Stealing A Mirror In The Mainstream

     Since the great technological advancement known as the internet has come along, the music industry has undergone massive changes.  That is, the major labels have lost a ton of money.  They have blamed their losses on piracy and file sharing.  I beg to differ.

     The major music labels/distributors started hemorrhaging money when they got into bed with Walmart and other department stores and allowed these stores to dictate the price of music.  Walmart said they were going to sell CDs for $9.99 to $12.99, take it or leave it.  The labels buckled like a belt, thinking they'd make the money back in the greater number of units sold.

     Walmart also demanded that records with “objectionable” material or subject matter be censored. The labels caved again which led to changed cover art and lyrics.  Sometimes entire songs were removed from an album or “clean” versions with the naughty words spaced out were sold.  If cover art was not up to Walmart's squeaky clean standards, album covers would be blacked out and made to look like a Spinal Tap album cover.  They made it more difficult to buy a record with the word “fuck” in a song than it is to buy a firearm.

     This deal with department stores is what also led to that really annoying sticker that would go across the top edge of a jewel case.  This sticker, that would never lift off in one piece and left a residue so your CDs would stick together, was made solely so the slack jawed clerk at the department store wouldn't need to know anything about music in order to find something in the inventory.  If Jim Bob, who worked in electronics, got popped for a DUI the night before and missed his shift, Joe Jack from hardware could fill in.

     All of these decisions were made before the internet and the “plague on society” that was Napster. Mom and Pop record stores and chain stores like Tower Records, Sam Goody and National Record Mart bore the brunt of these poor decisions.  Once it was determined that the major labels and distributors were going to be fleeced by Walmart, they decided to jack up the prices on everyone else. Those $9.99 CDs at Walmart could be found at a Mom and Pop store, where employees actually cared and knew something about music, for $19.99.  This very quickly led to empty storefronts all across the country.

     All the while, hubris and greed were being blamed on file sharing.  Copy protection started to be placed on CDs so people couldn't rip them into their computers even though they owned the CD. Album sales plummeted and, with the rise of iTunes, the single became the focus.  Instead of turning out a cohesive, end to end, solid album, artists were pressured into focussing on a single that would crack the iTunes top 10.  The goal was suddenly to get listeners to buy one song for a dollar, not an entire album for $10.

     Now with Spotify, and other streaming services, people can pay $10 a month and listen to however much music they want.  The licensing agreements work out well for the labels but leave the artists with fractions of pennies.  This is why most artists cannot afford to stop touring and partially contributes to skyrocketing ticket prices.  And if you take a look at Spotify's financials, you can see that once again, the major labels backed the wrong horse.

     This is all a very long winded way of saying why I love independent artists and labels.  For the most part, they operate outside of this game of enriching a few executives, and a lot of lawyers, with their art.

     They tour all of the time because they have to.  Most of them sell their records at shows or through mail order out of their homes.  The music is their life and they wouldn't know what to do without it.

There are small labels all over the world that take chances on putting out records in small runs that may or may not sell.  They are certainly not profit motivated but try to put something interesting out into the world and keep the lights on at the same time.

     This is why I get most of my music from Bandcamp of late.  It is a massive sea of music to sift through but it has opened up the world to artists.  Bands from other countries that can't get North American distribution or bands that just can't afford to put out a physical release are able to put their music out there.  I have come across so much good music from Australia and even Icelandic punk rock that if the shipping costs are prohibitive, I can at least get a reasonably priced download.

     Indie bands were never truly beholden to the major label machinery so they aren't really affected by its implosion.  They've always had to tour like crazy and sell t-shirts to put gas in the van to get to the next town.  Their situation doesn't change all that much other than their music getting to more people over the internet which may lead to a new town for them to aim the van towards.

     I saw Dinosaur Jr. three times on their last tour cycle and the Melvins seem to come through town on an annual basis.  They understand that if they want to eat, it'll have to be out on the road.  Larger entertainment acts are now realizing this since no one is buying their music but renting it from a streaming service instead.

     There's always the complaint that new music sucks and bands just aren't as good as they used to be.  That seems to be the argument of the lazy and disinterested that only listens to the radio.  Ever since the nationwide Clear Channel takeover, radio has lost almost every shred of what made it special when stations were owned locally.  The regional hit single is a thing of the past and everything is starting to sound the same.  It now takes more of a nose to the ground approach to find new music.  Labels like Castle Face, In The Red, Drag City and Hardly Art are putting out interesting releases all the time.  Great music is out there but given the consolidation of the media landscape, you have to dig deeper to find it.

     I give a weekly listen to radio shows by Iggy Pop and Henry Rollins to aid in the search for new music.  They both have great musical curiosity but they come at it from different angles.  I might not be into every song they play but there's always something that I'll write down to look into later.

     This is not to say that once a band starts to grow too large and graduates to larger venues that I write them off with shouts of “Sell Out.”  I'd much rather see a band in a cramped club with a few hundred other people than in an arena with 20,000 people.   I'll stay home but I'll still buy the record. European festival season can definitely help bands pay the bills by playing in front of crowds of 100,000 people.  Begrudging a band for their success is something I try not to do and so many others find it way too easy.

     There is always hope in the underground.  The corporate shit show that music has become can be avoided.  You just have to be willing to work for it.

2018 Wrap Up

     As this flaming bag of crap of a year draws to a close, I guess it's time for me to add to the infinite amount of year end music lists.  The run of the mill list of records always seemed like a competition to me which is not what music is about.  This is art not sports so this list is presented in no particular order.

     Keep in mind that I don't get paid to write this shit and I'm not privy to free downloads or promo copies.  I'm plunking down actual dollars for music so I'm sure I'm missing something that I didn't cross paths with.  I did try to keep a running list this year but did not update it as much as I should have so I'm probably missing one or twelve records that I just plain forgot that I bought.  That's what I get for being lazy.

     I have the list broken down into two categories.  New releases followed by a combination of reissues and live albums.  I have also included links and other pertinent information where applicable.

     2019 is already looking promising with new records by Bob Mould and Le Butcherettes to go along with a live album from Mavis Staples.  And I wouldn't be surprised if the Melvins, Ty Segall and Thee Oh Sees have ambitious plans for our ears in the year to come.  Here's hoping that the planet doesn't turn into a desolate Mad Max meets The Purge type of place so we'll be around to hear it all.

New Releases:

High Tension-Purge.  The review that I wrote for it can be found here.

Coherence-Of Alternate Spaces

Laura Jane Grace & The Devouring Mothers-Bought To Rot

Minority Threat-Minority Threat

John Coltrane-Both Directions At Once

Sleep-The Sciences and Leagues Beneath.  The review that I wrote for The Sciences can be found here.

High On Fire-Electric Messiah

Chuck D-Celebration Of Ignorance

War On Women-Capture The Flag and Live From Magpie Cage (Acoustic)

Thee Oh Sees-Smote Reverser

Goggs-Pre Strike Sweep

J Mascis-Elastic Days

Worlds Scariest Police Chases-Ablum 3

Pagan-Black Wash

Spanish Love Songs-Schmaltz

Neighborhood Brats-Claw Marks

Mudhoney-Digital Garbage

Ty Segall-Freedom's Goblin

Reissues And Live Albums:

Boris-eternity
Skull Snaps-Skull Snaps.  An article about the Skull Snaps reissue can be found here.
Wipers-Live At The Met 12/31/1982
Wire-Pink Flag
Laughing Hyenas-Life Of Crime
James Brown-Say It Live And Loud (08.26.68 Live In Dallas)
Anti-Flag-Their System Doesn't Work For You
Charles Bradley-Black Velvet
Lurkers-Fulham Fallout
Ramones-Road To Ruin

Sleep At Stage AE, 12/8/2018

     The stoner metal juggernaut that is Sleep landed in Pittsburgh this past Saturday.  They are on the shortlist of bands that I keep in my head that I will see whenever or wherever I can.

     I had been equally anticipating and dreading this show ever since it was announced.  When tickets went on sale, I ponied up my $25.00 that was then followed by $15.00 of TicketBastard fees for some reason.  Not off to a great start but it was Sleep so I'll show up.

     The band was playing at the dreaded Stage AE which is a venue that I have never had a pleasant experience with.  It's an overly sanitary venue that wants to be involved with music while at the same time not wanting to really get any music on itself.  Almost as if someone had a bunch of extra Coors Light laying around and didn't know what else to do with it other than charge $12 a cup for it while a band was playing.

     The other issue I have with the venue is its use of the same aggressive security staff that is used at Heinz Field for Steeler games.  This staff is conditioned for belligerent drunks that will choke a pregnant lady or head-butt someone if a rapist throws a ball to person wearing a different colored shirt or the debauchery of a Kenny Chesney concert.  They don't know how to handle a bunch of weirdos that want to hear weird music.

     Things were immediately looking up when I got to the venue.  I found a parking space around the corner and ended up saving myself the $12.00 parking fee.  They changed up the security upon entering from a pat down that was equal to a cancer screening to a walk through metal detector and a wand.  I don't know why I would need wanded after a walk through but at least I was spared the cavity search.

     As soon as I made it through security, I made a beeline for the merch table to obtain the tour pressing of The Sciences which was pressed on black vinyl with white and purple splatter.  I also picked up a poster to give to the proprietors of my favorite heavy metal themed, plant based eatery, Onion Maiden.  Luckily, I was one of the first people at the merch table because there was an incredibly long line that lasted a good chunk of the night.

     Weather Warlock opened the proceedings and was interesting on many different levels.  Weather Warlock is not a band.  It's a guy with meteorological equipment set up outside that can read temperature, wind speed and infrared rays.  Instead of having this information presented as a read out of some sort, Weather Warlock is set up so the weather outside generates sounds that can be manipulated.

     It was quite the experience but not for the casual music fan and especially not for the couple standing next to me that I could best describe as walking Youtube comments.  These two couldn't shut up for five seconds to let themselves experience the weirdness that was happening in front of them.  They both knew everything and everything sucked.  It was, “This movie sucks, that TV show sucks.  What is this guy doing with the nobs and dials to make that sound?  Why would he do that? He sucks,” for the entirety of the set.

     During the change over from Weather Warlock to Sleep, I noticed that the tech/crew guys were wearing blue coveralls with patches on them, much like the astronauts at NASA wear.  Then I saw that the sound and lighting engineers were wearing black pants with short sleeve, button down white shirts and black ties.  They looked very much like they could have been working at Ground Control, in Houston.  That's when the audio from the Apollo 11 Moon landing started playing over the PA. This nerd suddenly felt all warm and fuzzy inside.  Or maybe that was the contact high from the cloud of marijuana smoke that had settled in over the crowd.

     Since I missed out on my usual spot near the soundboard due to the wait at the merch table, I ended up standing on the Matt Pike side of the stage where there were half a dozen, full-size Orange amps waiting to attack our hearing.  On the other side of the stage there were five bass amps waiting for Al Cisneros to try to collapse the building with his low end rumble.

     Sleep took the stage at 9:30 and opened with “Leagues Beneath” which was their most recent release as a twelve inch single.  The “everything sucks” couple apparently couldn't handle it and quickly retreated into their phones, barely looking up from them for the rest of the night.  At least they were quiet from there on out.

     “Leagues Beneath” was followed by a shortened twenty minute version of Sleep's epic “Dopesmoker.”  As many times as I have listened to the entire sixty minutes of it, “Dopesmoker” live is as good as music gets.

     They followed that up with “Holy Mountain” which the band dedicated to the Tree Of Life synagogue.  At this point, the band didn't sound as tight and I could hear them missing cues and their timing was a bit off.

     There apparently were technical issues of some sort.  Both Al and Matt were looking over to the monitor board because they couldn't hear.  Then one of the techs were running around the drum kit chasing a cable.  After taking a harder listen, I could tell the bass drum was lost from the mix.  A new cable was placed on the mic for the kick but it was still missing.  I'm guessing the mic gave out after a few nights of being pummeled by Jason Roeder.  Mics were swapped out and not only could I hear the kick drum, I could feel it in my chest.

     By the end of “Holy Mountain” and into “The Clarity,” Sleep had locked in and let rip with “Marijuanaut's Theme.”  The band came alive, shook off the earlier issues and let it rip.  I had never heard the band sound like they were having as much fun and as into playing as they were when they were attacking this song.

     The instrumental “The Botanist” followed to mellow things out for what was going to be the end with “Dragonaut.”  By the end of the song, they had played each other off stage until it was only Al Cisneros closing the show out with a bass solo.

     If most bands only played seven songs and called it a night, I would call bullshit.  But Sleep isn't most bands.  Seven of their songs over an hour and a half is a full meal, no encore needed.  By the time Al walked off stage, I was stuffed, content and utterly amazed that I finally had a good night at Stage AE.

Dumb Ass Killed While Dumb Assing About

     I have found an immense amount of joy in the story of the dumb ass that attempted to go proselytizing on North Sentinel Island and caught an arrow in the chest for his efforts.  Much like when an animal attacks a hunter, I can't stop laughing at the amount of stupid that was involved in this moron's death.

     North Sentinel Island is part of a chain of islands in the Bay of Bengal known as the Andaman/Nicobar islands, off the coast of India.  India has administrative rights over the islands and has established a perimeter five miles off of the coast of North Sentinel that no one is permitted to enter.

     This dumb ass paid a group of fishermen to escort him to the area and he kayaked the rest of the way.  On his first attempt, he had to use his waterproof Bible to fend off an arrow while he was still in his kayak trying to preach from just off shore.  On his second attempt, he reached shore and met his demise.

     In addition to being a "missionary," this asshole was a self-proclaimed “Instagram Adventurer.”  I guess that's a thing people can be these days.  In his journal, he considered the island to be Satan's last stronghold and wondered why the Sentinelese were defensive and hostile.  He thought he would be greeted with open arms because he was bringing them Jesus.  This dumb ass was so delusional that he thought he could be the one to pacify the natives after multiple attempts over the past couple hundred years have ended with similar results.

     There are only about 100 natives left living on this island and hopefully they killed this idiot before he had a chance to cough and kill the lot of them because of their lack of immunity to disease. The audacity of this shithead to think that they needed Jesus in their lives even though they seemed to be doing just fine for the past several thousand years without being duped into believing Superman was real.

     The first reports that came out in travel magazines about this incident described this dumb ass as a tourist.  Fuck that noise.  He was no tourist.  He was an interloper that got what he deserved.  The Great American Stupid took to the internet to feign outrage that this idiot was killed and something should be done about it.  Something was done.  Indian authorities arrested the fishermen and someone that has been described as a missionary that helped this doofus plan his way around the coast guard. They are being charged with culpable homicide for aiding this dumb ass to his death.  As they should be.  Everyone involved, including the dumb ass that was killed, knew that they were breaking the law by getting this guy on the island but they got him there anyway.

     This arrogant, ignorant American thought he could go to this island to preach the word of his imaginary friend and everyone should be okay with it because he had God on his side.  This is one of the big problems that I have with religion and blind faith.  That faith can very easily lead you down a path that you shouldn't go anywhere near.  Blind faith has led to, among many other things, the denial of child molestation, Evangelicals voting against their own best interests and now this dumb ass getting killed because he wanted to kick Satan off of his favorite vacation spot.

     I'm sure there were mega-church services somewhere in the Midwest that are considering this idiot to be a martyr and are now raising funds to send missionaries back to the island to recover the body of this dipshit and to tame the “savages.”   The hubris of White World Supremacy knows no bounds. These people have their heads planted so firmly up their own asses that they can't fathom that the Sentinelese don't want to be in the Jesus business and don't have a problem protecting themselves when they are encroached upon.

     Mike Pence probably has his chastity belt in a bunch over this thing and is planning a full scale invasion of the island.  That is of course after the military has completed its mission of protecting our southern border from children.

     This idiot's body should not be recovered unless it's to put his head on a pike to be used as a warning that will probably be ignored by the next dumb ass.  This whole incident should serve as a harsh lesson that Western ways cannot be forced on everyone and everything.  Maybe the world has had enough of people trying to enforce their will where they are not welcomed.

     The only sad part of this story is that this dumb ass didn't have any real friends in his life that had a brain in their heads to say to him, “Hey, dumb ass.  Stop being such a dumb ass before your dumb ass gets killed.”  No one in his family did anything to prevent him from doing this.  His family could have alerted the authorities and had him stopped at the airport before he got through customs.

     His fanaticism led him to his death and hopefully he was the only one hurt because of his actions.

Here are some links with more information:

National Geographic

Washington Post

Well, I Almost Made It A Year

     I've been back at this writing thing for about a year now and the ideas are starting to dry up.  I have written about the few primitive ideas involving music that I've had rattling around in my brain for years and now I'm stuck.  I've been trying to come up with some other angle for the past few weeks but I've got nothing.

     Writing about current events is downright exhausting and the equivalent of banging my head against a wall.  As much fun as it is to type the word “pigfucker” from time to time, I couldn't do that on a regular basis in order to protect my own sanity.  I'd eventually end up standing on a downtown street corner wearing a sandwich board with “You Know What You Did” printed on it while having both middle fingers extended.

     I find writing record reviews difficult due to how personal music is to me.  I can barely form a sentence about a record, let alone several paragraphs, unless I have a life altering experience by the time I get to side B.  When that does happen, it takes weeks to put that experience into somewhat coherent words and by then no one cares about that record anymore.

     I have taken to writing in the cafe at the Carnegie Museum of late.  It used to provide a level of white noise without the over populated environment of a Starbucks.  That was working well until recently.  Now, in the past few weeks, it seems to fill up quickly with families that let their kids roam free like it was a playground.  This has a tendency to immediately derail my train of thought and the only words I can come up with are “Stupid fucking white people” and the white noise has become really white.  As entertaining as that sentiment is at first, I can only seem to take it so far before it gets redundant.

     I have noticed that I don't mind the conversations of the other tables if they are not speaking English.  They could be talking about the most mundane horseshit but it doesn't bother me because I'm an ignorant American and barely have a handle on English.  Most people seem to sit around trying to impress each other like they don't already know each other.  As much as I don't like to contradict Mr. Rogers, we are not special.  No one is.

     I'm still trying to figure out why large groups of people go to a museum if they're not on some sort of bus trip.  Viewing art seems like a very personal/solitary activity to me instead of a “Hey, let's all grab some beers and hang out in the Post-Modern wing” sort of thing.  You know, that whole art being in the eye of the beholder thing but what do I know.  I'm the type of person that would rather go to a movie or see bands play by myself than be distracted by another human and their endless wants and needs.

     People seem to wander around aimlessly and hope that the cafe staff will take them by the hand as if they've never been out of their houses before.  No one seems to be able to handle the simple task of ordering food without turning it into a life changing ordeal.  It's a sandwich with soup or salad, not brain surgery or tying your shoes.  How some people have made it this far in life without jamming a fork in a toaster while in the bath is beyond me.

     This brings me back to my old idea of everyone having to serve two years of mandatory food service like some countries have for military service.  If people had to work in food service, they might be less of a bunch of morons when at a restaurant because they would know how awful it is to deal with a clueless, picky asshole.  Or they would stay home and cook exactly what they wanted instead of being a drag on the rest of humanity because they won't eat anything that's touched an onion or has mayonnaise on it.

     I seem to encounter these types of people more and more of late.  Recently, I have started to stagger out of day job in the mornings and end up at Zeke's to sample the dark roast coffee of the day. More often than not, I end up in line behind someone that places a drink order that is so complicated I'm sure that there can't be any coffee in it by the time it's done being made.

     I almost ended up having a mugshot on the evening news when the guy in front of me placed his excessively long drink order and then proceeded to quiz the staff about why his cappuccino from the other day had a smokey flavor to it and asked if they could recreate it.  The staff looked at him blankly and saw they certainly had their hands full with this customer.  I don't know what kind of coffee this guy ordered but it was a two person job to get it made.  The clerks were relieved when I placed my order of “Put coffee in the coffee hole,” handed them exact change plus a dollar tip and merrily parted ways after our transaction.  The staff has better things to do and I have things to pretend to be doing back at my desk so why prolong the human interaction?

     I guess normal people would call it being friendly but I don't want to be friendly at 9am on a Tuesday.  I want my coffee from my dealer with a minimal amount of hassle and then to get on with my life.  I see it as making things more complicated than they need to be so why add baggage to my day when I clearly have enough of my own already.

Good Night, Spider-Friend

     I remember sitting in the living room, as a child, on Saturday mornings watching The Incredible Hulk and Spider-Man & His Amazing Friends.  The intro to each show, as well as the lead in to commercials were narrated by Stan Lee.  This was my first exposure to “The Man,” in what would feel like a lifelong friendship that lasted for about 35 years.  I never had the chance to meet him, and I know he was essentially just a pitchman selling his wares, but his approach in reaching out to his audience made him feel like he was an uncle that lived far away.

     The first time I remember having a Spider-Man comic book in my hand was at the local barbershop at an age when they still had to put a plank of wood across the arms of the chair so I would be up high enough for the barber to cut my hair.  There was an end table in the corner next to the dog that was so old you'd swear it was dead but someone forgot to tell him.  On this table there were magazines and newspapers for the grown ups and on the shelf underneath there was a small stack of comics for any kids that came in.

     The books were tattered, torn and yellowed with age and cigarette smoke.  I can't remember what any of the books were about but I can still remember they had the smell of old paper, the hair products used in the shop and that almost dead dog that laid next to them.

     As a kid that hasn't fit in anywhere since kindergarten and that had parents that seemed too caught up in their own bullshit and failing marriage to pay much attention, comics and cartoons are what helped salve that burn for me when I was a kid.  They provided a world for me where people fought for the greater good.  Sometimes these characters had their own inner conflicts and failings but they always tried to do the right thing in the end.  And every now and then, bullies like Flash Thompson would get their occasional comeuppance.

     I didn't realize until years later that most of these characters and stories came from one man.  Stan Lee, with the help of many other writers and artists, created a universe that contributed to getting me through my day to day until Punk Rock was put under my nose and I suddenly had a soundtrack to go along with the comics that I was reading.

     I know Stan Lee has a conflicted history with his coworkers but he always did fall on the right side of history when it came to social issues.  He used his platform of comics to create characters that stood out because they were different and fought against prejudice.  There were times he would use his monthly column, known as “Stan's Soapbox,” to speak out more overtly on issues that were important to him.  If there were things he felt his readers needed to know, he was not afraid to tell them.  With millions of kids reading his words, he knew he was a role model and did not take that for granted.

     The fact that Stan Lee used New York City as a backdrop for his stories is something that still amazes me.  Spider-Man lived in Forrest Hills, Queens which is the same neighborhood where The Ramones grew up.  This is sheer coincidence involving a fictional character but it still feels like magic to me.  You can keep your Jesus, I'll put my faith in Spider-Man punching a mugger in the face on the Lower East Side any day.

     Modern American culture dictates that at some point we must all “grow up” and put away childish things such as comics and records.  Stan Lee lived the majority of his life surrounded by comics, proving that you don't need to walk away from the things that you love.  To this day, I still pick up a comic from time to time or watch a cartoon if I'm in the mood.  There are few things in life that are finer than a well written episode of the Venture Bros. or Rick & Morty.  Batman: The Animated Series is still one of the best uses of that character that I've ever seen and warrants re-watching every now and then.

     And I don't think I would ever trade in my record collection for fantasy leagues and following high school football or whatever else "normals" my age do.  I'll be just fine with my childish things. Going without them at this point in my life would be like cutting two legs off of a chair and expecting it to still function as a chair.

     I will forever be indebted to Stan Lee for what he has done for me and I will always be a “True Believer.”  His death, at age 95, wasn't like it was unexpected.  I'm sure the coroners report will have the cause of death listed as “Too Old For This Shit.”   But the loss carries a lot of weight nonetheless. The characters that Stan Lee created helped this misfit of a child feel a little less lonely when I needed it the most.  Thank you, Stan.  Excelsior.

My Turntable Is Approaching Critical Mass

     This past Friday (11/9/2018) was a monster of a release day.  The debut album from Laura Jane Grace & The Devouring Mothers.  New albums from J. Mascis and Charles Bradley.  An acoustic EP from War On Women, a live album from Thee Oh Sees and reissue box sets from The Beatles and Jimi Hendrix.

     Outside of Against Me!'s Transgender Dysphoria Blues, I think Bought To Rot may be the best thing Laura Jane Grace has ever done.  I was completely floored by the time side A came to an end.  After the opening salvo of “China Beach” and “Born In Black,” “The Airplane Song,” “Apocalypse Now (& Later)” and “Reality Bites” was one of the best coupling of songs I have ever heard on an album.

     I am so glad that I resisted the urge to listen to the early singles and the NPR album preview.  I was greatly rewarded for having patience and saving the first listen for the full range sound of the vinyl.  Initially, I was worried because of the total of fourteen tracks on the album.  There are instances when a band goes long like that it starts to feel like there is some filler involved in some of the songs.  Then I remembered that even though this is the debut album for the Devouring Mothers, the parties involved with making this record certainly know what they are doing.

     Bought To Rot has a completely different feel to it than an Against Me! album so it made sense to put it out under a different band name.  The songs are still jammed packed with hooks and are anthemic as all get out.  But the songs sound as if they are being approached from a different angle which makes them stand apart from Grace's work in Against Me!.

     I did have to take a break from the record after the song “Screamy Dreamy” to listen to “Fireater” off of the late, great Maggie Estep's album Love Is A Dog From Hell.  The songs are eerily similar and it was great to be reminded of Maggie after not having listened to her records for a while.

     I will certainly be heading north to Cleveland, in April, to see these songs on a stage.  From the sound of the album, they are aching to be played live.

*     *     *

     J. Mascis somehow found time to write/record Elastic Days during what seemed like an endless tour with Dinosaur Jr. over the past few years.  This album is a continuation of his previous solo albums, Several Shades Of Why and Tied To A Star.  Not to say that J. is putting out the same album over and over but these albums are definitely a come down from the monstrous wall of sound that is Dinosaur Jr.  He's certainly earned the right to take a breather and mellow out after years of Marshall amplification.

     Hearing him play around with different instrumentation and composition is worth the price of admission alone.  I don't think J. gets the credit as a songwriter that he deserves.

     Elastic Days has the kind of feel to it that would be suitable for listening on a laid back Sunday morning before the worries of the coming week come crashing in to ruin the mood.

*     *     *

     Charles Bradley's Black Velvet is a collection of covers and the last few songs that were in the vault at Daptone Records.  The term “Soul” fails horribly to describe what Charles Bradley was capable of.  He operated on a completely different, much deeper, wave length than what normally would be described as soul music.

     I miss this man so much.  Three albums and this collection are not nearly enough but it's all we've got and every second of Charles' work is worth hearing.

     The download card for the deluxe edition is also a seed packet that can be planted to grow wildflowers in memory Charles.

*     *     *

     War On Women released an acoustic EP called Live At The Magpie Cage.  The Magpie Cage is the studio that is owned and operated by J. Robbins, of Jawbox fame.

     Having their usual Punk Rock rage and amplification stripped away from them, the songs on the acoustic EP definitely have legs of their own which cannot be said for songs written by other bands when they attempt to put out records like this.

     The lyrics stand out more when they aren't backed by their familiar sound and fury.  Given the content of War On Women's songs, the weight of the lyrics is on full display.

     Shawna Potter's voice more than handled the change of pace from screamy/shouty to actual singing.  And that cannot be said about the capabilities of other hardcore singers.

*     *     *

     Live In San Francisco by Thee Oh Sees, operating under the name OCS, was reissued by the Austrian label Rock Is Hell.  This live album came out earlier this year in obscenely limited quantities and disappeared almost as soon as it was announced.

     Luckily, Rock Is Hell saw fit to do another run for those of us that missed it the first time around. This time there are 300 on clear pink and 1,700 on black vinyl.

     This version of the band is the less raucous line up which is why they go under the name OCS instead of Thee Oh Sees.  The set mostly contains songs from the album Memory Of A Cut Off Head that came out in 2017.

*     *     *

     The box sets released by The Beatles and Jimi Hendrix are a can of worms that I don't think I will venture into.

     As curious as I am to hear what Giles Martin was able to with The White Album, the six CD box set is certainly cost prohibitive.  After hearing the way he cracked open Sgt. Pepper, the Gile's version of The White Album would definitely be worth a listen but not for an arm and a leg.

     The 50^th anniversary reissue of Electric Ladyland by The Jimi Hendrix Experience is a different story.  Early reports of the mix/mastering are not good.  Things were trimmed and clipped instead of letting the sound stretch out into the full range.

     I have been burned by the Hendrix estate before with the various releases of rehashed material billed as new and unreleased.  With the amount of people complaining about the finished product, I think I'll be staying away from this one.

*     *     *

     The shit is getting deep but at least there's a mountain of music out there to help us get through it.

Who Would Win In A Fight, Lemmy Or God?

Trick question.  Lemmy is God.

     As awful as the movie Airheads was, the answer to that question could not have been more correct.  Lemmy Kilmister would most certainly qualify as a god in the mythological sense.  Lemmy carried over fifty years of rock history on his shoulders.

     One of his go to lines in interviews was “I remember a time before Rock 'n' Roll.”  That is something all of us younger pups have certainly taken for granted over the course of our lives.  And this statement comes from a person that saw The Beatles play in clubs, roadied for Hendrix, played in Hawkwind and melted our brains with Motorhead.

     Trying to imagine my adolescence without rock music makes me shudder.  There is no way that I would have made it out of my teens or even to this very moment if it weren't for the rush of dopamine that I get from rock music.  There are days that I'll only get out of bed because I know that if I don't no one else is around to hit the play button.

     My first exposure to Motorhead was in the 8^th grade while watching the British comedy The Young Ones on PBS.  There was a musical guest on each episode to play during some sort of montage.  Motorhead was on to play “Ace Of Spades” while the cast was trying to get to a television studio to appear on a gameshow, in the episode “Bambi.”

     I don't even know if I had any interest in music at that point in my life but that always stuck in the back of my mind.  Weirdly, even though that Ace Of Spades seed was planted in my youth, Orgasmatron was the first Motorhead album that I ever bought.  A friend of mine had it on in his car when we were hanging out and the Lemmy hook sank in deep and has been there ever since.  The next time I walked into the now long gone record store Brave New World, I came walking out with my own copy of Orgasmatron, No Sleep til Hammersmith, and a greatest hits comp.  Those were enough to sate my curiosity until years later when I started to pick up each album as I came across them.  Motorhead released twenty-two studio albums and several live records over the forty years of their existence.

     Their final studio album, Bad Magic, was a fitting send off for Lemmy and the band.  I haven't gone back to it often since Lemmy's passing but Bad Magic was in heavy rotation up until then.  From all accounts, Lemmy had a very difficult time recording the album due to his escalating health issues but he pulled it off in the end.

     Motorhead's last live album, Clean Your Clock, is a really difficult listen.  It was released a few months after his passing and the shows the songs were pulled from were recorded a few months before.  His death was still too fresh in my mind when I tried to listen to it and it was very apparent that he was struggling through each song.  This was at the point where he had to walk to his mic stand with a cane and have his Rickenbacker handed to him when he got there.  I would still recommend picking up the vinyl because it came with a bad ass pop-up book like gatefold cover.  When you open it wide there's a stage setup with the members of the band.

     Lemmy's death was a gut punch.  I took solace in knowing that the sun was going to come up in the morning and that Lemmy would always be there to steal my hearing.  Knowing that one of Life's great truths no longer holds has a way to compound my usual existential crisis.  Being followed by David Bowie's passing a few weeks later certainly didn't help matters either.  Trying to listen to their records for months afterward was not something that I could do in public.  Finding myself to be a snotty, tear covered mess while at the coffee place was not the best situation.  As if I don't get enough weird looks already.

     Lemmy was aware of what a life filled with whiskey and amphetamines would lead to and he accepted responsibility for his own actions.  The man left nothing on the table when he left us and the world is a better place for it. May we all be stone deaf forever.

It Was A Very Long Day

     Earlier today (Saturday 10/27/2018,) I was sitting at the Carnegie Museum cafe trying to gather the rudimentary thoughts that I have about Lemmy Kilmister.  I noticed a more frequent than usual occurrence of sirens going by on Forbes Ave. and suddenly, my phone started buzzing away with text messages from family members that knew I was in the eastern part of the city.

     They were all trying to alert me of the mass shooting that took place at the Tree Of Life synagogue in Squirrel Hill.  The situation was still unfolding and no one knew exactly what was happening and everyone wanted to make sure that my daughter and I were safe.  I let the nearest staff person know what little I knew and they said they were aware of the situation and more security staff was being brought in.

     It was a very weird sensation of uselessness that I felt when I sat back down to try to write again. Immediately, everything felt small and pointless.  Trying to write about Motorhead was suddenly ruined by some bigot that couldn't figure out how to handle his own emotions without reaching for an AR-15.  O, woe is me.  At least I made it home at the end of the day.

     At this point, there are at least eleven other people who didn't make it home today.  All because of some anti-semite that got twisted up inside from listening to our bigot of a president and unhealthy doses of Fox News.  This was an act of terror and a hate crime.  Period.

     After a week of people (and the working class union members of the Postal Service) being targeted and terrorized with mail bombs, let's bring it to a close with a mass shooting.  And this is after two people were shot in a grocery store, in Kentucky, for shopping while black.  Way to go Amerika.  What the serious fuck is wrong with people?

     Somehow, this asshole was taken into custody.  I will never understand how a black guy can't survive a traffic stop in this country but a white guy who shoots a building full of people to hell and back is taken alive.  Something seems to be askew.

     This town is going to feel this loss for a very long time.  Everyone's personal Venn diagram is going to come crashing together as each victims life splinters out into our own.  The majority of us will at least know someone involved tangentially.

     The first vigil, of what I am sure will be many, was held in the evening at the intersection of Forbes and Murray avenues.  There was a massive amount of people, all standing shoulder to shoulder as far as I could see in each direction.

     I couldn't help but stare at the haircut from Fox News that was set up near me.  I hope I was making him as uncomfortable as he was making me.  My initial thought was “The balls on those assholes for even showing up” but then it dawned on me that they are completely ignorant of their guilt.  They spew hate and fear twenty-five hours a day and say “Who? Me?” when someone takes their bullshit too seriously.

     Then I saw the Ned Flanders of the House Of Representatives, Keith Rothfus.  He was clearly too stupid to not show up given the fact that he was wearing a jacket that had his name and job title embroidered on it.  I guess he needs a reminder of what it is he should be doing when his corporate overlords aren't around telling him what to do.  After reminding myself that I was attending a vigil, I refrained from yelling “How many more people have to die before you'll do something, Keith?”  I really hope that pigfucking coward will be unemployed in the near future.

     Songs were sung, prayers were prayed.  The never ending process of healing has started. Pittsburgh has joined the ever growing list of towns that have been ripped apart by preventable gun violence.  We'll mourn, we'll march, we'll vote but I don't see anything changing for the better.   The irrational hate will always be there no matter what we do to combat it.

     Normally, if I'm writing at this late of an hour, there would be a record on the turntable but it felt so meaningless to put one on.  My soundtrack for tonight is the future that is snoring on the couch next to me.  It'll be up to her generation to set things right because we have all failed so miserably.

     Eleven people are dead and there are pipe bombs in the mail.  Are we great or what?

Turn That Radio Off!!!

     On more than one occasion of late, I have heard discussions, or read them online, about the dismal state of the local “modern” rock station here in Pittsburgh.  From the lack of actual music being played on the station to the restrictive playlist of mediocrity when they do play music.

     The last time I voluntarily tuned into the station had to have been about ten years ago.  I had a loaner car from a dealership while my car was getting worked on and FM radio was my only listening option.  I dialed in only to hear some guy screaming at me about some sort of sport.  It had been a while since I listened to the station so I thought they changed format to a sports station.  I immediately went back to the left of the dial in a futile effort to tune in one of the local college stations.  Static was all I could find so the only thing I had to listen to was the constant ringing in my ears.

     I have always had a hate/hate relationship with the station ever since 1996 or so when their parent company, Clear Channel, bought up a competing station with a similar format and changed it to “smooth jazz.”  Whatever that is.  They couldn't beat the other station in the ratings so they bought them.  Clear Channel now goes by the name of iHeart Radio and is, not surprisingly, a subsidiary of Bain Capital.

     I used to lug gear for one of the DJs on the oldies station that was also owned by Clear Channel. They pay so well that he had to take up side gigs playing music at car shows and weddings just to make ends meet.  During the drives to and from whatever event that neither of us cared about, he would clue me in to how Clear Channel worked.

     Songs that were stored on the hard drive at the station would be played a few beats per second faster than they should have been.  The strategy behind speeding up the music was so there would be extra time for another commercial to be squeezed in during the hour.  This is why he always dragged around a couple of gym bags filled with CDs.  And as much as it was a pain in the ass for him to drag those bags around, he always refused to put his CDs on the hard drive.  He hosted a specialty show on Sunday nights and figured if he put his music on their hard drive, the station wouldn't need him anymore.

     He also explained to me what he called the Clear Channel “cradle to the grave” formatting strategy.  Clear Channel wanted to own a broadcast frequency with every viable format, in every market.  Top 40, Classic Rock, Modern Rock, Oldies, Country, Conservative Talk and sports.  This spread of formats was to ensure that they had listeners covered across every stage of their lives.  It wasn't about the quality of the content as much as the quantity of the content.  They wanted to tell you what you liked and when you will like it.  Given the proliferation of country music stations in Pittsburgh, I think this strategy may have been abandoned.

     The restrictive nature of the playlist is my biggest issue with the “modern” rock station.  It seems like their playlist has a framework of the same fifty songs throughout the day.  Allowing the DJ to stray from it only a few times during their shift in order to personalize their show a minimal amount.

Add to that the fact that some of these bands are indistinguishable from one another.  I don't think I could tell the difference between Godsmack, Nickelback, Creed or Disturbed if my life depended on it.  And they've been playing some of these songs for nearly twenty years.  Dead horse syndrome has to kick in at some point.

     They do have a “prehistoric” specialty show on Sunday mornings, where they get into older punk and new wave but I can't figure out why the regular playlist isn't expanded to include this music.  Why would I set my alarm to get up early on a Sunday to listen to music that is played at the wrong speed when I can put those records on any time I want to?  It doesn't make sense to relegate the good music to a low rating, time slot ghetto.

     And that's because it's never been about music for Clear Channel or whatever they're calling themselves this week.  They only care about ad dollars and media buys.  The format of the station is only a vehicle to get the advertisements into your ears.  That's why they also have a billboard division in some cities.  Getting ads into your ears wasn't enough, they also have to put them in your face while you're stuck in traffic.

     Clear Channel has bought up a large chunk of the outdoor music venues and also owns TicketBastard.   They have found a way to capitalize on almost every part of being a fan of music. That's why I'm glad I only tend to go to small club shows and try to find a way around paying the exorbitant fees they put on tickets.  The last time I bought a ticket through TicketBastard, the base price of the ticket was $25.  The final cost of the ticket was $40.  I can't figure out how there were $15 of “convenience” fees added to the cost of the ticket.  I can understand a fee to process the credit card transaction and to drop the ticket in the mail but that sure as shit doesn't cost $15.

     My self imposed boycott of this heaping pile of bullshit isn't all that hard to keep up.   I hate outdoor shows and other larger venues (Stage AE, I'm aiming my middle finger at you.)  Unless a band is on the shortlist in my head, I'll skip the show on principle.  I've got a house full of records and a hard drive with several terabytes of music on it so I don't need their radio stations either.  I can go from Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds to High On Fire to Minor Threat without being rudely interrupted by Dave Matthews or a sports call-in show.

     I know that there is the local NPR affiliate that most people would point to for being an alternative to the Alternative Rock station but they seem to be stuck in their own rut of mid-tempo singer/songwriters.  You've got to wait until the graveyard shift to hear something without an acoustic guitar or a flute in it.

     Nothing on the airwaves in Pittsburgh seems to be aimed at me so I think I'll be just fine without them.  My iPod is my friend and all hail the mighty turntable.

The People's Poet Is Needed Now More Than Ever

     There has been a lot of gum flapping of late about people not really liking when their favorite artists and musicians get “political.”  To paraphrase, the great American, Bill Hicks: maybe these people should take a look at the world around them and try shutting the fuck up.  They might actually learn something instead of thinking they know everything.

     Those arguments are so steeped in ignorance that it proves these folks have no idea what art is and what art has been used for through the course of human history.  If these people are looking for a security blanket to make themselves feel better maybe they should buy a Sugar Ray record or a Thomas Kinkade painting while watching Dancing With The Stars.

     Now, granted, there are two types of art.  There's art that stems from rebellion and provokes thoughts and reactions that could be either positive or negative.  Then there's the commerce disguised as art whose sole purpose is to fill a hole in a market.  That's where you get your hotel paintings of a lighthouse, pop-country CDs on the impulse buy rack at the Walmart check out and your garbage TV.

     Commerce art is designed to push mind numbing product that makes the brain docile and easily manipulated by pulling the heartstrings.  This makes the consumer feel as if they are participating in some sort of culture when they are only buying a product.

     This makes me wonder how people that complain about politics in Punk Rock and Metal even got into those types of music.  Both genres were borne out of a disdain for authority and the status quo.

     Punk and Metal were reactions to the music industry establishment that had gotten bloated and greedy on their own excess.  Once both forms of music found their footing they were quickly co-opted and capitalized on by the major labels to keep the booze and coke flowing for as long as they could.  This led to the music being watered down and made more palatable for the masses that don't like a mental challenge.  The consumers of the watered down product easily adapted to being spoon fed low calorie music that they end up turning their noses when presented with high octane, uncut and uncompromising music.

     There are numerous songs about police brutality and our culture of greed to go along with songs about wanting to be left alone to live outside of the norms of society.  Not to mention the abundance of anti-Reagan and Thatcher songs that came out of 80s Punk.  And there's also Stoner Metal that is anchored in smoking weed which happens to push the agenda of legalization.

     Again, this idea of “I don't want politics in my music” is ignoring over one hundred years of music history.  Leadbelly, Pete Seeger and Woody Guthrie sang about civil rights and unionizing.  The Blues has a very visible direct line back to slavery and the coded spirituals that were sung in the fields to pass along information.  The Beatles wrote songs about revolution and giving peace a chance. Practically every Public Enemy song has some sort of subversive lyrics.

     What these people want is to not think or have their tiny bubble of a worldview challenged.  They don't want a spoonful of sugar with their medicine.  Fuck the medicine, they want diabetes of the mind.  It's a real problem when people are offended by someone else speaking out about children in cages when there are actually children in cages.

     I have heard the arguments that Punk and Metal somehow lean to the right of the political spectrum which is completely ludicrous.  Check the lyrics of the last few Slayer records.  There were songs about war and they've always had songs about blindly following the made up authority of religion.  This recent claim that being a republican is the new Punk Rock leaves me wondering where I left my guillotine.  Joe Strummer would not invite these assholes to sit around his campfire.

     Of course there are skinhead bands and there's no shortage of misogyny and homophobia in both scenes.  As with every other area of life those elements were bound to creep in and it's up to us to police our own scenes to weed out that nonsense.  And if we're not paying attention to the greater world around us, it's harder to notice when the ugliness starts to develop.

     The world is a mess and one way to hold the line is through art of any form.  Whether it is overtly political or if it just kickstarts the brain.  There's no longer a time or place for escapism or looking the other way.  The barbarians are at the gate and we need to do anything that will stop them.

Sometimes A Picture Is Worth Slightly Over Six Hundred Words

     When I saw this picture of the 61C coffee shop, that was taken by Stephanie Strasburg of the Post-Gazette, it stopped me cold in my tracks.  Suddenly, I was having what felt like a panic attack while I was chained to my desk at work and powerless to do anything about it other than let it hit me full on.

     Even though I had driven past it a few days before I saw the photo, long forgotten memories from decades ago came screaming out of the back of my mind.  The what ifs and paths diverging in woods of my youth were pounding on my frontal lobe, trying to escape.  Realizing that there was nothing I could do about any of it, since what is done is done and the poor, gutless decisions had already been made, I had no choice other than to ride out the shakes and sweats.  Along with a great desire to sweep the contents of my desk to the floor, yell “Fuck It!!!” and walk out the door.  Constantly having to remind myself that food and shelter are some of life's necessary evils so a day job does serve its purposes.

     My shadow used to darken the door of the 61C on a somewhat regular basis.  That is where I would obtain post show coffee, if I was on that end of town and too wired to head home yet.  And back when I wasn't a poet but didn't know it, the 61C was where I would go for a change of scenery to tirelessly drill away into a notebook while listening to my Discman.  The other coffee places that I used to frequent were the Kiva Han on S. Craig St. or either of the Beehives.  This was in a time before there was a soulless Starbucks on every other corner so each of these places used to have their own character and didn't try to sell me a Dave Matthews CD when I cashed out.

     If it wasn't a Friday or Saturday, I would start at the South Side Beehive but if it seemed too crowded I would keep heading east until I found one of the spots lacking the youths of America that I didn't want to be and would go to great lengths to avoid.  During the school year, the 61C always had the smallest crowd or at least a crowd that knew how to act when they left their houses.

     More often than not for some reason, it would be raining when I left the 61C so the rain passing through the light given off by the streetlight and the people huddled under the umbrella, in the photo, really landed on me.  Always without an umbrella and too stubborn to pay for parking close by, I'd always get back to my car thoroughly soaked and wondering why I didn't park closer or spring for an umbrella.  I never said I was smart.

     So many nights and cigarettes were spent scrawling ink across paper in an attempt to form sentences that certainly have not held up over time.  Trying to find where I might fit in to my own life, thinking that I was pondering and tackling the big questions that I still haven't found the answers to all these years later.  Attempting to figure out what was wrong with everyone else and why they didn't see the world the way that I did.

     Life became much easier when I realized that I would never fit in so I stopped trying altogether and normally head in the opposite direction of humanity whenever possible.  Pretty soon, only the 61C will remain after all these years but not much else has changed.  I have dropped the steady stream of cigarettes from my diet but the sentences are still shaky, I still park too far away from where I'm actually going and I refuse to switch to decaf.

I'm Sure Many People Have Said This Better Than I Have But...

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The Jams Were Kicked Out And Then The Jams Kicked Back

     This past weekend was a flurry of activity that has left me dehydrated, exhausted, suffering from a head cold/fever and yet again, questioning how I've allowed things to play out the way that they have.  There was so much going on that, sadly, I had to pass on the Eyehategod/Obsessed show.

     It all started on Friday with the MC50 show at Mr. Smalls.  The MC50 is a band that, MC5 guitarist, Wayne Kramer put together for the 50^th anniversary of the band.  He enlisted Brendan Canty of Fugazi on drums, Kim Thayil from Sound Garden on guitar, Billy Gould from Faith No More on bass and Marcus Durant from Zen Guerrilla on vocals.

     The night got off to a rough start due to the severely undercooked black bean burger that I was served.   I spent the next three days wondering what the thing was going to do to me.  Luckily, the burger didn't make a hard left and knock me on my ass.  Looks like I'll be going back to the veggie wrap from now on.

     The usual front of house engineer wasn't working so there was not as much attention to detail put into the mix.  It didn't help things all that much that the singer from one of the opening acts seemingly didn't know that she needed to actually sing into the microphone and not microphone adjacent.

     Then Wayne Kramer walked on stage.  As many times as I have listened to Kick Out The Jams, I thought I knew what I was getting myself into.  There was no preparing for the audio airstrike that he called in when he started playing.  I had to put my jaw in my back pocket because I was tired of it being on the floor.  Wayne would have been in great form for someone in their thirties let alone being a septuagenarian.  No wonder he put together a band full of heavyweights.  I don't think anyone else would have been able to keep up with him.  All of the songs had a driving chunkiness to them that served them well in a live setting.

     Saturday began with a journey to Spring Hill Brewing for a record fair that was put together by Mike from Mind Cure Records.  I came up with Russian bootleg pressings of the first two Stooges records.  They sound like hell since they were pressed from copies of copies but they sure do look cool with the Cyrillic writing on the covers.

     I came across Submachine’s Now That I Have Given Up Hope, I Feel Much Better on green vinyl. I had been waiting to cross paths with another copy of that record for quite some time.  The copy I bought years ago was pressed on recycled vinyl and there are bits of center label pressed into the grooves which can be hazardous to turntable needles.

     Other finds included an early pressing of Damaged by Black Flag and a pressing of The Velvet Underground And Nico from the mid-80s that was signed by drummer Moe Tucker.  There were a lot of other records that I would have liked to have brought home but I came to my senses when I realized that I was about to buy different pressings of a handful of records that I already owned so I decided against buying even more records that I already owned.  Look at me showing restraint in my old age.

     I almost missed out on The Stooges and Funhouse bootlegs because someone else got to them before I did.  Fortunately, I had picked up a copy of Houdini from the Melvins that he wanted so a compromise was struck and we traded.  It just so happened that he was as big of a Melvins fan as I was a Stooges fan so we both lucked out.

     After a stop at Sushi Fuku on S. Craig St., I was off to the Carnegie Lecture Hall to see Henry Rollins and his travel slideshow.   Instead of his usual spoken word, the travel slideshow is a presentation of photos he has taken from journeys to every corner of the world.  It's still an entertaining and inspiring two and a half hour show.  There were pictures and stories from the Middle East, North Korea, Siberia and Africa.

     The final photo was a picture taken by Spot, Black Flag's former sound engineer.  It was taken in the rehearsal room during Henry's audition to join the band and captured one of the moments that forever altered the course of his life.

     The problem I have with shows such as that, or a really good punk show, is that I always end up having some sort of existential crisis which usually begins on my way back to the car.  I start double guessing every decision I have ever made to that point and wondering what would have happened if I hadn't gone the day job route.

     The panic and the anxiety were relieved in no way whatsoever by my Sunday activities of grocery shopping, laundry, yard work and defrosting the freezer in the basement. What a low impact existence I have.

Remasters Of The Universe

     As the world of music is getting longer in the tooth, reissues and remasters of various records are getting released as the albums approach their 30^th, 40^th and 50^th anniversaries.  Either that or a license expires on an album or a smaller labels catalogue and another label picks it up for a rerelease.

     This can be good news if a record has been out of print for a while or if long hours have been put in to cleaning up the sound on an old favorite.  But this could also spell disaster for a reissue if the label putting the records out is less concerned with quality than they are with the quantity of dollars they could possibly bring in.

     The David Bowie box sets that have been coming out every fall for the past few years leave a lot to be desired sonically.  The output volume of the albums seems to have been neglected along with there being several odd choices made in the mastering.  There were inconsistencies in the sound throughout.  Heroes was a great example of this from end to end.  I have finally given up and sworn off picking up any of these box sets in the future.   My scratchy old vinyl will more than suffice. Maybe if Parlophone spent as much time on the music as they do on the packaging they wouldn't have lost a customer.

     The Sound System box set of the five Clash albums was painstakingly remastered by guitarist Mick Jones.  The last time anyone had touched those albums was back in the 90s and the only thing that seems to have been done was a boost to the low end frequencies but neglecting the mids and the highs.  Mick Jones made it very clear at the outset of the remastering that this would be the last time he would be involved in any Clash release so he was not playing around.  I was not even halfway through “Janie Jones” when it felt like I was listening to The Clash for the first time.  By the end of “White Riot,” I was in tears due to the Joe Strummer shaped void in my soul.

     Reissue labels, such as 4 Men With Beards, are a mixed bag.  It's great to see the chances that they take putting records back out into the world but they only master for digital purposes and use the same master for vinyl.  The analog spectrum is broader than the digital spectrum which causes distortion because the digital spectrum is being stretched to fit into the analog.  I keep harping on the recent Wire reissues that the band put out themselves because the first Pink Flag vinyl I heard was the 4 Men With Beards pressing and the difference is night and day.  The guitar tone on “Ex Lion Tamer” knocked me on the floor.

     There are also labels, like Sanctuary, and to some extent, Cleopatra, that will license an entire artists or smaller labels catalogue.  They'll do a small run of colored vinyl, slap a “New And Improved” hype sticker on the cover that will quickly go out of print but then do nothing with the license until it expires.  It's almost as if they pick up the rights to these albums just to say they own them and have these bands on their label.  As if owning these licenses provides them some sort of hipster street cred.

     Then there are labels (SST, I'm looking at you) that really need to go back and revisit their catalogue.  With a roster that includes the Minute Men, The Stains, Husker Du and Black Flag, those records are screaming to be properly reissued.  Given the technological and budgetary constraints involved when those albums were recorded, most of them sound flat and muddy.  Instead of suing former bandmates and having videos pulled off of YouTube, maybe Greg Ginn should spend some time with the Punk Rock history that he's sitting on and get to remastering.  And maybe he could start to set things right by paying everyone the royalties they'd be due from these hypothetical reissues.  Then again maybe pigs will fly someday.

     The Internet is not the best place to go for opinions on how a specific reissue sounds due to the subjectivity and personal preference involved.  But it can be helpful to notice if the majority of the Internet is not happy about a remastering.  In those cases, it's probably best to stay away since nobody on the internet ever agrees about anything.

     This is another reason why I end up owning multiple copies of the same record.  Yes, I have an original pressing of that record that no one cares about.  But I also have the remastered anniversary pressing that no one cares about either.  And I should probably be ashamed to say that I regularly spend my Friday nights with a pot of coffee while listening to them both back to back.  That's how I party on the weekends.