Saturday, December 31, 2011
Anger without progress
Burning Bridges without building them.
Phantoms of Fear
Mediocre Radiohead albums. Blip is Dead.
Super hyped elaborate, expansive metal albums with unlistenable cookie monster vocals. Sing ,you pussies.
Any brand new band with a woodland or farm animal in their name. Getting my hunting license soon.
Any critic or snooty young music pundit who continues to say rock is dead. Can I punch you in the glasses?
Any hip hop track containing extreme self- fellating or a guest vocalist(this includes all of them)
The Tea Party-most of you are fucking insane, and need to leave your god fearing, militia led small towns and white bread enclaves and have a look around.
Ever hearing Knights in White Satin or Old Time Rock and Roll or More Than a Feeling again.
Any dimwitted, half human teen or housewife or gay man who gives any Kardashian another fucking dime. Put down the tabloids and read a book you traipsing, vapid numbskulls.
Any Twitter feed chock full of retweets,replies, thank yous, self promotion and not one living breathing original thought. Don't Tweet yourself, go fuck yourself.
Teen Moms. and most everyone south of Virginia and east of Philadelphia.Which is where teen moms are made.
The electoral college, the senate, the house of representatives, and all insurance and drug companies. Lets bring the War home and fight it out here.
Classic Rock acts that continue to cheat their fans by touring without the original SINGER.
The people that continue to buy tickets to see Classic Rock acts that tour without their original SINGER
Ticketbastard. Spotify. SOPA.
Stages that fall on people and kill them.
Pretentious, hipper than thou, literati- luring lyricists. Have some fun, bookworm.
Any movie with a rapper turned actor. Playing a drug lord, soldier, cop, side kick, or pimp.
Anything touched (even just brushed against) by Tyler or Katy Perry. Joe Perry is fine, unlesss the new Aerosmith album sucks ballz.
Any has been or never was that is regurgitated to do a national commercial or magazine cover via a reality show.
The next and any other subsequent tour by Bob Dylan, Steve Miller, Dave Matthews, Big Bad Voodoo Daddy, Big Head Todd, Reel Big Fish, Staind, Rusted Root, Boyz II Men, LA Guns or the reunited Spin Doctors.
Those last 15 pounds.
For 2012, I'd like to say Hello to:
My guitar and my Pen.
Any and all music reviews that may come the way of Circle of Fits.
More frequent posts and a new writer or two at Circle of Fits (submit your samples!)
New albums from Soundgarden, Queens of the Stone Age, The Mark Lanegan Band, Black Sabbath, Baroness, Heartless Bastards, Rush?, ZZTop?, Van Halen?, Tool, Kyuss Lives, Smashing Pumpkins?, U2, Nico Vega, Three Inches of Blood, Built to Spill, Deftones, Mars Volta?, Neil Young? and of course Willow Smith. Alice in Chains? Meh.
Hello SXSW. I promise to never miss you again. Lets hug it out, but first I'll put my Shiner Bock down.
Hello Bonnaroo? Hello Outside Lands? Hello Glastonbury? Hello Coachella I or II? Hello Comicon? Hello hotel room, goodbye campsite?
Hello press and photo pass to any Radiohead tour date in my tri-state area?
Hello Philly and NYC music scene again. I hardly knew ya.
Hello dark theaters in the summer and so on showing The Dark Knight, Spiderman, The Hobbit, Prometheus, Django Unchained, World War Z, John Carter, Brave, Savages, The Dictator, Haywire, The Chronicle and The Great Gatsby.
Hello pile of books that hold up my ipod and whatever beverage on my nightstand.
Hello acupuncture, cardiovascular activity, chiropractic facility, support groups, pilates, yoga, tai kwan do, meditation, nature, body of water, sunscreen, bench press. I'm coming for you. Rock critics need to be strong, calm ,focused. They're always running from angry publicists and brawling rabid clusters of fanboys and girls.
Hello Hello. I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
I'll do anything. I'll guide your sleigh, dude. I'll just use coughed up mucus as a sputem spotlight.... which varies from brown to green with specks of red bright enought to see through any Noreaster.
Tuesday, December 06, 2011
I was off my game this year. The ebb and flow of input at Circle of Fits floated in static waves between tired sacrifice and burden. The reviews were few, the inspiration whittled down to ones and zeroes pushed through the shredder in some lawyer's office. Such is life, the steady see saw of disgust and excitability. I'll keep going, because music, love it or hate it, is essential. It will always be my go-to, when I'm unimpressed by or frightened by strangers, my something to talk about.
I had new music to listen to. Through headphones. The whole listening experience has changed for me..a parsed together, never planned, hunter/collector mentality has overtaken the place I had for the simple acts of stop, look and listen. Sometimes more than never, it is "used" merely used for a tool of distraction rather than escape. I don't use music to white boy dance or as a backdrop/beatbox for getting high or a metronome for jogging fucking calories away. I use music to change thought, channel moods and escape the monotony of whatever is safe. Escape whatever's cool. Escape whatever hell flicks its fucking flames at me.
These are my top 10 albums of the year. Some have been reviewed here. Some have not.
10. Radiohead- The King of Limbs. Meh. It never really knocked me flat the way In Rainbows did. I thought it was rushed, too short for the so called prolific tendencies of Thom and Co, and too many buttons and not enough sticks. But even a second rate album for the likes of Radiohead is a masterpiece for most any other band, so they make the list for not giving enough of a shit and still sounding like nothing else. Listen to Morning Mr. Magpie.
9) Steel Panther-Balls Out. Get out the Aqua net, the Charvel-Jackson, and the stretched out spandex from the basement..cuz yull need em. Sounds just like 1986 Sunset Strip, blow job in the back seat metal. Exquisitely played down to the power ballads and the shredding. But the lyrics.....a parody of everything that goes with the over the top-ness of the times tied to the entendres, sex and topics of today. It's supposed to be ridiculous. And it is. Listen to It's Not Gonna Suck Itself.
8) tUnE-yArDs-WHOKILL- A one of a kind project by ukelele wielding New Englander Merrill Garbus. Taking equal parts tapeloops, chants and the funkier side of afrobeat, she has come up with a truly mesmerizing original sound. She sounds like a husky black woman who's been done wrong and about to head out on a baby daddy rampage but then again...no. Listen to Gangsta.
7) Beastie Boys- Hot Sauce Committee Pt. 2- I don't like hip hop. But I like the Beastie Boys. They can play. They record mostly live. Their posturing is playful, their braggadocio is hilarious. They're not selling Vodka or Headphones. They give back. They put their causes out there. The beats are still space rock solid. They MC old school and aren't ashamed of it. They've been around for decades and still nobody sounds like them. And guess what...this album sounds like it could have snuck out right before Hello Nasty and right after Check Your Head and it still rocks. Listen to Nonstop Disco Powerpack.
6) Blitzen Trapper-American Goldwing. Portland's perennially overlooked and under appreciated real rock band. All the ingredients have been there like the perfect meal in a hidden restaurant on each release. Fantastic vocals, well crafted melodic mini-masterpieces, rock-i-cana snappy crisp solos and so on. They haven't topped 2008's Furr but this one, albeit a bit mellower, comes close. Listen to Street Fighting Sun or Astronaut.
5) The Black Keys- El Camino. Three in a row for the Akronites, and the last release of the year to make it. As of press time, it was released TODAY. Dan and Pat found Danger Mouse to do their bidding again,(you can hear what he's famous for in the sprinkled key textures and the portable, mini wall of sound that traverses through a handful of tracks.) and the three of a perfect pair just murder the modern blues. Dan Auerbach rivals Jack White in write- ability. There, I said it. And he's a better singer. Yeah, he has been using that semi distorted vocal wash a bit too much, Yeah, Pat is the male Meg White. Yeah it veers into Fitz and the Tantrum territory in spots, but...its the songs, stupid. Danceable even in a two left foot sorta way, move-matic and eclectically dirty in all of the right places. Listen to the whole album, then go and listen to Little Black Submarines and Gold On the Ceiling over and over...Even in traffic, it will sho' nuff put a smile up on ya'.
4) Red Fang- Murder the Mountains. Is that not the best album title you've heard in a fuck of a decade? This album should be played on cue when magma rips and spurts from the hot scars in the earth and burns everything in its path only to form new landmasses from the smoldering piles. Or at every demolition derby, everywhere. Just nails it loud, hard and understandable in a more accessible, melodic Melvins sorta way. Two singers, one gruff and razor gurgling( Bryan Giles), the other (Aaron Beam) a crooner on steroids. Listen to Wires or Throw Up on your way to Asgard before walking up to Zeus and bitchslapping him before you take the throne.
3)Wild Flag -self titled The super group tag that gets fastened like a reflex to this band does not do this album proper justice. One half of Sleater- Kinney( Janet Weiss and Carrie Brownstein) would be enough, but add Mary Timony from Helium on vox and axe and the vintage thump and bass of Rebecca Cole on keys, and a joy filled post punk dance stratosphere hatched from the garage is reachable with every track. This album is completely buy-able for the super sexy smart( and almost predatory) lyrics fleshing out the murky side of relationships or shining hot light on the powerful force of how making music makes one feel.... from a female perspective...which after the first listen didn't matter anyway. This is a a rock album to the deep marrow. This album is dirty and fun and dripping with post gig sweat from the first needle drop. Listen to Glass Tambourine, Race Horse, Romance, Short Version...shit they're all real good.
2) Wilco- The Whole Love How do you describe an album that is a "return to form" when you love all of the said band's forms? Well, after two albums that toyed with a mix of folky laid backness and simplicity....we get everybody's Wilco on The Whole Love. The post modern folk swatches from A Ghost is Born (Born Alone), the lengthy sonic freakscapes of YHF (Art of Almost), the arena sing- alongs( I Might), and a multi-multi verse masterpiece of slightly somber repetitive reflection (One Sunday Morning). This is the Wilco snob's Wilco album. And I am one. Just listen............
1) Mastodon- The Hunter You gotta love a band of metal perfectionists and precision addicts that grew so tired of the concept of a concept album for the 4th time that they burned the blueprint and just jammed an album out born of newborn ideas and riff memory...and manage to make the best album of their career. Hardly a track over 5 minutes long, massive plate tectonic challenging riffage, and VOCALS...lots and lots of soaring, melodic (hey, I can understand these lyrics, what a fucking awesome story) VOCALS.. Nary a fucking growl....anywhere. This band is a trendsetter already, but you watch...for a post "The Hunter" world,.I predict a whole bunch of metal bands will hide the cookies and start hiring vocal coaches for their next time out of the gates of hell. Everybody sings, Brent and Bill are still paving the new metal high way with their inventive and earth shattering twin leads, and Brann Dailor has eased up on the fills and focused on rocket charged rhythm. Curl of the Burl is the best song of the year. Civilizations could be formed around it. But the track The Hunter(a thinly veiled tribute to Brent Hinds' brother who died while on a hunting trip a few years back) is hauntingly epic and poignant at the same time. I never ever tire of Blasteroids or Dry Bone Valley or Stargasm or All The Heavy Lifting or Octopus Has No Friends or Black Tongue or Spectrelight or Creature Lives either.
So there you have it. On to the next one. But first we have to get through the Grammys and Madonna at the fucking Superbowl.
Cheers, Jeers and hoppy beers, Seano
Monday, November 21, 2011
My admittance to this hospital comes at a time when I have no health insurance and this three day stint will cost me thousands that I don't have. Usually at this point of a post, sticking to the sarcastic banter that I'm often thrilled to demonstrate, I would ask you to send in a list of songs that reference breathing or the lack thereof, lungs, or airways of any kind., and I'll bet you I would have gotten a few Pink Floyd or Jethro Tull references thrown back at me.
I don't think I'll be doing that. I'm reflective of my life and where I've been as I've had this scare, this surprising health conscious downtime and silence in a beige room with country comfort wallpaper, the sounds of phlegm rattling behind the nebulizer/vader mask that I'm donning. I've been second guessing and sort of ashamed of the paths I chose into this adulthood, a bit non-conformist for the tastes of the good friends I grew up with, and most of my neighbors in this sleepy enclave of NW Philly.They love me or are amused by me anyway, but they could never do what I've done(or chosen not to do) The comforts of stability far outweigh the risks for most everyone I know. Comfort is conform. I sometimes think of my travels, my nomadic decades between 21 and now, the delicious, dysfunctional and dynamic of it all, and how, even though at some of the most creative and fulfilling times of my life, I was never able to turn that spark into something that would bridge a gap between dream and career.
Now at this time in my life, after a truly disastrous three years full of death, divorce and depression, I wonder if it all was worth it. Now, right now, when I can't pay my bill. I can't find steady work. Sure, I have many tales that I could tell of the experiences, but what is that worth? What is that worth on the scale of comparing it to what is really happening right now, right on the streets where we live... now that we are living in the midst of the most intense displays of mistrust, disgust, dissension and uprising throughout the world. And right here in America, as I lay here, budgets cant get passed, demonstrators are getting beaten, the middle class is gone, the jobs are outsourced, more tax dollars go to rebuilding Afghanistan and Iraq than go to rebuilding schools, bridges and roads right in our own cities. People no longer trust their banks, clergy, police or politicians unless they're comfortable or a constituent. The majority of the values and freedoms of living in the US have been raped, pillaged and sold off to the highest bidder and held hostage by big business. Mini revolutions are starting in back yards and basements, and citizens are frustrated, tired, unhinged and unruly. And they mean it.
Where should my energy go? One minute as I lay here, with what little money, possessions and patience have..my thoughts waver....... Should I join the 99 percent? Or should I get a job, I don't like, with no gap between career and dream even considered, with little pay and a health plan, so I can be healthy ...and unhappy. And save the stories for my grand kids, without living through new ones on my own...
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Friday, November 11, 2011
I have heard that rehearsals have been going on for a while now, and Tony Iommi has written a shitload of material, plucked from the endless riff filofax in his grey matter...and that's along with putting out his memoirs. It will be their first album of all new material since Never Say Die in 1978...Here are a couple official announcement on Youtube(no actual press conference footage, just a couple photos.)
Friday, November 04, 2011
I'm trying to like this. It's harder than I thought it would be. Fuck it, it's as impossible as passing a stone through staples.
First of all. Just so you know, almost everyone I know, and probably everyone you know... loves Lou Reed in some capacity....Velvet Underground and Nico, Loaded, Transformer, The Bells, Berlin, Coney Island Baby, New York....all in the rock pantheon. So with that said......
If you give this one a shot, don't be a die hard Velvet Underground fan, don't be a Transformer fan, don't even be a Songs for Drella fan. Be a Metal Machine Music or a ReLoad fan. A tone deaf, patient or medicated one.
You must know by now, if you are well schooled on Lou Reed, that Lou Reed doesn't give a shit about us, fans, critics, writers, bloggers, innocent bystanders, the guy that delivers Chinese to him and Laurie Anderson on a Friday night, pigeons, or anyone passing a disagreeable thought his way. He's the toughest interview in rock history, he's a curmudgeon's curmudgeon. The last time he smiled, it caused a quadruple rainbow and then a spike in worldwide births nine months later.
Quite simply, there's no need for this album in any capacity. THIS is the Metallica album they should have pumped through speakers in Afghanistan. Every terrorist would have ejected out of their ratholes instantly bawling their eyes out, laying down rifles and returning to their mountain side farms to raise cattle and garden for the rest of their lives. I could only get through CD 1 and that's under the influence of a strong anti- biotic/percoset cocktail and a shitload of time on my hands.
This album fits sonically snug as an open mike through dual ear infections.
It's the world's most expensive unorganized basement jam. The scenario probably went like this...Lou gets off the plane in San Francisco and is driven up in a limo to Metallica' studio in San Rafael. He stares out the window, dour faced and unfazed. Same flatlined expression through the rolling hills of wine country and the mesmerizing terrain of Marin, like it was raining piss on his best leather. The boys have not received anything in advance and when Lou gets there and sets up, he pulls out some dog eared legal pad, spends five minutes waxing with James and Lars about some prostitute named Lulu then immediately rolls tape.
Poetry in general is tough to transfer to tape, especially a poetic narrative about German Expressionist Theater barked out in monotone.
Yeah, I know, monotone is Lou's thing. But here, he's croaking and gasping in compressed spurts trying to half howl some kind of a story over that horrible Ulrich crummy crutch of Cymbal/Snare stoccato over and over and over. he can't keep up, even with Lars' lack of tempo,..its all brash and bash and I'm lost and distracted and running for vicodin to drop in my iced tea.
The Lowlights include "Pumping Blood" a dreary half stomp of stutter and start, half demolished meter with my favorite lines of verse from the entire album
"Blood in the foyer
The tea room
The kitchen, with her knives splayed
I will swallow your sharpest cutter
Like a colored man's dick"
Another crushing blow is a "song" called Cheat On Me. Its a 12 minute repetitive mess that plays out like some raspy old codger at a poetry slam, bleating out self deprecating verse next to a tunebox on a stool playing St. Anger with the treble up way too high. "Why do I cheat On Me? Why do I piss my dreams.?" Fail to clear throat. Repeat.
"Iced Honey" is really the only thing I could get through without grinding my teeth and keeling over. Its the only track that has a semblance of melody and a beat that matches the meter.
The combo of Lou's voice and James Hetfield's background growls of the unintelligible come and go like shrapnel to the temple. I don't know why they're there. And I don't care. At one point he says..."I am the table" ?????? Makes me think he read Lou's chicken scratch wrong and they just kept it.
To summarize....No. No means No. An Iron Maiden would be more pleasurable....not the band, a real iron maiden. Please don't let this pave the way for a Leonard Cohen/Slayer or Bobby McFerrin/Cannibal Corpse offering.
Thank You and Goodnight.
Wednesday, November 02, 2011
Well, The Black Keys are just about to enter another mammoth album cycle, with the upcoming release "El Camino" on Dec. 6. Hoo! Fucking! Rayy! Frankly, I can't think of a band that's had a more stellar run in recent years, and if this album( even with its "highly anticipated" tag attached) lives up to the hype, it could very well give both Wilco's The Whole Love and Mastodon's The Hunter a good jostle in my annual end of the year Top 10. Shit makes me wanna dance without moving my legs, makes me wanna shimmy different than my usual delerium tremens. Makes me wanna roll my nether-region in something freshly killed and rub up against you.
If there's anything better than the Black Keys that ever escaped from Akron, Ohio, I haven't seen it yet.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Fortunately there is plenty of music out there with contributing artists unknowingly creating soundtracks to ugly dreams and maniacal thoughts that may not have even happened yet. I try to do this every year and, to my surprise, keep discovering a dubious dearth of dark. A video or the song, and a one sentence first thought upon hearing it will follow each
Here's a few.
1) A Shaving of the Horn that Speared You- Sunn-O
In the woods behind your house amidst a Sunday morning mist, seven hooded figures standing silent in between the pines, facing your patio.
2) Little One- Elliott Smith
In a dank, druggy windowless basement, within a halo of spoon and newsprint, a troubadour can't find his guitar sitting next to him.
3) Night Goat- Fantomas/Melvins Big Band
Someone has poisoned the Bulls and Goats in the barn and they have bashed through their wooden holds and are stomping the chickens trying to escape.
4) Cafe- Tim Buckley
Bluured out flashback of a disheveled lonely old crone through a thunderstorm soaked window as the apocalypse approaches.
5) Terror Tram- Buckethead( Death Cube K)
The only rider on a monorail through the seventh level of hell.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
12 Extremely Disappointing Facts About Popular Music
1. Creed has sold more records in the US than Jimi Hendrix
2. Led Zeppelin, REM, and Depeche Mode have never had a number one single, Rihanna has 10
3. Ke$ha's “Tik-Tok” sold more copies than ANY Beatles single
4. Flo Rida's “Low” has sold 8 million copies – the same as The Beatles' “Hey Jude”
5. The Black Eyed Peas' “I Gotta Feeling” is more popular than any Elvis or Simon & Garfunkel song
6. Celine Dion's “Falling Into You” sold more copies than any Queen, Nirvana, or Bruce Springsteen record
7. Same with Shania Twain's “Come On Over”
8. Katy Perry holds the same record as Michael Jackson for most number one singles from an album
9. Barbra Streisand has sold more records (140 million) than Pearl Jam, Johnny Cash, and Tom Petty combined
10. People actually bought Billy Ray Cyrus' album “Some Gave All…” 20 million people. More than any Bob Marley album
11. The cast of “Glee” has had more songs chart than the Beatles
12. This guy exists.That is all.
The world is full of shit and puke.
We're all stepping in it .
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Here are the 15 Nominees with my comments following in Bold Type.
The Beastie Boys: No. See the nominees for Hip Hop Hall of Fame..right after Russell Simmons establishes it and names it after himself.
The Cure: The influence is there, as Mr. Smith inspired a "look" that got lifted and used by everyone from Ed Scissorhands to Ledger's Joker...but that's not in the music category...that's in the Slightly chubby ambiguous goth boy Hall of Fame category.... besides Love Song or even Love Cats...whaddaya got?
Donovan: Great choice, as far as folkies with a slight lisp and a penchant for smoking banana peels go, but methinks he'll get passed over.
Erik B. and Rakim- See number one, then add my rule. Nobody with One letter for a surname gets in. Ever. This includes titans like Kenny G, Jay Z, Ice-T, and Sheila E.
Guns N Roses- Yes. A no brainer. Even with only 4 albums and the one Mr. Rose blew a 13 million dollar wad on, they made hard rock, top hats and bloated videos with wind and white pianos cool again in the 80s. Besides, I'd like to see Izzy Stradlin have to leave the house for something. And Hey show producers! When you send Axl the invite, tell him the show tapes at 4, so when he shows up at 8, he'll be right on time.
Heart-Absolutely. An unstoppable female force, a shitload of hits, and the unmistakeable one of a kind voice of Ann Wilson. They always had a fantastic band. Just listen to the drums on Barracuda, that shit still holds up. Ok, so we'll let the aqua net schlock like" Alone and Never" slide, but they're in for being two bad ass babes bigger than just their boobs. I'm crazy on 'em.
Joan Jett and the Blackhearts- Hmmm. You want to induct Joan Jett and the Blackhearts before you induct the Runaways? Or even Suzi Quatro? Yeah, Joan was in both, but there's no "Blackhearts" without the all female, completely groundbreaking Runaways. Joan's biggest hit is a cover...Joan should get in, but if they give this to her and the Blackhearts(whose line up has changed a fuck of a lot since 1981)...i feel the Runaways will not get their due.
Freddie King- A monumental blues picker and fantastic showman, I say yes. But he'll get in as the token "old, lost in the shuffle" category.
Laura Nyro- Well, I'll be the first one to admit I know very little about Laura Nyro. So I have no opinion. I should offer her fans an idea. Enlist someone(in the music biz) with a high profile who really really gives a shit about her. Have that person gush over her in concert and in interviews.....it worked for Kid Rock having a hard on for Bob Seger and it will most likely work for Elton and his current raging one for Leon Russell.
Red Hot Chili Peppers- No.The Chilis are an amalgam of their influences..Fishbone, Funkadelic, Fear...but I don't think they've influenced anyone who didn't want to play anywhere but in a Fraternity basement in the Northeast. I think the high points of their legacy will include many references to socks, heroin and tattoos. Not much beyond Under the Bridge and Give it Away, really. Sure they've sold millions and have one of the best rhythm sections in modern rock history(when Flea isn't doing all of that white boy slapping). Sure they've stumbled onto a smattering of genius in the Frusciante years, I just don't think its time yet.
Rufus with Chaka Khan-Tell me something good besides "Tell Me Something Good".
The Small Faces/The Faces-Yes. Ron Wood. Ian Maclagan. Kenny Jones and fucking Steve Marriott. ....errr, and Rod Stewart. The Faces are responsible for everybody else that the Stones weren't responsible for. Immense influence and great hair that that pesky tool Liam Gallagher has been plucking for years. Steve Marriott is never going to get in on his own or with Humble Pie. Tragic. Steve Marriott is in the top five rock singers of all time. Steve Marriott makes Rod "soccer sperm and standards" look like a rank amateur. Plus he probably died passing out with a lit cigarette in his mouth and a guitar in his hand. That's hall of fame material right there. This is his one and only chance. For all of you idiot dreamers who keep thinking that those rock actors Kiss are ever going to make it in...put your energy here.
The Spinners- From the desk of Jann Wenner: Guys, who's left in the well dressed, uniformed soul groups with choreographed dance moves from the 70s category.? The Spinners. Ok lets put them in. Then we're done with that and we can finally start getting all of those festering prog rock fans off my back.
Donna Summer-No. Bad Girl. Bad Music. Bad choice. Don't Love to Love You Baby.
War-" What is it good for? Absolutely nothing. Say it again ."
So Five Will get in. I say The Faces, Heart, Freddy King, G and R, and The Spinners.
But the Chili Peppers have been on the cover of the rolling stone at least five times and will bump the Faces or Freddy King. Blood Sucking Suck Magnet.
Glaring omissions: Yes...cmon already. Cheap Trick..sure. The Smiths...hate them, but immensely influential. Thin Lizzy ...for the twin lead guitar harmonies alone. Gram Parsons.This guy was in the Byrds, the Flying Burrito Bros. and Keith Richards invited him everywhere. Oh yeah.. he was pretty much single-handedly responsible for country rock. All before his druggy death at AGE 26! Devo-massive influence and great hats. and Jethro Tull- because bringing the flute to rock and roll is an outstanding achievement.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
At a loss for words again...music will get me through...always does.......The new Mastodon album "The Hunter" comes out next week. ..If you want to start a militia or headbutt a blonde, this is the album for you. Gonna make my top ten for sure.
Here is their video for "Curl of the Burl".....but check out "Blasteroid", " Thickening " and "Spectrelight" if you wanna get all John Henry w/o a steam drill in some cave somewhere. As a matter of fact, I'm typing this with one hand. The album is in my headphones and I'm uppercutting a cinderblock wall with the other one. Have a great day.
Friday, September 09, 2011
Covered in ash, pungent and flailing. Coughing through headphones
Battling ridiculous drums and bass in a coffee shop in this wretched city.
Not the city of my amorous arrows, not the daily thrill of the sleepless rush via girdered canyons of the behemoth 90 miles north.
The soundtrack has to spurn the words, the words have to come through the sounds.
Listening to the past and comparing it to life below 14th street
before a September morning that nudged the behemoth into a slumber of sadness.
Screwing zip screws into aluminum on a Guggenheim ramp, spiraled in angles, cacophony of hammer hits.
Rob the foreman whirling up the ramp in a blur of lanky, work belt red hair, protruding Adam's apple undulating
out the words.."Guysaplanejusthittheworldtradecenter".
Hammer stall, elders kept pounding having heard it all in Gotham within rent controlled tenement bubbles while they etch away at unseen art for a quarter century.
But the others pause, heads cocked like spaniels spying squirrels, huh,really? Rob careens up the ramp again repeating the phrase but adding "another" to the sequence. Terrorism. Silence. Echoes on marble. Work boots scatter bursting out the fifth avenue entrance on museum row. Straight sight shot to the rising tendrils of smokedustash 80blocks away.
Collapse. Chaos. Traffic subtle screech. Taxi clustered in capillaries.Cloud spreads shadows through the keyhole of the viewed valley of high rise.
Suddenly. Art doesn't matter. Tools left in a trail of chaos. Some have loved ones downtown and blitz the subways in vain. Down to the Guggenheim basement, viewing helicopter video of one trade center events. Tower down. Stick figures waving white flags from 90 stories up. Then screen falls out, no its the other tower, dropping from view, smoke swallowing widows, glass, concrete, people. Firemen climbing thousands of stairs elevator cables melted through, can't...reach..every...one. Won't return.
Everything stops. hearts bleed like syrup. nothing pumps. Air fails to move. Thousands on Fifth avenue. Blind rats in a shut down maze. Got to get to where I need to be. Walking in a cauldron of tears, stunned silence, anxious, hurried. Subways down. We walk so many blocks to the Queensboro bridge. Looks like a marathon photo. No cars, no horns bleating or rush of truck wheel..50 thousand souls walking blindly into Queens, then Brooklyn, like a melting pot of bleached out zombies to destinations, comfort, huddles of struggle.
Sitting in my apartment on Broadway in Williamsburg, steady flow of CNN, repeated videos, stories trickling in, statements from Bush/Guiliani, Osama finally chimes in from a dirt hole of a mansion somewhere claiming responsibility. His bullseyed face on the Post in the morning. We learn the scope, the pentagon, flight 93....the other half to this fearsome foursome. We rush to war rooms while families start posting fliers on every square inch of flat open surface in lower Manhattan over the next few days, pixilated faces of the disappeared....then, that smell...permeating..like burnt rubber, dust and gasoline...flakes of ash fall for days, Union Square a shrine of questions, pictures, candles sequestered on the front line of 14th street beyond and south quarantined, caution tape, cones and cops.
Why. it is always Why? The mix of a " death to infidels" battle cry from religious extremists, the symbols of the center of the financial universe, in a boastful 102 story stance for all to see , the perpetual superpower meddling in everyone's everything. The oil, the greed, the power, the money, the religion, the death, the hatred.
Not much has changed. There will always be greed, power, hatred, religion and FEAR.
We're building another.
Taller. Stronger. So full of determination, pride. Millions overbudget. Raise the tolls to pay for it. Responders dying from cancerous dust 10 years on. Never properly equipped for safety. Financial crisis of the century. Nobody responsible ever prosecuted. Bail outs. Tea parties. Stalemates. Death of the middle class. Foreclosures. And two parties that hate each other so much that a red/blue civil war is imminent. People building militias in their back yards. Middle management men working on landscaping crews. Racial/religious tension at an all time high. Two new wars that did nothing but cost billions and raise oil prices. Thousands more soldiers dead than the number of civilians that initially perished that day. Thousands of innocent civilians dead in countries of war.
Let's build it higher.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Yeah, well he really is inside AN ACTUAL guitar center, this noodling nerd. What a champion! I mean, what's the fucking point.? I'll bet there is a row of skate rats butchering "Over the Hills and Far Away" in acoustic off key unison, right behind him.
You wont make it past the two minute mark. But let's do a checklist for fun!
Real tight Dream Theater ponytail? Check.
Glossy black guitar with more sharp points than a Mensa convention? Check.
Mathmatical, robotic playing with no emotion whatsoever? Check.
All practice, practice, practice, practice,practice... no playing? Check.
Big burly guy that looks like Peter Jackson with a rat tail, as an audience of one cheering him on? (can't see him, but I know he's there) His Tolkien wingman? Check.
Doesn't this dude watch Metalocalypse? Has it taught him NOTHING?
I wonder if he bought a new hard drive or rack system with the winnings?
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Wrong Em Boyo.
I'm a single dad. I'm strung out punch drunk on a never ending..not even begun domestic split that takes every cognitive thought and cold cocks and cuckolds it into the stratosphere...nothing mattersphere. Yeah, meaculpa , motherfucker, whatever.
I've got drums molding in the basement in the house in which I once did reside. Yeah, fucking mold on em. Even when I lived in Brooklyn in the early aughts and kept that pathetic kit in a rat riddled basement of a former Hasidic school and played in a hipster Americana band that did 4 gigs total, they never had mold on them. rat turds, yea, but no fungus amungus. Saw it two days ago. Its like the fucking Swamp Thing's been practicing his paradiddles on em.
The guitar I used to strum on every other Tuesday every 4th month of every year was a nice acoustic...I was actually breaking bad past that pesky barre chord barrier that I failed to purge my digits thru, a fuck of a million times over....when the house of cards went up like a shit brickhouse. Poof. Poop. Yeah, and said axe happens to be my ex wife's. She claims to have been in a band for a half minute in NYC in the late 90s as a singer. I can vouch for her having a decent set of pipes, but I never once saw her pick that thing up and strum me some femme empowerment rock. So it sits there in that house. All covered in bitterness and cat hair. It's not even furniture. Its an accessory. Goes well with those nice hardwoods. Spider webs swinging from the neck and all.
I had another acoustic guitar in that moldy chasm of a basement, and I included it in my exit strategy. It was an Alvarez, late 80s, missing a tuning peg, needed an intunation fix, new strings and some TLC. I broke it out soon after I moved into my new place in Mar/Apr and figured I'd take it to....well, shit I'm in the Suburbs...so Guitar Center in Plymouth Meeting...a suburb of Philadelphia.
Then life bitchslapped me around in a mad dash for a vehicle, furniture, insurance, lawyer fees, toddler clothing, utilities,summer camp, foodstuffs, and work related travel. I forgot about the guitar. But hadn't received a call from Guitar Center. But in late June, I did receive a letter thrust at me by invisible lawyers and letterhead telling me in legalese that if there was no response within a month, it would result in the "forfeiture of your property". I was contacted again by the guy who I presumed fixed my guitar during the first week of August. I rehashed the letter and he claimed by "talking to him" I could be assured that it wouldn't be put out on the floor.
Let's cut to the chase. I went in to this local Six String Wal Mart last week to pick up my guitar. This ...cavernous box store for suburban musicians....that never has had more than ten people total inside of it, including personnel...just a smattering of classicrockasauruses and kids practicing Shinedown riffs in front of a stack of transistor shit.
A semi nice bloke with a good case of the male pattern baldness an equipped with a British accent...IN suburban box store PHILLY??? took my inquiry, referred to the the computer and went off to "check the back". He came out and relayed the bad news. Not only was my guitar "out of the back" it had been put on that ever- vacant floor less than a week before and actually had been sold.
Wow. OK. So , yeah, I told him. I did get a letter, I did speak to some low rent guitar tech, but did they really need to PUT MY FAIRLY WORTHLESS ALVAREZ on the FLOOR? You mean to tell me they were running out of ROOM......IN THE BACK? Was this a pressing issue? Or some hack employees following strict policy from the higher ups at the Six String Wal-Mart. I remained as calm as I could with a heady mix of embarrassment and anger.
So then I went in to barter mode. I had my son with me. I had told him that we were gonna pick up Dad's "other" guitar because I got it fixed so I could start playing it at the apartment. I wanted to leave there with a guitar. Mine was gonzo. In the hands of who knows who. I presented a scenario to the bloody ' burban bloke that he offer me a deal. The value of what the guitar sold for, minus the repairs I sanctioned....towards a new...USED guitar. The daft knobjockey offered me 10 percent off of any USED guitar. Final Offer.
We left in a huff.
I'm still angry. Ashamed of myself. 10 less iced coffees and a grip on a short attention span in that time period would have laid that Alvarez somewhere in this room tonight.
But I'm still befuddled by the practice of business. I doubt the inventory...IN THE BACK was ever effected by my guitar taking up space as much as the result of Guitar Center's stupid policy putting another dent in my creative ego done got me good.
I could be practicing those barre chords again. Going somewhere muse-ically and musically. Filling in the escape minutes that I spoke of in my last post with rugged finesse, or just going acoustic tri-tone crazy as I strum along aggressive to Sabbath's debut . Possibilities= endless.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
I plank out on a bruised mattress night after night after the kid is asleep, headphones grafted...and drift off through 4-5 episode druggy chips of TEEEVEEE. WHHEEEEEEE. ZZZZZZZZZZZZ. Then , for all you legal freaks, I delete them.
Hooked like a savant. Counting plot twists and characters like dropped toothpicks. Forgetting everything by the next episode. Repeat. Nightly.
The half action of filling space void of comfort, contact and conversation is a sickness. And TV is such a pill. An extra strength, fast action gel- cap of a pill. I'm all "caught up" with these shows. And ready for more. I've got to get all Nance Reagan and just say no.
Gotta get back to the books. Reading is a challenge, a commitment..1 percent physical, 96 percent mental, 3 percent spiritual.
Reading takes time, more time than a child- rearing, breed focused, ladder- calling life will allow.
But what a world made of words are books. Different for everyone in interpretation, critical for a steady feast of education.
I'd like to share back and forth what we want to/will/are reading right now. How big is your pile? How strong is your urge? Drag us to your recommendations AND condemnations and please allow you to introduce yourself.
I'm finally getting back to: I Am Ozzy-By Ozzy
Mr. Peanut-By Adam Ross
Chronic City-By Jonathan Lethem
The Wisdom of the Heart-By Henry Miller
all purchased/borrowed over six months ago.
I want to read : Life-By Keith Richards
Moby Dick-By Melville
On Writing-By Stephen King
Open Up and Bleed(Iggy Pop bio) -By Paul Trynka
laying around on a shelf or in a small pile wherever a flat surface commands space in my apt.
I will peruse: The Pleasures of the Damned-Poems 1951-1993 By Charles Bukowski.
Just bought it.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
This is why everyone should read Jim DeRogatis. The man tells it like it is. The only thing I thought was MOST ANTICIPATORY about this bloated beast of an album, was Jim's impending eviscerating review. Jay- Z and Kanye. In all of their back slappin" Gucci glory vomited out in elegant ebonic plagues. All they do is brag about shit. So 1990, already. Wordsmiths that never gave a fuck about nuthin', if it wasn't serving them well. I bet their wee wees are 1/1000th the size of their egos.
Monday, August 08, 2011
"Whenever I'm feeling like my writing has hit bottom in terms of pointless, pretentious self-indulgence, I visit CoF and feel better knowing that no matter how trite I feel my stuff has become, there is always a lot further down to go."
And he or she remains anonymous.
Hey, brainiac. If you think I'm taking myself that seriously, you're more lost than I am.
This is not music journalism here at Circle of Fits, but I have plenty of actual reviews published elsewhere that could fall into that category. Horn tooting aside, many moons ago I stated the reasons for starting this blog. I can assure you it was certainly not for accolades dealt from behind the messy desks of cajone-free cretins like yourself. But I'm so glad I can occasionally provide that proverbial yardstick to your probable over polished turds.
Free form, opinionated and personal to the point of nauseating self deprecation is Circle Of Fits.
Fair and balanced reviews, trickle down music news and yawn spasm- inducing pop and rock minutiae can be found just about everywhere else. So have at it.
It's a blog, stupid. I even put freaking poetry on here.
I like talking to people. Including you.
I like making fun of people. Including you. But give me something to go on.
PLEASE, Mr. or Mrs. Anonymous, let me into your world......let all of us here or not here know what your blog is. Let's start the conversation.
Thursday, August 04, 2011
disclaimer: not for the weak, gossamer winged busy consumers ingesting everything and processing nothing.
not an attack, merely an observation.
And not a cry for fucking help either.
I'd like to thank you Glenn for your submission to be a writer on Circle of Fits. You have been the only one.
I'd like to thank you Sean for responding to Glenn's essay. You were the only one.
I'd like to thank Derek, Sean C., Barb, Dan and Isorski. All bloggers. All with something to say. For three years, I feel I've been writing to you and only you.
Ehh, its not enough.
I'd like to think conversations of substance can happen on line. Be it about rock, pop culture, the bizarre, non political, sarcastic side of life. It can't. At least it hasn't here. Most bloggers are either lonely pundits or expressive wallflowers hiding behind the comfort of anonymity. I'm a little of both, but for the life of me, I can't get a conversation started here. Life can be whittled down to teaching, learning and either embracing fear or being completely controlled by it. Life for most is avoiding the bare truth of who we are and what we really want. Yes, the truth is out there. Not here.
I enjoy writing. I enjoy music. My life is in such soul sucked disarray, that I can't pursue either. I pursue distractions, to survive. Just like every single one of you. This blog is a distraction too.
People have jobs. To put food on the table, to put clothes on bodies, to keep large homes filled with furniture nobody sits in, (thanks Joni) and places for their stuff (Thanks George). But mostly, its fear, that keeps the busy people busy. Keeps the money trains, war machines and big box stores dependent on the drones that supply their demand.
Most people follow because it is what they know. It is the outline for everything. The leaders lead. The followers follow. Information hidden but presented in a calculated pace to prevent chaos. Rules, regulations and consequences. It's that damn parenting. Its the value system passed down that forces one to have a well manicured lawn like the next guy. What's gonna happen if you don't mow that thing? Will your neighbors drag you out of your air conditioned home and burn you at a stake set up in the cul de sac? Its the fear of God and the evening news that keep society so busy and power hungry and exhausted from the process. I bet most of you can't wait for that one hour after the kids are in bed to do something for yourself. You know, that 15 minutes into some bad netflix rom com until you pass out with the remote in your hand. Yeah, you. Get up and do it again the next day.
Fill every minute. With distractions and fear. Sounds like a fucking party.
Hey, truth...Here I come.
I am going to be me.Quest for fucking fire.
I'm going to teach, learn, and die fearless. But this blog is not enough for me.
So I'll see you now and again. But the lack of conversation and truthiness is merely a distraction.
You've got enough of those. And so do I.
cheers and beers, Seano
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Glenn doesn't get Led Zeppelin. He never did. I do. I really do. Me and Zoso are, like BFFs. So we're going to spar a little with much love and respect. Volley some barbs back and forth, so to speak. Be nice to Glenn, in a Circle of Fits sort of way, cuz he knows more than you do.
Here is his essay.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Let's look at the reasons. Well isn't the reason for ditching one product for another pretty much the same across the board? " This one's faster. This one's smaller. I've got to get rid of all of this to make room for a pack n' play. The dog chewed through my Infinity woofer. The neighbors complain every time I put an album on at noon, at 3pm, at 8pm. All of my friends are doing it. I want to have all of my songs available all of the time attached to my soul and flickering by in clear digital filofax next to my cortex, a slave to the vertex perplexed. I want the fucking cloud to hover over my head like a supple storm coming, raining songs I don't need or won't listen to, so I can pluck them out like soundbites and instantly shape my soundtrack for the following five minutes until it shuffles on to the next mood. I don't have the time to put a cassette in and press play ( 4 seconds), I don't have the time to turn the stereo on and put a cd in and press play (3 seconds), I don't have the time to plunk the needle down delicately after sliding out this album from a clean sleeve and softly placing it on the record player (11-15 seconds). Look at that slim shiny thing that fits in my pocket and does everything but wipe my ass.
Remember this...You can only listen to one song at a time.
You can't multitask music. You can multitask while listening, yes. Cleaning, commuting, working out, fucking, thinking, writing..etc. Bullshit distractions that break up the purity of the experience. Our lives forced into a Steve Austin/Jetsonic landscape of get it done yesterday and fill the left over space up before your friends and neighbors do. Keep the kids occupied. keep the bluetooth humming. But what about merely listening? Does anybody just plain listen to music anymore? As a stand alone activity? People read books to read books. People watch movies to watch movies. Seems like its been downgraded to a supplemental activity hitched to the teet of the daily grind. A soundtrack to our lives, a fucking movie trailer rather than a listening experience.
And now a cloud??? What is it? It's yours, you own it but it's not really there. You can't see it, but you can ask it to do things for you. "Open the pod door Hal." "Play Get off of My Cloud from Decembers Children(And Everybody's)." Put everything you begged for, bought, borrowed or stole on it for a nominal fee. Give somebody else at Google or Apple or Spotify your entire musical LIBRARY, your entire musical life to hold on to for you. So you can not only clear your room, and clear your head..you can clear your HARD DRIVE too. More space for multi- tasking. Pay for your own digital ether.
And I'm stuck between these two worlds. I have friends who fit into some of the above and I don't know what to do with them. I get it. I may be waxing nostalgic, but I would like to enjoy the lost art of reaching out and touching something gently, maybe a button, maybe a cd, maybe the arm of a stylus...and getting some live loud music slammed back into my face through speakers! Bud out! That Buzzcocks song suddenly rises to my sonic surface - "
Then it looks so real I can feel it
And it feels so real I can taste it
And it tastes so real I can hear it
And it sounds so real I can see it
So why can't I touch it?
So why can't I touch it?
Yes vinyl junkies and purists will always be around. but Jesus, it's almost like subscribing to an outsider- like existence to claim to still use anything for listening to music that's not stored in a hard drive and plugged into your ears. DJ's excluded I guess, but for the most part even the days of the milkcrate have been replaced by the mac.
Last night, I looked at my milkcrate full of dog-eared vinyl and my old pioneer turntable sans stylus. I looked at the piles of plastic islands made of compact discs, my drawers full of cassettes meticulously pieced together as pre- digital mixTAPES. I plugged my ipod into my stereo feigning progress in a retroactive way, and played the freshly downloaded deluxe version of Sabbath Bloody Sabbath.
I laughed. I cried . I looked outside and it was overcast.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
This is mostly a music related site. Yet this is not a music NEWS site. There are gadzillions of those and most of them bore me. So if you are a factoid centric bot who wants to re-report what someone already has, then I'm not looking for you. And you're not looking for me. This is much different than shining a light on an undiscovered, under appreciated talent, in which we(me) hold in high regard here.
The main goals at Circle of Fits are critique, appreciation and commentary. The directions in which we choose to go here usually lean sarcastic, infuriated, hilarious and judgmental. Please have your own VOICE, a thick skin, a penchant for witty banter and a sense of humor.
As open as I am to the world of music, we will not be covering hip hop in any way shape or form here. Quite frankly, it is the bane of my existence. The kids deserve better.
I started this blog after the death of my sister in 2008. I needed an outlet for creativity and to release a longing to be heard. I have always needed these things and I will continue to veer off the music map and go quite personal with rants, poetry, videos, and social commentary that is extremely opinionated. I hope you can hang.
With that said, please send me your writing samples at email@example.com.
Thank you, Seano
Monday, July 25, 2011
I went alone as I usually do to shows. I don't need to focus on any friendships or bro- worthy high-fiving fervor in a relive- my- flanneled- youth sort of way when I go to shows. I'm there for the music, the connection to the songs that meant a fuck of a lot to me. So when I got to the Festival Pier in downtown Philly on a direct drive from a long days work in NYC. I was cocked and loaded to not put up with any shit from the mid- forties faux- tanned housewife contingent that were gonna yap their way through my show while guzzling their 8 dollar miller lites in plastic bottles. Yeah, so that happened. When one of them laughed her way through a text to her friend 10 feet away and called out the Mars Volta as "Mars Vulva", I chose to move rather than pummel. This show was too important.
The boys came out looking spry, rejuvenated, mostly sober and still very hairy. Think Badmotorfinger with wrinkles. Chris had the ticket selling hair, the happy family man demeanor, the swimmer's body, but did he have the chops back? After keeping it low key on Euphoria Morning, croaking and groaning through those smoked out, post divorce beer bloated Audioslave albums, I was fearful. I had seen him solo in 2005 while on tour in San Francisco and he blew me away. But I had been keeping track of the setlist on this tour so far, and it was putting his 47 year old ass to the test. Well holy shit! Lets just say you point to a note in the sky and connect it to that bloodcurdling but clear bellow in the high crest of Slaves and Bulldozers...the "bleed your HEARRTTT OUTTT" part? You know the one if you're a fan. Hit! Ding! Uppercut to the ears, baby! Yesss!!! Ahh, now I could stomp my invisible Docs on the perverbial pavement. Now I was in sing the fuck along mode, yo! The man hit every note that Halladay worshippin' crowd full of skeptics and grunge historians could throw at him. Welcome back to the Banshee King!
So, Kim had switched from skullcap to fedora, but he had not switched axes, and that Guild S-100 carved a gaping hole through my grunge soul man! Dirty and pure as always. That grey pony swinging in the breeze of the smoke machine fans
Matt played fast. Love him dearly, but he made Spoonman sound like Cakemixerman. Ratttattaattt to the tenth power.
Ben swung that bass around and stared and gooned it up for the crowd like that loveable low note hoarding escapee that he is. I'm glad he got off of the couch surfing tour and on to this one. he's a true talent. Hiro and Jason have never been missed, but Ben was.
Here's the setlist. It couldn't have been any better except for maybe the inclusion of Kyle Petty, Zero Chance, Drawing Flies and Full on Kevin's Mom. A night of nights, with the full moon in my eye, and the 90s in my rearview.
Monday, July 18, 2011
I miss the writing. I have to find a way to get internet access at home instead of trying to think while being distracted by pinstripes and khakis and strollers at Starbucks every morning. I sit here stewing and stirring my inner rant while attaching myself to the lives of these now familiar characters.
I'm peeling back layers, shedding skin, thinking of art. Using my time wisely while surviving and making sure my son's life is full of love and lessons. I'm digging for truth and dusting off the fossils I find. I'm struggling , but with a summer drenched smile and words shuffling and sorting ideas for it all. I'm shifting my distractions into slow gear, until the gears clench and stop.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
1) Impossible Germany solo by Wilco- Nels Cline Look him up, he's a genius.
2) Cheap Sunglasses by ZZ Top -Billy Gibbons: Sure you've heard it a gazillion times, but have you ever heard a tone like it before or since? No you haven't. Gibbons is a tone MASTER.Not just for his perfected dirty Texas blues, for ALL genres.
3) Sound Chaser by Yes- Steve Howe. : Inexplicable, extraordinary.
4) Ball and Biscuit solo by The White Stripes-Jack White : Great white hope for a new generation, no Gibson needed.
5) And The Cradle Will Rock
Hear About It Later
Atomic Punk- Van Halen by Eddie Van Halen. The Brown Sound WILL NEVER BE DUPLICATED. A sonic master of masters.
Bad-by U2. The Edge's trick box of subtle sonic swatches and warm tone blankets is truly one of a kind.
7) Teaser-Tommy Bolin- one of the gone too soon greats.
8) Flower by Soundgarden-Kim Thayil. Weird High end shots of early echo-ey Seattle rock.
9) Geek USA by Smashing Pumpkins-Billy Corgan. Bundles of dirty guitar tracks pressed together in an unbelievable distortion sandwich.
10) See No Evil by Television-Tom Verlaine: Godlike downtown tone by a New York legend.
11) Breakdown verses/solo by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers-Mike Campbell- Another classic rock rusty nugget, but that tone mesmerizes to this day. I'm always floating through the song with a tired grin.
12) Life's a Gas by T. Rex- Mickey Finn? Mark Bolan?- Its an octave pedal, used in a glam ballad. Genius.
13) Song For the Dead by Queens of the Stone Age-Josh Homme: Along with Jack White, Josh uses an almost un-equalled knowledge and prowess for blending pawn shop guitars and obscure amps for mammoth, unique tones. Like a punch in the face repeated at 3/4 strength.
Yeah, that's it for part two.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
In the thick of my recent headphone research, I've been noticing the magnificent one of a kind guitar tones that do a cerebral stick in my head unlike thousands of other bland, plug and play forgetful licks and riffs that go by the proverbial wayside. I'm not going to explain why a specific tone made this list. My friend Bob once told me, "One good thing about music, when it hits, you feel no pain". It's about an emotional response, whatever emotion you choose to utilize.
While coming up with this always growing list, I was very specific about the song, or section of a song, or solo FROM the responsible axeman, not just his name or accompanying star power. These are my favorites so far, and this list will most likely never end. Some of us have a hard time separating " favorite" from "best". I'll let you in on a little something in the world of the critic. There are no " bests" , only favorites. Don't let any magazine, blog, awards show or cranky old entertainment pundit tell you otherwise. so have at it. Here we go.
Solo from "Killer Queen" by Queen- Brian May
Search and Destroy by Iggy and the Stooges- James Williamson
Slide Guitar in My Sweet Lord- George Harrison
Good Times Roll by The Cars- Elliott Easton
Burning of The Midnight Lamp by The Jimi Hendrix Experience-Jimi Hendrix
SWABLR by Cream-Eric Clapton
Bastard Samurai by High on Fire- Matt Pike
Ending Solo from Flight of Icarus by Iron Maiden-Dave Murray
Crazy Mama by JJ Cale- JJ Cale.
Air Blower from Blow By Blow- Jeff Beck
Cause We've Ended as Lovers from Blow By Blow-Jeff Beck
Blue Wind from Wired-Jeff Beck
You Can't Kill Rock and Roll from Ozzy Osbourne- Randy Rhoads
That was part one. Stay tuned for parts 2-75.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Happy Birthday my sweet boy...my little rock star..you will be all that you want to be.
Tuesday, June 07, 2011
I failed to put the second part of the article in because it seemed so tragic to me. Those same sharks flipped the boat over for some deep sea hors d' oeuvres , then ate through the steel shark cage bars and made bloody Vegemite out of those researchers when they switched the selection to the latest Glee Soundtrack.