like you. White Lies released their third LP this year, and although I have always enjoyed the band, this is their first truly complete LP, in my opinion. Although, I enjoyed the ambitiousness presented in “Ritual,” “Big TV” presents an equal ambition mixed with a great melodic offering.

I enjoy the production of this album. Ed Buller, formerly of the Psychedelic Furs, does a great job of giving only a touch of retrospection – nothing overbearing, and more importantly, nothing that will date this album. All players are accounted for on this album, and with the help of Buller, White Lies sounds absolutely humongous. The “big” (pun not intended) sound works well with White Lies, especially with an album like “Big TV” which teeters with several pop rock elements.

White Lies has always been compared to the likes of Joy Division, and the comparison can continue with this album; however, the ambitious pop sentiments are ever present. Its not blatant enough to step on the toes of devotees of “Ritual” and “To Lose a Life…,” however, is present enough to begin a separation from the Ian Curtis – Bernard Sumner love tree. For example, songs like “First Time Caller” and “Mother Tongue,” give call to bands such as the Cars and Duran Duran. This expansion is a welcomed edition to White Lies arsenal, showcasing their talent and range as artists.

“Big TV” does not fail to provide catchy songs with a myriad of British and American rock influences present. It’s one criticism, although still showing ambition, “Big TV” plays it a little on the safe side. Especially towards the waning moments of the album, it feels as if they were attempting to write great White Lies songs, as opposed to just great songs. The album still does a great job in capturing the band in a great pop light, and endears them further.

For Fans Of: Joy Division, New Order ,Interpol

Favorite Song: First Time Caller

13. AFI – Burials

Let me start by saying that I am an AFI apologist. I will vehemently stand by all their releases, and I do mean ALL of their releases. 2013 saw them return with their unprecedented 9th studio album, “Burials.” The greatness of this album was no surprise to me; however, what was a surprise was how almost universally “Burials” was accepted by the audience. You have to understand, I remember being viciously chastised for favoring a “Decemberunderground,” which included having my laurels and the long of my fellow questioned. It was a bit of a surreal moment seeing the same finger pointing group of people foam in the mouth with praise over “Burials,” but when I really broke down this album, it makes perfect sense. I’ll go into that later.

The production on this album is as close to perfection for an AFI album as I believe humanly possible. And why wouldn’t it be, production juggernaut, and one of my personal favorite people behind the glass, Gil Norton polished the album into a clean, well running motor. Mr. Norton was famously associated with producing several Pixies, Catherine Wheel, and Foo Fighters albums, as well as my production wet dream, “Futures” by Jimmy Eat World. As much as other aspects of this album surprised me, the production being top notch was an all out assurance once the association with Gil Norton was announced. The tones and programming on “Burials” is perfect for the gloomy overall feel, and makes the band sound about twenty feet tall.

AFI is known for releasing albums that sound completely unlike each other. For example, “Decemberunderground” has a New Order meets Quicksand sound (which by the way, is a prime recipe for perfect mall goth rock. Add Quicksand to any influence and it will make your band total radio rock. Think about it.) which is followed by the Smiths influenced, stripped down “Crash Love.” The simplicity of “Crash Love” did not carry over to “Burials,” as the production is complex and layered – something AFI fans have become known well. “Burials” follows the pattern of diversity between AFI albums; however, I will admit not to the great extent I have come to expect. This sounds like the album that everyone was expecting after “Sing the Sorrow;” maybe leading to “Burials” high level of acceptance and love. The hooks and choruses border on a campy feel – especially on the songs such as “17 Crimes,” and “The Conductor.” Sometimes campy is good, as this overall catchyness of the album is impossible to deny, and while the musical zealot might disapprove, is completely fitting for an AFI album.

Major record label AFI albums have a tendency to grow on me. All of them start off as OK with me until further investigation. Songs that I began skipping become my favorite songs on the albums. “Burials” is another album that grown on me, but I still find myself skipping select tracks. Unlike past AFI albums, I do feel there is a bit of fat to be trimmed off this album. When the first single “I Hope You Suffer” was released, I thought to myself, “THAT is a hell of an intro to an album.” To my surprise it is not the introduction to the album, an area that is historically the strongest portion of an AFI album. It is preceded by “The Sinking Night,” which I still have not discovered its purpose. There are several moments like this during “Burials” when I find myself asking why this portion is here.

I’m happy that my peers have once again seen AFI in a positive light, and see what I have seen in AFI for the previous seven or so years in question. Although not the perfection I have come to expect from the band, “Burials” stands as a production masterpiece with some of the catchiest hooks you will hear this year.

For Fans Of: The Cure, “Sing the Sorrow” era AFI

Favorite Song: 17 Crimes

12. Caught In A Crowd – The Fight

When hearing a new hardcore band, I ask myself two things, “What bands are these guys influenced by?” and “What spin did they put on these influences?” I ask myself these questions because what I want to hear from a hardcore band is first, a reminder of past hardcore bands I enjoy, and, most importantly, a personal touch on these influences. I’m not one for worship bands, nor do I think its healthy to fetishize, traditionalize, and covet the past. Caught in a Crowd does not fall victim to swallowing the sins of another, and put out a truly memorable EP in “The Fight.”

The band moved into a heavier direction with “The Fight” when compared to their previous work. A heavy Judge and Cro-Mags influence is present throughout this album, which in itself is a great challenge to undertake. When going for a sound like Judge and the Mags, there is a very thin line between the aforementioned and bands such as Strife, which are more to the metallic pallet. Caught in a Crowd does a great job of walking that line, and not falling prey to the cheesiness of going too metallic. I’m not saying the line isn’t crossed at times, but it is not done excessively enough for me to actively groan or feel disappointed.

I am also quite thankful that these Northeastern boys have not fallen victim towards the terrible production fetish. I am not one to think that all hardcore albums need to sound gritty, or sound like “Pay to Cum.” The production needs vary from band to band, and Caught in a Crowd is a band that I feel could be hurt or misunderstood from a purposeful negligent production. Luckily, the production is warm and loving and leaves Caught in a Crowd with more than just a good sounding album, it leaves the band with their identity present for anyone to see.

I enjoy the album for the several reasons stated, but I also enjoy that despite the album having great angst, it is still contained. It does not fall apart, it does not go over the top, it stays within itself and is focused. The songs are consistent, and there is clear direction from what the band was, what the band is, and where the band is going.

For Fans Of: Judge, Cro-Mags, late 80s NYHC

Favorite Song: Can I Live?

11. Wildhoney – EP

I previously said aloud to friends – some close and some very distant – that I do not see the purpose of new bands taking up the Shoegaze monicker; that there is nothing more a new band can do for the genre that has not been extensively done before. I still stick to that statement; however, Wildhoney sure has made me strongly reconsider it.

I will fully admit I am more partial and forgiving to bands from the Maryland-DC area, but bias has nothing to do with my high accolades for Wildhoney and their debut EP. This noise pop (blah blah blah) band pulls from several sources such as My Bloody Valentine and Dinosaur Jr without a heavy hand. They tread lightly through their influences and produce an extremely catchy EP. There are familiar elements present in Wildhoney’s EP that you would expect from a shoegaze band. There is a wall of sound that builds a turmoil into the music. Despite the wall, I enjoy that Wildhoney does not fall into the trap of focusing on expansive and extensive layering. This is not the kind of band that values finding the right effect pedals on craigslist over writing a great song (which many related bands can fairly or unfairly be accused of).

The pop elements present in Wildhoney are what make them so enjoyable to me. There is nothing that is unapproachable to any one palate. The not quite Lo-Fi presentation isn’t discerning enough to scare away the unacquainted, and although you can tell through the recording that Wildhoney is a loud band, the vocals stand out on their own instead of blending in or wilting to the instrumentation. Wildhoney’s debut EP presents enough for the audience to become invested whether they decide to become poppier or more layered.

For Fans Of: Dinosaur Jr, My Bloody Valentine, The Telescopes

Favorite Song: My Disguise

10. My Blood Valentine – MBV

All this talk about a My Bloody Valentine influence, of course you would expect their new album to be on the list. To be honest, when I heard they were going to release a new album, I only thought to myself, why? Does this band need to release a new album? Is “Loveless” not an essential album to anyone who fantasizes about alternative rock music? What more can they possibly have to say? I kept an open mind about it, but had my reservations going into listening to the album. I’m currently still using those reservations to hold a table in order for me to eat my words.

“MBV” is an example of an album being everything you would expect, but still not being let down. As usual, let me start with production. This album is, by far, the best sounding My Bloody Valentine album to date. Although that may be an elementary opinion, since their last recording was over 20 years ago, but so many of the “comeback” albums suffer from poor execution of production, being that they want to sound like they did back in their heyday, or they become overindulgent in today’s technology. My Bloody Valentine forgoes these issues by making an album that sounds perfect for them. It sounds like them – completely.

What I love most about “MBV” is the feeling of the music. It is something that does not feel dated. It does not feel like I am listening to a comeback album. It feels fresh. It feels right. It stands on its own legs without the support of a remembered discography. Yes, this album is not dramatically different from their previous releases; however, compared to the magnitude that My Bloody Valentine’s releases still holds with audiences today, that is far from a bad thing. It brings comfort. That is not to say that “MBV” is a hand holder of “Loveless,” it certainly is of its own. It brings a unique combination of familiarity coupled with the certainty that this album is of autonomous nature. It is not a nostalgia album. It is not the kind of album that you listen to once, and then just go about listening to the band’s classics instead.

I personally enjoy the movements the album puts its listeners through. It starts with a whimper, and ends with some of the heaviest and most aggressive My Bloody Valentine songs to date. When I listen to the songs separately and out of order, sometimes I ask myself how I found myself here, but together, the transition is seamless.

I really have no complaints for this album, which is rare even for albums I love. This is a band that knows what they are doing in all facets of song writing to production. Kudos and welcome back.

For Fans Of: …My Bloody Valentine…

Favorite Song: If I Am

I’m starting to notice the reviews are getting shorter and shorter…

9. In Between – Still

This is the first of my “biased” picks. While my friendship with the band itself resonates deeply, it does not skew my perception or opinion on the music they produce. With influence from Silent Majority and Dag Nasty, “Still” by In Between is a release of substance in a field of peer releases that seem mechanized and by the numbers.

The production of “Still” is a bit raw, and let me clarify, that is a great thing. By that, I mean that all the instruments sound like instruments. The drums sound real, the guitar tones are thick, the vocals are free of autotuning, and the bass stands on its own legs to cover all corners. This is a great sounding record, and one I’m glad a band like In Between and the recording engineer had the foresight to make.

The players in the band are obviously talented, and while true, some parts are completely over the top, the band does a splendid job of staying cohesive as a unit, and not sounding like a bunch of Guitar Center riffers. From the stop and start “Second Person,” to the slowed down emotional heart of the record in “I’ve Paid” and “Steady Hands at Seattle General,” you, as the listener, are privy to a whirlwind of emotion, but the privilege of avoiding the frantic winds that could lose you in turbulence. The group singing portion to end the album on “Repeat Motion” is a bit too tacky for my taste, but an also be seen as a fitting ending to an album that saw all five of these gentlemen elevate themselves through this release.

This is an album that, frankly, I’m surprised a label like No Sleep released, but am glad that they are given an opportunity. They put their  best foot forward with “Still,” and although their style may not be the most popular for their audience, solace can be taken it their uniqueness taken in song writing and production.

For Fans Of: Silent Majority, Lifetime, Dag Nasty

Favorite Song: Steady Hands at Seattle General

8. S.M. – I Founded the Wit Cult

And now, to conclude my biased picks, S.M.’s debut single “I Founded the Wit Cult.” S.M. is a three piece out of Canada that truly put out one of the best records this year.

There are many reasons I like this record, but my favorite comes in a form of a question. I’m constantly asked when I mention S.M., “Well, what do they sound like?” I try my best to give a certain genre or band that I can relate them to; however, those answers never encapsulate S.M.’s sound. I don’t know what they sound like. They sound like themselves. Sure, I can say they’re a shoegaze band, despite the heavy lying, reverby vocals and some of the aesthetical feel, I’m not sure if they are. I can say they remind me of British punk like the Undertones or Orange Juice, and although that influence is present, I’d be remiss to say they would fit in with that genre. I can’t pinpoint what they sound like, and that is an incredibly refreshing thing to say.

S.M. is a guitar focused band – the band goes where the guitar will lead. Luckily, the guitarist is quite talented, constantly presenting interesting and catchy guitar riffs. The opening riff for the B-side “Heatseeker’s Noose” harbors what possibly could be the most remembered riff of the single. It’s the kind of riff that can guide the listener through a 2 minute rocker, or a seven minute burner without complains – it’s that good.

The A-side “I Founded the Wit Cult” does not have such a seminal riff; however, what it does have is an incredibly catchy chorus. The whole song builds towards it. The droniness of the verse make the chorus sound even more gargantuan and catchy. I enjoy how the song is structured – much more of a pop form (verse, chorus, verse, chorus, bridge, chorus).

Aside from the fact that I released this single, I do feel it earned its rightful spot this high on the list. Why would have I invested money in a record I didn’t believe was this good? Check it out for yourselves.

For Fans Of: Ride, The Undertones, yea I don’t know

Favorite Song: Heatseeker’s Noose

7. The National – Trouble Will Find Me

I have tried to avoid putting this album on simply because this is on everyone’s list. That inner hardcore kid still in me wants so desperately to be different – to present new ideas and bands. But luckily, that hardcore kid is on life support, and the adult contemporary Phil is more or less constantly present now.

Since this is included in everyone’s list, and Rolling Stone has made viral love to this album in every backseat, nook, twin bed, and bathroom, I’m going to skip talking about production and song writing and all that credible stuff. If I think specifically on why I think this album is so great, it is because of the feeling that comes off of it. It’s a feeling of defeat. This is a very morose album. The influence of Nick Cave and certain other bad seeds will do that to you, I suppose. Its the type of album that only sheds light to illuminate more shadows.

The aesthetic presented in this album is also top notch. Everything from the cover art, the first note, lyric sheet, and on fits the temperament of the band. This album serves as a testament that you don’t need an expensive producer to make an expensive sounding album. I’m going to finish the review here because, like I said, there’s nothing more I can add to the millions of positive reviews this album has received.

For Fans Of: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

Favorite Song: Don’t Swallow the Cap

6. HAIM – Days Are Gone

It’s seems like this album was made specifically for me. I love dancy pop rock. I love sibling bands. Perfect. HAIM created an incredibly catchy album that is impossible to not dance, or at least tap your toe to.

It’s easy to compare HAIM to performers such as Stevie Nicks or bands such as The Pretenders. Certainly the sisters’ singing style – a laid back yet brimming with attitude delivery that focuses on the manipulation of syllables and tenses – can be an attributable quality found in the aforementioned bands; however, I think a comparison to someone like Prince is more apt. They have a similar effortless style. They ease into their hooks and make the transition seamless. While their songs certainly rock, much like the formerly named, their is a certain soul and rhythm that is absent from most rock. Its the same qualities that make it so easy to want to dance to.  Or maybe it only appears more dancy than rock to me because of their use of a drum machine, I’m not sure yet.

There’s nothing wrong with liking upbeat music, and from track one, this album will pick you up from whatever funk (pun intended) you are in. Despite having an overall happy tone, the album doesn’t drag with a stagnant note, but is constantly raising the bar each song. Honestly, by the time I get to “If I Could Change Your Mind,” I almost want to start the album over to relive all the great songs I just heard.

Although not covering the deepest material, this proves to be the most fun album I have heard all year. I demand more sibling bands.

For Fans Of: Prince, Stevie Nicks, The Pretenders

Favorite Song: If I Can Change Your Mind

I’m really running out of steam with writing longer reviews…

5. Wale – The Gifted

In this supposed rap renaissance, there stands Wale. As up and coming rappers take a more lyrical approach to their albums, Wale stands ten feet tall over them with, what I feel is an instant classic album in “The Gifted.”

What I love most about “The Gifted” is it has the feeling of an east coast album. It samples artists such as Marvin Gaye, and has a feeling of Soul and R&B entranced in the production. Wale’s rhythm and flow alone are one of his qualities that set him apart from the rest, and it is taken into another level on this album. “The Curse of the Gifted” showcases his cleverness, as well as his unabated talent. It features a great hook that is present throughout the entire album, as well as the catchy descending chord scale that transitions to chorus. The album itself never drags, and feels an appropriate length.

The problem with “The Gifted” is that it may be too top heavy. Not that any song is bad, but that it starts with such heavy hitters, it makes it difficult to move on from then. After a few listens, I was able to develop an appreciation for the entire album, but it is so difficult to listen to “Lovehate Thing” without wanting to replay it.

Wale goes between party songs and ones more personal. He carries a heavy chip on his shoulder – a feeling that he is not properly recognized. He puts his best effort on his third album, which is traditionally known as the make or break album for rap artists.

I may be too deep in the forest to see the trees, but I personally felt Wale showed how impressive his range is through “The Gifted,” and while I still feel he can further push his talent, the constant mix of party and more serious songs makes an incredibly balanced album between passion and fun.

For Fans Of: East Coast Hip Hop

Favorite Song: Lovehate Thing

4. Neko Case – The Worse Things Get, the Harder I Fight, the Harder Fight, the More I Love You

For such a powerful album, I’ve failed to see this album reach my peers’ list of best albums of 2013. I can’t really say anything, I originally forgot to put it on my list as well. I’m not sure why? When I heard the ex New Pornographer’s latest work, I immediately knew it was going to be one of the best albums of the year.

Neko gave up the production reigns to Tucker Case for this album, and although her albums always sound great, this album sounds so full and huge. There are some songs that make her sound like an Elvis Presly live set – just about the hugest sounding band there is. Although the layering in this album becomes complex at times, Neko’s magnanimous voice is never lost or forgotten about. She is cornerstone of the album, and the production makes sure the listener does not forget it.

I also enjoy the movements of the tracking placement. The album picks you up and calms you down several times. Take, for example, the fact that “Man” and “I’m from Nowhere” are placed next to each other. “Man” takes its listener to their highest point, and almost like they fear exhausting the audience, the somber acoustic “I’m from Nowhere” gives them a breather, while still taking our breath away.

That’s something that describes this entire album: it’s breathtaking. It’s emotional, as you begin to feel empathy from every small instrumentation and vocal harmony. The album is a traveler’s guide to an X in an unknown quarter. You brave the emotional takeover you feel to see what the next song brings you. These feelings are perfectly constructed from Neko’s best album to date, and one that solidifies her as one of the best solo artists today.

For Fans Of: The New Pornographers, Ben Kweller

Favorite Song: Bracing for Sunday

3. Superchunk – I Hate Music

An inevitability for a band that some argue has not released a bad album. Superchunk released their tenth studio album this past August, and in it is their most polished and accessible work yet.

Don’t get me wrong, I know when bands like Superchunk make albums that people describe as polished or accessible, it usually is made in a snide tone. Not the case for “I Hate Music.” Even with a track like “Staying Home,” Superchunk proved themselves as more than capable of putting out an almost unalloyed pop album. “Staying Home” is almost like a sendoff for a punker sound, as every song that follows it becomes catchier and catchier.

Superchunk managed to make an album that is incredibly poppy and appealing, but also deceivingly dark. “Low F” and “Breaking Down” are a revealed journal of songs, using stream of consciousness to delve into the artists’ demons.

As you would expect from a Superchunk album, the melodies are cleverly thought out, as is the music. This album relies less on a staple guitar riff that many would come to expect from the group. There are still solos and plenty of chances to embarrassingly air guitar, but this album focuses more on writing great music as opposed to great musical parts. My favorite kind of music is something that is simple and clever, and that is something that every song on “I Hate Music” achieves time and time again.

This is the perfect album to come after their comeback album “Majesty Shredding.” It takes their pop sensibility to another level, and shows that Superchunk has so much more good music to make.

For Fans Of: Superchunk…

Favorite Song: Out of the Sun

2. Lorde – Pure Heroine

I know, I know… it’s time to hang up my boots. I don’t care, Lorde put out one of the best albums this year without question.

If you can’t already tell, I’m a sucker for production. I have written about that particular subject more than any other for these reviews, and the production on “Pure Heroine” is an unadulterated dream for me. Joel Little, who I’m sure no one out of New Zealand was aware of, made an absolute masterpiece. So much so, that I’m dedicating the rest of the post to it.

I love how laid back and minimal the music is. A nice pick me up from several hip hop influences, but more importantly, it keeps the focus on the the strongest part of the album, Lorde’s voice. Her voice is a leviathan. It is the focal point of every song, and moves the songs and album along. i cannot stress enough how much of a brilliant move this was by Little, and how instrumental this is towards Lorde having her own sound. I cannot gush enough over it.

Lorde’s lyrics are nothing I would run naked across two yards over, but she’s like what… 16? I’ll give her a pass since she has such a huge voice. I detect very minimal patch up done on her voice, and we are left with an incredibly pure product. Joel Little, I love you.

For Fans of: Uh… Lady Gaga? I don’t know

Favorite Song: Ribs

1. Tony Molina – Dissed and Dismissed

One of the last albums I’ve heard this year turned out to be one of the best. Tony Molina’s “Dissed and Dismissed” is so much more than a nostalgia album, it takes the best of lo-fi alternative Sub Pop music, and turns it into his own.

A good friend hit me up on Christmas strictly to tell me about this album. He told me that he thought I would really enjoy it. He was correct. Tony Molina is obviously influenced from early Weezer, which are two of my favorite albums of all time. Molina does a rare thing – something not achieved from other bands influenced by the almighty Blue or Pinkerton – he made an album that makes me repeatedly listen, instead of just listening to Weezer instead. Maybe its because his songs barely crack a minute, or maybe its because he captured a new feeling instead of trying to be a tribute band of sorts.

I’m usually hesitant of listening to exalted bands made by people from hardcore, only because I want to make sure I don’t give more credit than is do. Molina’s obvious Breakdown reference in the title is a nice touch, and shakes my previous fears, as all credit he receives is deserved. The songs are grimy, the solos impressive, and Molina himself a tour de force. I have no complaints with this album, in fact, to me, it is practically perfect.

For Fans Of: Weezer, Sub Pop

Favorite Song: Can’t Believe

It’s OK. You’re Just Not Punk Anymore (An Ongoing List)

When you have more of an opinion on your local sports team than the events in Syria… It’s OK. You’re just not punk anymore

When you have attended more baseball games than punk shows… It’s OK. You’re just not punk anymore.

When the only type of activism you perform is reposting articles on Facebook… It’s OK. You’re just not punk anymore.

You’re against companies who source from sweatshops, but J Crew was having a 50% sale last weekend… It’s OK. You’re just not punk anymore.

You have separate drawers for your band shirts and your normie clothes…. It’s OK. You’re just not punk anymore.

When you’ve had this thought: But do I have any socks that will match this? It’s OK. You’re just not punk anymore.

The only highly contested debate you had in the last year was whether a Half Windsor knot is appropriate for formal events… It’s OK. You’re just not punk anymore.

You still wear your Tragedy shirt… as an undershirt when you go to your government contracted job. It’s OK. You’re just not punk anymore.

Your opinion of police has slightly changed based on that nice officer who let you go with a warning when you were speeding… It’s OK. You’re just not punk anymore.

You’re dating a conservative partner because the sex is good and they’re responsible with money… It’s OK. You’re just not punk anymore.

You go to church occasionally to appease said conservative partner… It’s OK. You’re just not punk anymore.

You’ve watched more performances from the VMAs then you did bands from the last show you attended… It’s OK. You’re just not punk anymore.

The only  punk related shirts you buy are when pop figures use the design… It’s OK. You’re just not punk anymore.

You actually think it’s cool when a celebrity wears a Minor Threat shirt… It’s OK. You’re just not punk anymore.

Your favorite store to buy old punk shirts is Urban Outfitter… It’s OK. You’re just not punk anymore.

You DJ on the weekends… It’s OK. You’re just not punk anymore.

It’ll all be OK. Trust me.

Fears and Irrational Thoughts of a Common Man at the Airport

Departure

I arrive at my local airport at the recommended hour safety window in order to access my flight to Chicago without any fear or worry. I say bye to the friend I convinced to drive me to the airport and make my way in. I claim my boarding pass, and because I did not do this earlier in the 24 hour window to claim such a pass, I will be one of the last to board. This does not bother me, because either way – whether I reside in the window, aisle, or middle – it will be a packed and uncomfortable ride. I decide, as I’m waiting for said boarding pass, that I will not speak more than 20 words or make any eye contact during my two visits to the airport. You see, speaking words and looking at people encourages them to continually talk and look at you, and that is something I am just not interested in. Not at the airport.

I head over to my gate, and stand through the inevitable airplane line. I mean complete business as I stand through my first line. Boarding Pass: Out. Driver’s Licence: Out. I reach the desk, hand them my identification.

– Hello

-Hi. (Word Count: 1)

-(Looks at ID) You’ll have to come back when you grow back your beard. (Smiles)

-(Snickers politely) (Snickering politely does not count as a word. Word Count: 1)

I immediately leave my previous line for a new line – everyone’s favorite: security line. I continue my “all business” mentality through this line. As soon, as the baskets for your belongings are in sight, I remove my belt, my watch, and place my wallet, phone, and keys in my other hand. I place the aforementioned items in the basket, kick off my shoes, and place them and my bag on the x-ray machine. I get back into line sans-shoe, patiently waiting to pass through my full body scan. I think of the pros and cons of this scan. Do I ask for a personal inspection? Do I want strangers to see what I’m packing – you know… junk wise? Is it any better to have them feel up the aforementioned junk? I heard there’s a lot of radiation. Throughout this deliberation, I looked down at my socked feet on the cold floor and had a small panic attack. I hate being without shoes in a public place. I find it disgusting and disorienting. I know it sounds like I’m not paralyzed by this phobia; however, only a day before, I went to my local pool to swim some laps, only to realize, while in the locker room, that I had forgotten my reserved pool footwear. I sat down on the bench for close to 20 minutes trying to figure out what I’m going to do. I eventually decided to just get a few laps in, and walked as quickly as I could barefoot through the locker room into the pool. Holding back the tears, as I continually stepped on wet spots in the locker room proved to be one of the most difficult moments of maintaining a semblance of masculinity. I spent another 20 minutes cleaning my feet when I got home. It’s a serious problem for me.

Anyway, I’m standing in wait to get through the full body scan, which I decided to undergo because my previously mentioned fear of un-introduced floors coupled with my thin socks made me yearn for the quickest possible solution available. There is an elderly couple ahead of me. I try not to judge them. I know most people have preconceptions of how the elderly are when flying. They’re dressed very nicely. “They’re probably experienced flyers,” I thought to myself. I thought wrong. They were informed by the local enforcement that, because they were elderly, they did not need to remove their shoes. I guess that translated in their old, old, old brains that they need not remove anything, because their scan showed so many things, they had to continually remove a belonging from their pockets and retry several times. I was hoping that after three failed attempts, which they exceeded, the full body scan would eat them, like the cave in the beginning of Aladdin. I look down at my poor feet, which I resorted to turning on their side. For whatever reason, i began to believe that there would be less contamination this way. As the elderly couple completed their fifth lap with the machine, I receive a tap on my shoulder.

– Hi. I’m sorry, is it possible to get ahead of you? My flight leaves in 6 minutes.

-(Extends hand out, signalling that is fine to move ahead) *Internal response: Yes, go ahead. I do not mind you getting ahead of me, because unlike you, I am on time for my flight. (Hand gestures and internal response are not words. Word Count: 1)

I finally make it through the machine, and see my shoes awaiting me. I can see their concern for my fragile state, asking in their own way, “Are you OK?” I’m not, but the damage has been done. I swiftly slip my bottom companions back on, and take my belongings – double checking that I did not forget or lose anything. I walk to my gate, and it is very full. There are few open seats, but I find one close to the gate and quickly move towards claiming it. I don’t think the gentleman sitting beside it wished anyone to sit next to him because he placed his banana peel on the opened seat. Unlike most people, who chose to stand rather than challenge the seating arrangement of a shedded fruit skin, I took his peel, placed it on the ground, and took the seat. The assumed Mario Kart enthusiast said something to me; however, he was tastelessly wearing a fedora, so I did not hear a word he said. I opened my book and waited to be boarded on the plane. So far, I’ve made it to the gate and have made barely any eye contact and have only said one word.

I am now on the plane. It is very full. I know there is little hope in finding an aisle seat, but I attempt to anyway. I go all the way to the back of the plane, because I am an idiot. There is another elderly gentleman sitting by himself in the backrow. Another guest of the sky asks if he could sit in the row – which, again, is completely unoccupied with the exception of the older fellow. Old McOlderson informed him he could not sit down in that row. “Are you saving the seats?” the annoyed flyer asked. “…No.” Stereotypes are a terrible thing; however, SOMETIMES it is genuinely satisfying to know that some are true. Every elderly person I came into contact with so far at the airport did their best to reinforce their stereotype, which in a sick way, pleased me. I want them to be difficult because I enjoy disliking them. Eventually, a flight attendant played negotiator with the older gentleman, who still put up a great fight by continually telling her “no.”  I wanted to see its conclusion; however, I had my own seating business to manage.

“Is this seat taken? (Word count: 5)”

“(sighs and sluggishly shuffles out to let me in)”

I immediately became very internally defensive against the gentleman. Why did he have to sigh? He knew he would most likely have to sit next to someone. I get it, I’m a big guy. That doesn’t mean I can’t stay out of your personal space. This guy must think I should have to pay for two seats or something. He probably thinks I’m the type of guy to fall asleep and slip onto his shoulder.  Fuck this guy. Fuck you. I have self control and I’m working really hard to lose weight. It’s not easy for me. You can’t measure success in small increments. Fuck this guy. etc. etc.

So this internal monologue of hate went on for about ten to fifteen minutes. The person ahead of me accidentally recline their seat too far back.

-I’m so sorry.

-Don’t worry about it. (Word Count: 9)

I became extremely mad at myself. Why didn’t I just wave my hand to signify that it wasn’t a problem. Or shake my head. Or shrug my shoulder. Or anything. What if they want to apologize again to me. I’ve already set a precedence that I’m communicative and will not be able to escape conversation. If this person is lonely, this can turn into a borderline on-flight friendship. I can’t have that. I stay silent the entire flight and simply read my book. The book is “Absolute Beginners” by Colin MacInnes – a personal favorite of mine. I do not speak the rest of the flight. When the flight attendant asked if I would like a drink, I waved it off. When she asked if I wanted peanuts, I gave her a thumbs up. I read until I landed in Chicago. I did a nice job recovering from my early slip up; however, it was not without its strange-hoods. The person sitting window was reading over my shoulder for the entire flight. I can’t imagine we have the same reading speed, so I’m not sure what kind of reading experience he received, or if he could map out the Mod generation MacInnes so eloquently blueprints. Regardless, he continues reading and I continue to act as if I don’t notice. It was somewhat of a symbiotic relationship. He’s weird, and I will allow him to be weird around me without bother so, in the future, I avoid the bigger bother of confronting him.

I land in Chicago, and patiently wait for everyone to get up, get their bags, and leave. Since I am in the back, this takes quite a while. I see the people scurry around, attempting to find where they left their carry on. I began to wonder why do people bother getting away if they insist on bringing so many belongings with them. I looked down at my sole carry on – a book bag tucked under the seat ahead of me – with pride. I am a man of culture. I am a man of adventure. I don’t NEED the safety of possessions to have a good time. These are thoughts I almost believed until I realized that I was angry at myself during the drive up to the airport for forgetting my Nintendo DS and iPod at home. I get off the plane, and accidentally walk to departures, where I am picked up.

 

Arrival

I return to Midway, I am again, arriving at the suggested time of the airport. My stay in Chicago brought me a plethora of delicious food, and I took the time waiting in line to get into the proper concourse thinking about it all. They’re like those summer friends you have such a great connection with, but never see again. Well, you can’t really have those anymore with facebook. So it’s like the guy on facebook who you have such a strong connection with based on his status updates and “likes,” but never meet, even though he lives like ten minutes away from you. I daydream all the way through the line, where I have my ID and pass ready.

-Hello, sir.

-Hi. (Word Count: 10)

 

The security line is moving much faster in this airport. I, again, remove my belt, my pocket belongings, and shoes. No terrible thin socked wait this time around. Everyone in this line is on the same mindset as I am: all business. This excites me. It excited me so much, I realized that I forgot to take off my watch. I internally screamed several curse words and stared at my swatch in complete disbelief. How could I be so stupid? How could I be so immature? How could I be so irresponsible? I immediately thought of the older couple from my first flight. I’m not better than them. I put myself in the elderly gentlemen’s clothing, with the only difference being that, for some reason, I gave myself bifocals and a driver’s cap. I looked terrible. ” I’m no better than them,” I kept thinking.

Fortunately for me, my watch did not set off any alarms, and I was free to go. I did get randomly searched afterwards. I can’t say I was surprised; for the previous flight was the first time in my last 3 or 4 airport visits where I was not randomly searched. I cooperate with a series of head nods and gestures and make it to my gate with no words spoken.

I sit and watch a CNN analysis of the George Zimmerman case. A very beautiful woman stands in front of the TV. She has long legs and green eyes. I immediately turned away, because I did not want to stare at her, but she was indeed very beautiful. Although I did my best to not active the “Creepy Guy Spidey Sense,” I quenched myself with a few quick glances at her hair, nose, legs, and eyes. I begin to wonder if she went to college and what her first major was. She looks like the indecisive type. I say this because she is constantly moving around, trying to find her place, before coming back to the comfortable dormitory by the television. I start to hate myself. What are you doing, Phil. This woman is just trying to catch a flight and you are literally being the creepy guy in the corner. This is the kind of creepy shit you hate. She’s probably here with her family. Maybe if you respected your mother more, you wouldn’t have to hate yourself like this. etc. etc. This went on for a while, until I began to question why she was standing by the television. What is her mentality? Does she want me to stare at her. Why would you stand in front of the only television playing the biggest news story? I then hate myself even more because I realized I just went into a bastardized version of the “she was asking for it” argument. I decide to squeeze my eyes shut until I’m boarded. A person begins doing jumping jacks while waiting for the plane. I hate this person.

-Is this seat taken? (Word Count: 14)

I don’t make the same mistake as last time. I accept the fact that there is nothing but middle seats available, so I dive at the first one I see. I’m sitting next to a tall bigger guy. He looks like he plays offensive line. I am sitting next to him for less than five minutes when he makes quite a daring move.

-Fuckin’ Zimmerman, right?

Now, I’m put in a corner. This guy wants to not only have a conversation, but have a political conversation. I don’t know where he stands on this issue. “Fuckin’ Zimmerman” could mean “That fuckin’ guy Zimmerman. He got away with it, that fucking bastard.” Or it could stand for “That fuckin’ guy Zimmerman. Good for him.” How can I limit my words and completely curtail this conversation. I came up with this.

-Fuckin’ Zimmerman, right?

-Yea. Remember when Pedro threw him? (Word Count: 20 CAPACITY)

I’m unsure if my neighbor understood that I was talking about Don Zimmer fighting Pedro Martinez instead of George Zimmerman fighting civil rights. I’m unsure because immediately after I said what I said, I laid my head back and pretended to be asleep. I just said the what I said, and immediately let me head hit the seat and acted as if I was asleep. I’m sure I looked like a lunatic; however, desperate times call for desperate measures.

I leave my eyes closed until about a half hour after take off. I wave off all food and drink. The flight was going fine until I noticed the elderly African American woman crying next time. She is sobbing and using a tissue. I don’t want to be sucked in. I don’t care what she’s crying about. She’s just a stranger. I don’t know her. I feel nothing for her. Well, she does look pretty sad. Is she sad because of the whole Zimmerman thing? Maybe she’s coming back from a funeral? Maybe her best friend of fifty years died. Maybe her husband died? etc. I started feeling so bad for her, the fantasy scenarios I made up for her as to why she was crying was beginning to make me cry. I know I’m not the most sensitive person, but even this is too much for me.

-Are you ok? (Word Count: 23 OVER CAPACITY) 

After I quietly asked her this, so there would be no roused suspicion among the other flight guests, she looked at me and gave me a sort of snarl, and quickly turned away. She did not say a word to me the rest of the flight. “Fucking old people!” I screamed in my head. That’s what happens when you go with your gut instead of your head. Disgusted at my failure to uphold my twenty word quota, I started listening to the conversations around me. The people behind me were talking about Kafka, which they were reading based on their intentions to read everything on some “100 Books You Must Read” list some magazine most likely half haphazardly threw together. How do I say this gently? …They had no clue what the hell they were talking about. They spent most of the conversation speaking about what they wish they would transform into if put in a “Metamorphosis” scenario. “I fucking hate airplanes,” I calmly tell myself.

As we started our descent, I took a good look at the people around. My elderly neighbor was still crying. Zimmerman guy was asleep. The ladies behind me were laughing. Another guy was reading. Another was putting his phone away. I started to think about how all of these people have the same destination, but have such different emotions towards the destination. Some of these people might be on this plane leaving their previous home forever. Some might be visiting home. Some have tragedy. Some have fortune. They all have the same end point, but all might feel extremely different about reaching it. I started thinking about how I felt? How do I feel now that I have reached my destination. Certainly not fulfilled. Not traveled. Not relieved. Not sad. Not happy. Had I no feeling at all about finality? Was this Kafka speaking? I searched myself a little longer, until the older lady next to me sneezed directly on me. After wiping her nose with her hand, she turned back towards the window forgetting to apologize to me. I once again felt as if I was standing in line with no shoes again, and stayed on that level until I exited the plane and exited transition.

 

 

 

100 Years Later, Igor Stravinsky Is Still The Punkest

100 years ago today, Igor Stravinsky stood and watched as the curtains drew for the opening night of his new ballet “The Rite of Spring.” Depending on what historian you believe, he had not an inkling of the events that would unfold that fateful night thanks, in part, to his work. As the ballet began, there was a noticeable unease in the air. It began with people laughing, and ended with a full on riot. “The Rite of Spring” presented a truly unusual piece. It wasn’t conventional. Its constant use of dissonant chords, unusual instrument composition, strange dance moves, and drastic time signature changes shocked the audience. It pushed their limits to the point where they could no longer audibly contain themselves. This led to them attacking each other, as well as the entire orchestra, for the remainder of the performance.

The events of May 29, 1913 on the dimmed streets of Paris, France are something I have long read about and desired since my beginnings in an alternative lifestyle. I started thumbing through Minor Threat and Misfits albums for the same reason many of my contemporaries have: I was looking for something dangerous. I was looking for something different and stimulating. I thought I found this with the early Metallica albums, and although I love those albums, I wouldn’t say they’re dangerous. They’re accepted. It doesn’t brandish the reaction of Stravinsky’s work. So, I eventually got into punk rock, and really thought I found that danger – that difference. I watched classic videos and listened to interviews with the artists and marveled at how dangerous their performances seemed; however, I found them too to be accepted in the dominant culture. It didn’t truly make sense to me until I read Raymond Williams. I realize now that I was shooting in the dark.

A symptom of living in such an advanced capitalistic society, as we do now, is that anything alternative – anything that can be conceived as a threat to the mainstream – will eventually be engulfed and used to reinforce the status quo. It’s why you can find Black Flag t-shirts on sale at department store chains for 20 dollars. It’s why your favorite punk songs litter mediocre movies as their soundtrack. It was dangerous – now it’s all choreography. Of course, just because the mainstream has used punk in order to reinforce itself, it doesn’t mean that it still doesn’t mean dangerous things to me. It instilled the ideas of doing things for you. No one else is going to accept or help you; you might as well do it yourself.  This idea has both a positive and negative affect on my life; the DIY ethic is what allows the bands I like to be as creative as they are, but at the same time, it’s why so many of my peers are libertarian or have a libertarian streak. I can argue that the attitude of early hardcore bands set the foundation for the irrelevance of radio and major record labels today; at the same time, the independent labels now are practicing standards set by a Capital or an Atlantic Records.  Even speaking about how capitalism reinforces itself through counterculture reinforces the dominant culture. The point being that there is a give and take. For what seems so dangerous now will be commonplace in ten years. It doesn’t mean we can’t still enjoy music, and it doesn’t mean we still can’t enjoy political music. Lord knows I still do. I’ve been listening to punk for about 10 years now. I’ve seen sets where I felt in danger. I’ve seen fights break out during the bands. I’ve seen people break down crying while a band played. All of these things are humbling, in one way or another, but it still doesn’t match up to “The Rite of Spring.” Not technically a political piece, Stravinsky’s work proves to be the most dangerous piece of art in history. More dangerous than the Hell’s Angles brawl during the Rolling Stones, more than Woodstock 99, more than Fear on Saturday Night Live (although, I will admit, Fear came pretty damn close).

“The Rite of Spring” is the most dangerous piece of art because of the implications that led to the violence. All of the previous events listed had tension boiling; however, the violence itself was not spurred by the music. The music, in the aforementioned events was, for the most part, accepted by the audience. What makes “The Rite of Spring” different is it was unacceptable, at the time. Well, it was truly unaccepted by the rich audience members. It is unknown if the more fashionable portion of the audience truly liked Stravinsky’s work, or they really just wanted to stick it to the rich.  There are various theories of class war (although, to be frank, I doubt there were any poor people attending the opening night of this ballet); however, the music was truly the catalyst for the violence. Its unusual arrangement and topic (an ode to Russian pagan ceremonies) sparked something. It’s like when Marty McFly tells himself that the 1955 patrons aren’t ready for the type of music he just played them. I imagine a reaction similar to “The Rite of Spring” would have been imminent had Marty not been aware of his audience and continued. Igor could have pulled the plug on the performance during the intermission; however, I’m guessing he wasn’t dependent on two members of the audience to fall in love and create him in the future.  And the cherry on top for me is the orchestra.  The audience hurled items at the orchestra for the majority of the performance, and like true bad asses – they didn’t stop playing. Maybe, GG Allen took the DeLorean back into time to make sure no one stopped playing to ensure the riot happened. Actually, there probably would have been more human feces and beating of women. Such is art though.

Today, “The Rite of Spring” is accepted as one of the most important pieces of the 20^th century. It has become part of the dominant culture. It is truly inevitability. Anything that seems special to you now will most likely be marketed down your throat in ten years. Your punk rock heroes will most likely reunite their glorified bands for a quick payday and practice yoga moves on stage. It doesn’t mean we still can’t enjoy Youth of Today or Black Flag, but admittedly, after every disillusioned reunion attempt, it begins to lose its muster. You start to forget what made them so counter culture.

The danger that only allowed “The Rite of Spring” to run for six shows in its initial run is gone, and although it doesn’t have the marketability of an “Out of Step,” it has fallen with the likes of my favorite punk bands. Even though it is part of the mainstream now, one cannot forget the historical implications of Igor’s unusual ballet. Whether or not he intended for it to be so controversial is still up for debate; however, I don’t really care about those details. I like to remember “The Rite of Spring” as what set the precedent for punk rock. It set the standard for attacking the status quo – for going against the mainstream. 100 years later, I’m still looking for it.

The Worst Day of my Life (So Far…)

The term “worst day of my life” is one that gets thrown around pretty frequently. “This is the worst day of life; my car broke down in the middle of traffic while it was raining.” “I ran out of milk this morning after I already poured cereal in my bowl, I got punched in the face by an escaped gorilla, and it was raining; clearly this is the worst day ever.” I, too, have been guilty of using the term out of phrase: “Aw, a live action Dragon Ball Z movie? WORST DAY EVER!” “I lent my book to a friend, and now the corner is creased. WORST FRIEND AND DAY EVER!” I’m not a stranger to drama or hyperbole; however, unlike many people, I can pinpoint the exact day that was my worst ever. True: my life is still ongoing (… for now), but I don’t see the harm about speaking of the worst day of my life so far. The worst day of your life is a day that was so bad, that it changed you. You hardened a bit. A little bit of that glimmer in your eye went away. A day that your innocence was lost. It can be a weekend trip to find a dead body. It can be the realization that the love of your life is unattainable because of her class positioning. It’s when our boys go off to war. It’s our father getting murdered by our uncle via ear-poison insertion. It’s all these things. It’s the event that changes your life – when the world just isn’t so big and mysterious anymore. I know when that happened for me. No, none of my parents died, my house wasn’t foreclosed, I wasn’t embarrassed at a school dance, and I wasn’t beat up to the point where I had to leave town. Honestly, it will pale in comparison to other people’s struggle, but on June 5^th, 2003, something happened to me. After this day, I was never the same again.

I’m coming up on the 10^th anniversary of this day, which may be why I’ve been thinking more and more about it. 10 years ago there was a completely different Phil roaming around Baltimore. One filled with hope. One filled with complete optimism. Someone who truly believed anything was possible with a positive attitude and hard work. Let me give you a bit of a refresher on 2003. We are obviously post 9/11; which I know; everyone is giving me shit for it not having changed my life. I’M SORRY. I was still in middle school when it happened; the only thing that I really cared about was Toonami’s 3-5pm block. Anyway, the year is 2003, Bush is talking about Weapons of Mass Destruction. I just went to a new high school, where I knew a total of one person. It was a strange time where I was facing new challenges every day. I had to make a brand new set of friends. I had to adjust into life at a public art school. My first step into a hairy existence began in 2003. Throughout all this change, there was a looming event of familiarity. I had the date circled: June 5^th. Throughout everything that has changed, there will be a calling to my previous younger days. June 5^th 2003 was the day my favorite band, Metallica, released their new album and subsequently became the worst day of my life.

The album in question is “St. Anger” and if you are unfamiliar with it, I suggest, for posterity’s sake, that you listen to it in its entirety at least once. It is the perfect storm of large egos, terrible decisions, irresponsibility, and terrible terrible terrible production. The snare drum is infamously pointed out as What Not To Do in Recording 101. Every time Lars graces us with its presence, it makes me think some kid hit a single in little league. It’s bad. This album is bad. It may be the worst album of all time. The amount of hype that went into the promotion of the album; James Hetfield, Metallica’s singer was quoted as saying that this album was very similar to “…And Justice for All…” a classic in the Metallica library; made this album a shining beacon of hope in my ever changing life. I was brimming with excitement. I cut school and walked to my local music store – Record and Tape Traders – and bought this CD as the place opened, and immediately walked back home to listen. I could barely hold back my anticipation, expecting the hard hitting fast riffs that made me such a big Metallica fan in the first place.

I became a Metallica fan about four years prior to this event, at the youthful age of 11. At the time, I can honestly say, I wasn’t very happy. I didn’t, and still don’t know why I was so unhappy, but I was, and I wasn’t finding solace in much, at the time. I wasn’t a big reader then; video games offered some sort of relief; professional wrestling, as noted in previous blogs, was actually the biggest player in calming my nerves; however, I still felt a pretty big void. That was until I was hanging out with my cousin and he happened to play the song “Master of Puppets” by Metallica. “Woah. What is this?” I immediately asked him to play the song again and again and again. This isn’t a short song either, so after about an hour of listening to this song, I asked my cousin to fill me in about this band Metallica. He gave me a richly detailed history of the band, what they represented, and how important and different their music was. After this conversation, I took any money I saved up from my parent’s charity and bought the album “Master of Puppets.” You ever find an album that was so good, that you couldn’t finish it in a reasonable time? That’s what “Master of Puppets” was to me. Track one: Battery. Man, I need to listen to that intro again (start song over). Man, I need to listen to that opening riff again (start song over). Man, I need to listen to that solo again (start song over). Man, I need to listen to that song again (start song over). Track two: Master of Puppets. Etc… This album took me almost three weeks to complete because I kept going back to listen to the songs over again. Looking back on it, this album single handedly changed my life. I never heard anything so aggressive or pissed off before in my life. I really liked the Beatles, but other than, before this album, a lot of music was just a placeholder for me. I listened to it because my dad listened to it, or I listened to it because my friends were into it, but I didn’t really connect with it. For whatever reason, this 8 minute long song about heroine really connected with me at the age of 11, and I found some substantial relief. I was pissed, for whatever reason.  I didn’t feel understood, but at this point in my life, I got it. I’m pissed, they’re pissed. I like this. Simple as that.  And this album did more than provide 8 great songs, it turned me unto bands like the Misfits (Metallica covered them), which led me into discovering punk, which led me into discovering hardcore. It also led me into listening to bands like Motorhead and Black Sabbath. Metallica, as a band, legitimately shaped me into the person I am now, and this album was the tipping point for all of it.

Metallica definitely was felled by the music industry after their self-titled album, released four years after “Master of Puppets.” Every song became more radio friendly. Their image became more tailored. Metallica was no longer dangerous by the time I started listening to them. They were mainstream friendly now. This is a band that was playing sold out arena tours without the help of radio or MTV during the “Master of Puppets” release. Their stripped sound was a far cry from the over production of music during the 80s. It was completely different for an American crowd of that magnitude. Now, they seemed quite status quo. So, the build towards St. Anger excited me. For months it was described to me by Metallica (courtesy of metallica.com) as a stripped album full of raw emotion. Comparisons to the old days had me very excited and to finally hear the product after months of anticipation left me completely flabbergasted and speechless. I never had a feeling at the time comparable to the moment after I completed listening to “St. Anger.” I didn’t come across it again until about 7 years later, when my first long term girlfriend and I broke up. June 5^th 2003 was the first time I was broken hearted.

Again, in retrospect, I should have seen the signs coming. Every relationship that leads to a break up has telltale signs that the end is near. It could be a lack of interest. It could be your partner becoming distant. The signs for my ordeal with Metallica were not so subtle, and I would say started a month earlier during the MTV Icons series dedicated to Metallica. Again, if you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend seeing such great peers of Metallica, such as Avril Lavigne, perform their favorite ‘tallica songs. At the end of the show, Metallica set up to play and began playing a new song. The broadcast cut out before the song was completed, but it turned out to be track one of “St. Anger” titled “Frantic.” The song, which was in a tuning far different than Metallica’s usual half step down, startled me. “This is…different,” I thought to myself. I didn’t want to judge them on about a minute of a new song. With every relationship, you need trust. I trusted Metallica – for whatever reason. Even though they did me wrong so many times with “Load,” “Reload,” and the song “I Disappear,” I still trusted that “St. Anger” will be the next “…Justice” as promised. My relationship with Metallica would have probably had several of my friends telling me how terrible Metallica has been treating me, and that I needed to get out, only to have me saying “Metallica is a good band, and we’ve had a lot of good times too. You guys just don’t see what Metalica does for me.”

As if this performance wasn’t enough, Metallica debuted their music video for their title track (if memory serves correct) about two weeks before the album was released. It was to be released at the stroke of midnight on MTV. I convinced my parents to let me stay up to catch it, and I recorded it on a VHS to further analyze it. I stayed up, saw the video, and was again startled. I didn’t know what to make of it. Was it raw? Yes. Was it aggressive? Yes. Was it …Justice like? No, not at all. I stayed up for hours contemplating this song. I rewatched the video in my room several times, trying to make out a positive, until I eventually convinced myself that this was “progressive.” “Yea, man! They’re trying a new sound. It’s a brave new world for Metallica. That snare is just ahead of the curve” I fooled myself into thinking Metallica was this loving and caring entity that it was when we first got together, but things were changing and I was in for a world of hurt come June 5^th.

I said bye to my mom, and let her know I was just going to walk to school with some friends. There were no friends and there was no school that day.  Metallica and I promised to spend the day together. I went out to make this special day completely perfect and came back to see Metallica exchanging knowledge with someone else. At least, that was the only comparable feeling, walking into Metallica cheating on me. June 5^th was the breakup date for Metallica and I. I exhausted myself to give Metallica all my love and attention; however, with the listening of “St. Anger,” it finally became clear that Metallica didn’t give a shit about me. Metallica had been taking advantage of me and worst of all, manipulated me into staying in this one sided relationship. I listened to “St. Anger” once through, and honestly, was never able to listen to it again. I put it away in a shoebox, where it still remains buried somewhere in my room at my parent’s house. I had so much hope built into this album. I found myself in a similar situation that I was in when I was 11. I was angry. I was lonely. I felt misunderstood. The timing was perfect for Metallica to return to their roots and put out an album that made me regain that connection I had with them four years earlier. I needed Metallica to be the Metallica of four years prior so badly, but there is no going back to that Metallica. Time changes us all, and Metallica and I had just gone into different directions. I felt abandoned, and man, was I depressed.

I put all my Metallica CDs away after that. I couldn’t bear the sight of them anymore. The pain of “St. Anger” was so much that even reliving the good times brought too much pain. I made jokes to my friends that I was going through the stages of death, but that joke held more truth to it than I let on. I can honestly say that the sky was never quite as blue after June 5^th 2003. I was let down and disappointed by an entity that I loved almost unconditionally before then. I needed Metallica to help me feel some semblance of acceptance at a time of my life where I felt like a complete stranger, and they only estranged me further. I remember telling myself, “I need to listen to some other music.” I couldn’t bear to listen to even the friends of Metallica, lest I have some awkward run in with them. Within the next two months, I heard Minor Threat’s “Out of Step” and Weezer’s “Pinkerton,” two albums that also helped shape the person I am now, and still two of my all-time favorite albums. Today, Metallica and I are friends again. My father, as a surprise, bought me a ticket to see them on the “St. Anger” tour, and not wanting to instill the same disappointment unto my father that I received from Metallica, I accepted. The word that best described their performance was apologetic. They played mostly songs up to the self-titled album, and only played two songs from “St. Anger,” almost forced. It really helped me forgive Metallica after they masterfully performed an almost flawless set list. It still ranks as the best concert I have ever attended.

To this day, “St. Anger” remains an anomaly to me. The more I find out about it, the more I’m blown away by how terrible the decisions were that went into the album. For example, I recently just found out that the album has no overdubs on it. No overdubbed guitar to add any flair, no overdubbed vocals to add depth – nothing. It’s interesting as what Metallica defines as raw, but this album is about as raw as a band can get, and should never be allowed to reach. “St. Anger’ set a benchmark: raw does not always mean good. What made the self-titled album great was the production. As over produced as their follow up albums were, “St. Anger” showed that Metallica’s faults were not caused by production. Metallica’s faults are what they turned into. They became a band that lost sight a very long time ago. The documentary that tracked the band provided proof of that. If the “Let It Be” movie documented a band breaking up, “Some Kind of Monster” documented a band that should have broken up years ago. All the elements that went into the album make it interesting to me; however, the effect it had on my own life is what makes me remain curious. Just as one would think about their first love, I can only think “what if” with “St. Anger.” What if I never heard that album? What if I never heard Metallica? What would my life be like now? Would I be into the bands that are so important to me now that I only heard about through Metallica? Some of these bands shaped my values as a person. Would I have been the person I am now without Metallica? June 5^th 2003 remains as the worst day in my life 10 years later. I have been let down afterwards by girlfriends, by sports teams, by friends, bands, and even entire scenes; however, nothing can relate to the feeling of listening to this album that I have built so much hope into completely end my childhood and innocence. There was no going back to the old Phil after this album, but the change was occurring, whether I liked it or not. For as much pain and disappointment that it brought me, I’m glad Metallica put out this album. It allowed me to branch out to different types of music and become well rounded. It was the true catalyst for me getting involved in underground DIY music. Without “St. Anger,” I would have turned out as a completely different person. And I’ve come to grips that the pleasure that Metallica brought me by composing four flawless albums outweighs their current crop of songs. I recently found some old notebooks from high school, and saw a doodle and list that I made when I was about 16, and it listed “Phil’s Top 3 bands ever: 1) Metallica, 2) The Beatles, 3) Minor Threat. A pretty good list and one that I can honestly say stays true for me today.

LOOK BACK AND LAUGH #1: THE N-WORD REPLACER

As you may have noticed, this is not my normal blog posting. No, you won’t have an over-analyzed, over-thought, too much time on his hands, rant about wrestling this time. My buddy Julian and I started writing some sketches a while a go, and this is the first installment for our program “Look Back and Laugh.”  I personally like background information on the videos and music I choose to partake in. So, while I won’t be using this blog exclusively for posting these videos, I’d like to have a section of it pertain to the background information for these videos.

The first question when dissecting any form of creativity is inspiration. What inspired us to write this? I can’t say for sure who’s idea it definitively was (and I’m not just saying that to hide the fact that I didn’t solely write it), but I do remember I was talking to Julian about a piece I read about “Django Unchained.” The author lambasted Tarantino for his movie, and scowled Hollywood for appraising it with awards. His main culprit was Tarantino’s use of the n-word. “How can anyone praise Tarantino, a white man, for so recklessly using this word that fellow white men have used to bring about such pain and misery.” All I can think about is: what a load of crap. I remember telling Julian that the only reason this guy was so flabbergasted was because he could not enjoy the movie because he couldn’t bring himself to react to the n-word in public. He was so uncomfortable with the black race that hearing the n-word used, as it tends to be used in Tarantino’s films, makes his skin crawl because he is unable to bring himself to react with anything but negatively.  It’s one thing when the dreaded n-word appears in Scorsese films like “The Departed,” but with Django – a film that attracts black audiences – this guy just could not handle enjoying a product of the n-word in public. What a stupid white guy problem! That’s a great line of thinking for any comedy, and we ran with it.

My favorite kind of humor is one that points out the ridiculousness of our real day to day life, and that includes the n-word. Hearing professional newscasters say “n-word” is by far one of the funniest thing to me. These are people who have covered wars on the battlefield, have been present at historical moments – but have to say an inebriation phrase for a racially charged word. I also love the fact that this word is censored on television… unless a black comedian is using it. Don’t worry, I’m not going to go on some “white culture” rant, I just find it very funny over who the censors find OK to say this particular word. This video has to deal with the ridiculousness of censorship as much as it has to deal with the ridiculousness of tight knit white people.

We decided to do it as a bad infomercial. We’ll be acting badly (I know I’m a bad actor, but trying to act badly on purpose is actually pretty difficult), we’ll be constantly looking at the camera (I did this way more than Julian. I think it was his way of getting back at me for making him cut my lawn in high school), and one of us was going to have to be a closet racist. It all panned out in a day of shooting that we did at Julian’s house. The highlight for me is Julian’s face when he says “The N-Word Replacer?” Look at the glimmer in his eye. You can’t teach that kind of talent, my friend. I hope you enjoy it! And I will have a long exasperated blog again soon.