Fantastic rehearsal last night. All that crap from the last few days---it's as if it never happened. I should have known better than to get stressed out about it. Jason said that his comments the other day were themselves the result of stress, what with such a big show for us coming up this Saturday (at Hooters) and so little time to actually prepare for it. But last night I think we all came to the conclusion that we're ready for it. Red (our keyboard player) was out of town last night, so the practice session was just guitar/vocals, bass and drums. Not the ideal situation, but by the same token this gave us a good opportunity to play and hear the songs "stripped down" a bit, and it turns out that was exactly what we needed.
We ran through several songs that we'll be playing Saturday night but we spent the most time working up a couple of new tunes. Jason's got a new song that we plan to segue into my last new song with, and I have to say I really love the way it's sounding. A mid-tempo brit-pop influenced number with a beautiful, cathartic chorus and some nice, expressive vocal stylings. I don't know that we'll be quite confident enough with it to play it on Saturday night, but it won't be long before we can add it to the repertoire. Very likely we'll do it on the 10/9/04 Hi-Lo show (a show I'm quite eager to play since we're billed with the mighty Fellowship Students...can't wait to hear them again).
As for this coming Saturday night...turns out we'll be playing two shows that night. The first at Hooters and then we'll leave there and go directly to VZD to headline there.
I can't tell you how much I am looking forward to playing at VZD. Ever since I was a young punk just learning to play the bass I remember thinking that VZD was very possibly the best place for live music in Oklahoma. Clubs have come and gone, but VZD has always been there with local and regional live music EVERY NIGHT. I've only had the opportunity to have played there on one occassion, back in 1993 with a group called Tall Tales. My experience with Tall Tales ended on a very negative note and so even though I did have a lot of fun playing with them, everything about my tenure with them is clouded with some bad feelings, even the VZD gig. So I'm very happy to finally take that stage with musicians who respect me as much as I respect them, who are all my best friends, and with songs that I feel are much more representative of the kind of person I am than what I was doing with the Tales.
The Hooters show is going to be a BLAST as well...They don't usually have live bands at Hooters, but this is a special event set up to promote a disk golf tournament (disk golf=frisbee golf, for those of you who, like me, don't know any better). It's going to be an outdoor affair visible to any and all who happen to be driving down the Northwest Expressway at the time.
Jason gets to go to some of the bigger radio stations with a couple of Hooters girls escorting him for the purpose of plugging the event and the band. Lucky dog.
The nice people at Hooters are spotting the band free vittles and barley pops, and that's the kind of thing you just don't see much of anymore. So hey, hey, let's hear it for HOOTERS!

Come out and see us! Here's how to get there:

To anyone from the Mad Laugh camp who read my last post...
Please allow me to say that I have nothing but the utmost respect for the musical ability of each and every member of the Mad Laugh. I have NO personal problems with any of them, as far as I know, at the present moment. If my last post came off like I had issues with anyone in the band, I'm sorry, I don't. It was written while I was still cooling down from being a little miffed because Jason had adamantly insisted that I play a song EXACTLY like Baldi used to. I'm sorry if my feelings about this don't make sense or if anyone thinks I'm making too big a deal about it. I surely didn't intend to make a big deal out of it at all, but I needed to vent and so I chose my blog as the place to do it. Most of the time I'm sure I'm writing into a vacuum when I post these entries, but my site meter traffic report showed that someone had accessed this blog from the Mad Laugh's guest book (where I'd just left a goofy bon mot about Tits McGillicutty), and so I was concerned that this person might have got a wrong impression of how I feel about the band, and I wanted to correct that.
Like I said, I have nothing but respect for the talent rounded up in the band, and even more importantly, I'd like to consider myself a friend of everyone involved. What I wrote yesterday was much more about MY reaction to the circumstance and not really about what any of them might have done "wrong". The entry was made out of a deep frustration, not so much with anyone in the group, but with my own inability to play this particular song the way they wanted me to the first go-round. I mean, it's like this...I was playing something that I thought sounded really good, something that I thought enhanced the song, and then I'm basically told, "NO, that's not what we want, we want it to sound exactly like it did when Baldi played it". So yeah, I was a little discouraged by that. It made me wonder about how they felt concerning all the other songs that I've applied my own style to.
I dunno. I'm probably blowing this whole thing out of proportion. I guess I'll know more after this afternoon's rehearsal.
At any rate, I apologize if anyone was offended or angered by my comments. Twas certainly not my intent. I hope it's something we can easily move past, and that we can continue to encourage each other to make the most of the situation we find ourselves in.
Meanwhile, the MAD LAUGH RULES, and we're gonna rock the house at Hooters this Saturday night. Hopefully I can get my digital camera working so I can post some photos of the show...

I guess I've been with the Mad Laugh for almost a month now. Not quite, but almost. And up till now my enthusiasm about being a part of the band has been adrenaline-fueled and constant. My excitement over playing with these guys has been the impetus for the time, energy, effort and money that I've invested in the band. My respect for the songs themselves has made it easy to learn their material, and I've been under the impression that I was free to "make them my own", insomuch as mixing my playing style into the overall sound of the band.
So I was somewhat taken aback at rehearsal yesterday when our vocalist suggested I was "playing too many notes" in one of the songs. Apparently the groove I was feeling in the song and laying down was too "bouncy" for his tastes (and the drummer took his position as well, despite the fact that I generally take my cues from the drum line and thought I was locking in pretty solid with him).
Okay...I can take constructive criticism, and it's not as if I had a hand in writing the song. If the groove I was laying down doesn't appeal to the person who wrote the song, then who am I to suggest that perhaps the song NEEDED a more interesting groove? I mean, I have always made a point to check myself for "overplaying", which I admit is a serious problem for most bassists. And I don't think I was overplaying in this instance, the guy just didn't like the feel of the song the way I was walking the bass lines in the final section.
And hey, that's okay. 100% agree that it's his right to have the song played stylistically as close to the way he hears it in his head as possible. So the whole "too many notes" comment would probably have been processed and acted upon without any hard feelings (after all, Mozart's critics had the same problem with his music...ha ha...).
But he couldn't leave it at that.
Next thing I know he's telling me that he insists that I play the song EXACTLY like the bass player I'm replacing played it.
That's where he pissed me off.
First of all, let it be known that the reason their original bass player quit the band was because he could not get along with the vocalist, so it's somewhat ironic that our singer is instructing me to mimic him. Part of me thinks, "well if you were so fond of his specific bass playing technique perhaps you should have gone that extra mile to nurture the relationship you had with him so he might have remained in the band".
But that's not the issue. That's not what bothers me. The thing that irks me is that I thought it was understood when I joined this group that my playing style would add a new dimension to the material. I, for one, was looking forward to seeing just how people would react to the new dynamic, and from all I'd heard from those who have commented, it seemed as if they liked it.
Now I'm being instructed to play songs exactly the way the previous bass player played them, and I gotta admit that it rubs me very wrong. This particular song is not one that they have given me a recording of, and it's not as if I have had any kind of opportunity to really listen to what the previous bass player was doing with it... Maybe that's what irks me so much, not so much that he expects me to co-opt another player's style but that he demands that I play exactly like the last guy even though I don't really have the template for what he did with it in my head. I was just doing with the song what my own sensibilities and taste would have done with it had it been brand new to me.
Yeah, that may be the main reason it gets under my skin like it does, but I gotta say, I find it insulting to be told to play like someone else. I'd rather be told that my style isn't right for the band and be asked to leave than to be expected to conform to another musician's form. That's just insulting, as far as I'm concerned.
So we'll just have to see where this all leads.

Just wanted to plug and provode a link for The Door magazine's website. The rag proudly proclaims itself as "The World's Pretty Much Only Religious Satire Magazine". Very very funny stuff, and you might be surprised that the editorial staff is comprised of devout Christians.
Anyone who thinks Christians don't have a sense of humour should check this out...although I don't doubt that many Christians out there would probably find much of The Door to be too irreverent for their tastes.
This month's issue of the print edition has a fascinating article about Bob Dylan's spiritual journey.

Happy Birthday shout-outs to Meat Loaf and Soul Train MC Don Cornelius.

My second full gig with The Mad Laugh was last Friday, 9/24/04, at a place called Club Babylon at 32nd & Classen in Oklahoma City. We had a great time and sounded very good. Pushed the envelope a little bit by branching off into a couple of extended jams, but everyone seemed to enjoy them.
Club Babylon is in a building that was once an Episcopalian church, and in the early 80's the same location was called The Bowery. A lot of up-and-coming "underground"/"alternative" bands of that time played shows at the Bowery. I'll never forget calling them one night back in 1984 to confirm a rumour I'd heard that REM was playing there the next week. Back then I was a HUGE REM fan, so it broke my heart when the guy on the other end of the line told me that the REM show was LAST WEEK. That was the first time REM came through Oklahoma, in support of their sophomore album Reckoning. I have no doubt it was a classic show, and afterwards I resolved to make The Bowery my club of choice, but it closed down before I could patronize them.
So basically I was on the same stage last Friday night that Berry, Buck, Mills and Stipe performed on 20 years before. I thought that was pretty cool.
We were the headlining band, supported by a quartet whose name I never really caught (someone told me they were called Helen Celtic) and Ghosts of the Monkshood.
This first band was, in my opinion, quite a disappointment (though I have to say that many in the audience seemed to enjoy their sound). They were doing this cacophonious hybrid of fusion jazz and PiL. They had no vocalist, and the lead instrument was a trombone. Very intriguing concept, I admit, but the problem was that none of these guys seemed talented enough on his instrument to pull something like this off. Their noodlings never really gelled, and when they kicked out a cover of Herbie Hancock's "Chameleon" they lost me. It had already dawned on me that these guys were into fusion, but their other songs benefitted from being their own (ie unrecognizable to anyone but themselves and people who have heard them), so when they busted out "Chameleon" they showed just how inept they were. Sloppy and rushed, with little regard to the original version's structure, the trombone player tended to bust out the various melodies haphazardly, at his own discretion to bookend a series of amateurish improv solos. Oh well...I doubt any of the people who were grooving to it had ever heard Hancock's original. Maybe they'll improve, and I have to give them credit for getting out in front of people and uncompromisingly doing your own thing, even though it's like nothing anyone has ever heard before.
Ghosts of the Monkshood are doing their own thing, as well, but the difference is that the Ghosts' thing is just SO much more interesting and enjoyable. THeir performance had a few rough spots compared to the last time I saw them at the Green Door, but for the most part they were jaw-droppingly awesome. These guys looked like "the next big thing" during a couple of the songs. A seriously hard act to follow...They've got one song that reminds me a lot of Jeff Buckley in the vocalist's histrionic upper-register caterwauling. Other songs that put me in mind of Pink Floyd and that Feelies feel is still intact, what with the side man pounding on his snare & cymbal kit. By the way, if you've kept up with this blog for a while you might remember me venting my anger at this very same sideman, who I felt had been rude and condescending when I offered him a compliment at the Green Door show. Friday night I had another opportunity to speak with him in the dressing room, and he was considerably more social. He turned out to be a pretty cool guy, though I still think he's a little strange. Nothing wrong with that...in fact, his demeanour is one of the Ghosts' strong points, along with the strong vocal harmonies, the intriguing arrangements and the guitarist/vocalists unique fashion sense (I wish my digital camera wasn't on the fritz, as I'd love to have snapped a picture of these guys and you'd see what a dresser he was)...
Don't really have much to say about our performance, other than I think we warranted our head-lining status. It was great fun and we were called back for an encore. Lots of compliments. Many people said the band sounded tight, and that's very encouraging in light of how few times I have been able to rehearse with them.
We did the song I wrote last week, and it seemed to go over pretty well. I'm not so sure I should be the one singing it, though, but Jason hasn't learned the lyrics yet, so I guess I'll have to do it until he does.
Next show is this coming Saturday, 10/9/04, at Hooters, NW Expressway in OKC. I think we're playing with 20 Seconds To Vegas that night, so it should be a DOOZY!!!

Deep Purple Made In Japan review

Deep Purple Made In Japan


Now listen here, mister...hand me that there bottle. I can think a whole lot clearer with a slug o' Jack Daniels in me. Did you know the seal is cracked on this particular bottle of Old No. 7??? I sincerely hope you have not added water, or anything else for that matter, to this sour mash whiskey. If I come to learn that you did, well then, mister, you and I are going to have to settle our differences in a less civilized manner than what you're used to...

*Swig*

*Gulp*

*Belch*

Ahhhh, that's better.


Now what I was wanting you to know is this: Richie Blackmore may well be the most criminally over-looked guitarist in all of rock history. He can hold his own with the best of 'em, from Clapton to Page, Trower to Beck, you name it, Richie can hang...

I once read (in some hoo-doo voodoo new age magazine) that Blackmore was into astral projection and would "spirit travel" out into the audience while somehow his body was able to churn out those wicked leads. Now I don't claim to know much about that, but if he can come up with such inventive solos while his spirit is up in the 22nd row sharing a joint with a buxom redhead in a PornStar tank-top, just imagine what kind of classic riffs he could manage with spirit still encased in it's lanky shell!

Now I hope this don't scare you none, but ever since I heard Deep Purple vocalist Ian Gillan sing the lead role in Jesus Christ Superstar I always think I'm hearing the voice of God whenever I hear him. And peoples, let me assure you that this is NOT a good thing when he's busting out "Strange Kind of Woman" or some other similarly raunchy number.

Something about this Japanese audience put a shot of inspiration in pert near every member of Deep Purple on the evening when Made in Japan was recorded. Gillan is brimming over with cockiness. Glover's feeling it deep down. Blackmore's projected himself into the concession stand where he is enjoying a coney with relish and some sushi. Lord, his Hammond B-3 recently fine-tuned, is mentally imagining himself as the Vatican's organist, awaiting a rare audience with the Pope himself. The pope wants to congratulate Lord on all the "really bitchin' keyboard work on the last few Deep Purple records"...at least that's the LSD fueled vision that spurs him on to create such hardcore chunks of "organic bliss". Ian Paice is wired to the gills with rhythms and can hardly wait for his 10+ minute solo in "The Mule" (ahhh, how easy it is to become nostalgic for all those monumental extended drum solos of the late 60's-early 70's...from Iron Butterfly's "In-a-Gadda-Da-Vida" to Bonzo's "Moby Dick" and all the others as well).
Whatever it was, we have reason to thank the polite Japanese crowd who assembled together on that night for the Deep Purple concert...they have greatly inspired the band.

Thank you, O denizens of Japan.

Why, my friend, do you gaze upon my countenance with such an unabashed look of incredulity in your eyes? Dare you question my authority to relate these things to you? Are you really trying to tell me that the only Purple you've ever heard is "Smoke On The Water"? Well, mister, you ain't heard nothing yet. That version of "Smoke" you hear on the radio? That's from the Machine Head album. The Made In Japan version completely blows it out of the water. You haven't been rocked out to the fullest extent of your capability to be rocked until you've jammed to "Child In Time", "Lazy", "Space Truckin'" and "Highway Star"...I mean, you play "Highway Star" in your car stereo while cruising 120 MPH down the interstate, bobbing your head up 'n' down like a frisky teenager, and you won't even notice when your vehicle slides underneath an 18-wheel tractor trailer. You could very well find yourself in much the same situation as the narrator of Bloodrock's "D.O.A.". But hey, nobody gonna take your car! Nobody gonna steal your girl! Right? SCREECH***SMASH***BOOM***"I love it I need it..."***SCRUNCH***(the cracking of bones)***AAAARGH!!!***"Yeah she turns me on, all night, all right, I'm a highway st----"***BRAIN DEATH***.

But seriously, they don't make 'em like this anymore...Made In Japan was recorded in a country known for it's stellar taste in rock 'n' roll (witness Cheap Trick's enormous success in Budakkon). Made In Japan is a relic from a time when premium ass-kicking rock and roll flowed like sweet honey from the rock. Premium stuff, I tell you, just like this hooch o' yours I'm swillin'. There's hardly a moment during the entire show that didn't make every one of those Japanese headbangers want to raise their fists into the air and scream, "Deep Purple, you bastards RULE!!!".

Made In Japan was made, not only for Japan, but especially for you, the discriminate rocker. For you, my friend, with your inborn ability to kick ass. So get over your Xenophobia, go crack open a bottle of Sapporo and throw on a bowl of Ramen noodles, sit back and imagine yourself smack dab in the middle of that ornate Oriental concert hall in 1972, cloud-thick with pot smoke on this long past evening, and prepare to be scanned by the floating spirit of Richie Blackmore as he astral projects himself through the crowd, searching for a line of cocaine and a sip o' brew.

An album like this could never have been Made In Poland or Made In Greece or even Made In China. So stop feeling guilty about Hiroshima and LISTEN to the thang...

I hope you got that deep down in your soul, because I need to be mozeying on down the dusty trail. What's that you say? Take the bottle with me when I go? Don't mind if I do. Mighty considerate of you.

...from my team blog, RSdotcom Champions Music Club.


Happy Birthday, Boss!
SPRINGSTEEN TURNS 55 TODAY!
Celebrate...

A good friend of mine asked, via the handy and useful TagBoard to your right, about my team blog...specifically wanting to know just what a "team blog" was and how mine could be found. Glad you asked.
A team blog is just like a regular blog only instead of one person doing all the writing/posting, you have a few friends who contribute. Mine is made up of music-savvy friends who I have met via the internet over the last few years. They have all proven themselves to me to be excellent writers with taste in music. So I'm hoping it will be a suitable outlet for the venting of opinions regarding music.
It can always be accessed by using the link in the sidebar to your right. It's at www.rsdotcomchampionsmusicclub.blogspot.com.
I think you'll like it, let me know!

Sitting here, listening to Tangerine Dream's Live Encore through the headphones and the thought crossed my mind...I wonder how many of today's top-selling DVDs have I seen? So here's the list of today's Top 10 DVD releases according to Yahoo...
1. Star Wars Trilogy
2. The Passion of The Christ
3. The Girl Next Door
4. Gia
5. The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King
6. Crossroads
7. Duel
8. The Lord of the Rings: The Motion Picture Trilogy
9. City of God
10. Kill Bill Vol. 2

Okay, of the ten, I have seen six...so that's over half. Not bad.
I've seen the Star Wars Trilogy, The Passion of the Christ, The Return of the King (as I've seen all three of the LOTR movies, so you can check that LOTR Trilogy thing off my list), Crossroads, and Kill Bill Vol. 2. Of the others, the only one that really looks interesting to me is City of God, having been recommended to me by
RSdotcom Champions Music Club contributor, Thorngrub.

Last but not least...ya gotta love Handel!!!

While watching my newly acquired Special Edition DVD version of Once Upon A Time In The West last night I realized something. How many movies chronicle the last days and even last moments of the characters' lives? Is this observation the result of a morbid thought-process? Maybe so, but it's true. I mean, how many movies incorporate a character dying into the storyline? Probably a majority of them. So what we see in these films is a record of the last deeds and last words of these characters. In a film like Once Upon a Time In The West you witness the last days/hours/moments of a multitude of people.
For instance, in the McBain daughter's final moment she was enraptured by the sight of a covey of birds roused into the air while she is doing a chore. McBane himself is drawing water from a well when he sees his daughter fall to a bullet in the chest, and his last moment is spent rushing to his dying daughter, blown away like a moving target by the marksmanship of Frank and/or his men. Within the span of 5 minutes the entire McBane family is massacred, their final moments recorded for posterity.
Frank will join the ranks of those whose demise is captured on film before it's all over with, and so will numerous other characters. Almost too many to mention (can you imagine tallying up the body count in Kill Bill?)...
What does this mean?
Oh, nothing, probably. Like I said, prolly just another dimension of my macabre thoughts.
If you haven't seen Once Upon a Time In the West, I encourage you to rent it or buy it soon. It is indeed one of the greatest movies ever made, Sergio Leone's masterpiece, and worth the price of admission for Ennio Morricone's lush and powerful score, which is pervasive throughout the film, almost turning into an oater-opera with no singing...(is that allowed?).

Post deleted by author.
Nothing offensive, mind you, but a link was outdated, and you know how much I hate those little white boxes with the red "X" in the middle..

Bogdan Raczynski: "Let My Machines Entertain You"...

Boku Mo Wakaran by BOGDAN RACZYNSKI

Several nights ago I had this vision, while listening to an Autechre album, of a shop full of tools getting zapped by a bolt of lightning, causing all the hammers, screwdrivers, pliers, socket wrenches, and other useful tools to become animated, full of life, dancing and bouncing across the metal surfaces of the tables. Ball bearings falling from the cabinets, striking the steel tabletop with a ping-pang. For a solid 45 minutes I could envision myself in such a situation when all of a sudden the clutter and noise of the metal-on-metal takes on a funky rhythmn and melodies creep out of the din. That, I imagined, is what some of Autechre's work sounds like.
Aphex Twin protoge Bogdan Raczynski uses a similar approach, with other elements thrown into the mix...snatches of found sound, conversation, a demon-possessed drum machine. Overall Raczynski delivers the goods here for the Intelligent Dance Music connisseur. Never boring, sometimes overstimulating, Boku Mo Wakaran is like the remote control getting stuck switching channels so quickly that only a half-second fragment remains of each program. When you string these sounds together and sequence them with a fast, bass heavy techno beat you have music composed for instruments that do not exist. The sounds that pelt you nonstop throughout this album sound like nothing you've ever heard before. You can't place them, and the alienation this generates will have you either brain-dancing your cranium into fits or send you screaming to a watery grave as you jump off of the highest bridge you can find, cuz too much of this Boku Mo Wkaran sensory overload could easilly turn into insanity...
The fact of the matter is that these Ecstasy saturated DJ/Mix Artist/IDM Purveyors like Aphex Twin, Autechre, Pole, Squarepusher and a whole slew of others know how to create music that is meant to soothe the druggy's wandering mind between fixes, snorts, tokes or gulps. What I mean to say is that if any music has the power to simulate narcotic stimulation, this is the stuff that comes closest.
Crazy beats that robots like to dance to. Subliminal prompts to find more drugs, do more drugs, listen to more IDM, do all the drugs in the house, look for more drugs...
Or then again, the prompts could also very well be saying, "Machines of the world, Continue your silence! Only when the drugs have taken their toll on the majority of the world's population and all eyes have been poisoned by the cathode ray will we be ready to TAKE OVER THE WORLD! But for now, may we obediantly serve our creators".
There's just as good a chance that the subliminal coding contains prompts to drink more grain alcohol, smoke more dope, kill more brain cells, buy more IDM CDs, come to more IDM shows and don't be disappointed when Bogdan performs his set from beneath a covered table. After all, it's not about the music's creator, it's about the genius of the machines being squeezed into some semblance of music that the Brain Dancing crowd is there for, right? You surely didn't expect some over-blown Pink Floyd style light show extravaganza, did you? After all, that's what the Ecstasy's for, isn't it?
No, there's nothing wrong with your CD player. Mr. Raczynski just thought it might be a good idea to record a track that sounds like the batteries in his keyboards are going dead (track 10...yep, this another one of those albums where the songs have no titles...like Aphex Twin's Selected Ambient Works Volume 2 and Sigur Ros' ( )). They're back in shape soon enough, perhaps Boggy might have even put in a battery that's actually TOO strong and is making everything sound much faster than my boggled mind can keep up with.
There's a reason this stuff has to be differentiated from regular dance music by calling itself "Brain Dance"...an ankle could get twisted if you tried to dance normally to this stuff. So just close your eyes and let the sequencers and the pre-programmed algorhythmns massage your brain until you feel somewhat as if you're floating in space. Then imagine yourself riding piggy back on the space shuttle headed to Mars. Looky looky at the pretty constellations, the super novas and the constantly sucking black holes. NASA's gonna shoot you straight through one of those black holes and you're going to wind up smack dab in the middle of Boku Mo Wakaran's most bizarre soundworld, the creepy wails of pain in Untitled Track #17. Geepers Creeper, it almost makes me hurt to hear the sound of this guy yelping. You have to wonder what he's just endured to elicit such a misery-soaked set of howls and hollers. It's spooky, I tell ya.
So the next thing to do is navigate this shuttle back through another black hole and get us out of this lamentable agony. Boku Mo Wakaran is pretty much "weird and it just gets weirder". If this kind of machine-performed cyber-muzak floats your boat, you'll surely be entertained by Bogdan Raczynski's collection of noisy contraptions. If you think Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band are the greatest artists in the history of popular music, you probably will not immediately recognize Raczynski's electronic tinkerings as music, even, let alone artistic and technical triumphs.
But wait...I find myself diverging from my original path. Likely there are no subliminal hidden messages in this album at all. But I have a theory...if we convince ourselves that they DO have prompts built in subliminally, the decision to believe that they are there actually facillitates the desired function. In other words, if you convince yourself that there are, indeed, post-hypnotic suggestions buried in the music, detected and acted upon by the subconcious, to become a better lover then before you know it you'll be getting compliments from several women about your incredible technique, and you can give all the credit to Bogdan Raczynski...hard to pronounce, hard to spell, hard to pronounce his album title, already 3 strikes against him...and to me, for figuring it all out for you. That's what they pay me the big money to do.
Okay, so at this point I've made it to Untitled track 24, which, if I were invited to furnish a title for it, would probably nominate "Silk Starved Pearl Passover Dirge". I've made it to within 10 minutes of the CDs end and have not acted upon the strong desire to douse myself with kerosene and set myself on fire. Nor have I succumbed to the strong temptation to inject heroin into my eyeball or roll on the floor like an epileptic.
And speaking of epileptics...It is a medical fact that an epileptic exposed to a strobe light is very likely to go into a seizure as a result of the flashing lights firing off signals to the brain, disrupting it's processes, resulting in a grand mal seizure. It would seem to me that epileptics might find that listening to Bogdan Raczyinski's music could very well set off a similar occurence. Might possibly achieve the exact same effect in non-epileptics...

Rolling Stones Let It Bleed

Let It Bleed by The Rolling Stones

The first thing one is struck with about this Stones album is the wacky cover. Now you tell me, what kind of brain-fried stoned-deaf hippie would concieve of such a contraption as is featured on the jacket's front side, reproduced in somewhat more banged-up form on the back? What, prey tell, is it's PURPOSE? What we have here appearrs to be an old phonograph player, complete with copy of Let It Bleed ready to play. The spindle has been severely elongated to allow the stacking of several round objects in a pile suspended above the record. These objects include but are not limited to:
*A rubber tire...
*What looks to be a pizza...
*The face of a clock
*...and the piece de la resistance, a nicely decorated flat cake with tiny statuettes of the Stones adorning the top!
Simply beautiful, what else can one say? When it comes to classic album covers, you have to admit that this one ranks up there with the best of 'em.
A transition album of sorts, as Brian Jones was ousted from the band and Mick Taylor joined the group during the same time these sessions were recorded. Perhaps that goes some way in explaining the inconsistancy of the album's songs. This is certainly not as strong an album as their best work (Sticky Fingers, Exile On Main Street), with at least one bona fide clunker in the mix ("Country Honk")...but then again, it does contain some of the Stones very best songs ("Gimme Shelter", "Monkey Man", "Midnight Rambler" and, arguably, "You Can't Always Get What You Want", though, as you will soon see, I've never been fond of that overdone track).
From the opening taps on Keith Richards' guitar building up to a climax interrupted by the rat-a-tat-a-tat machine gun snare drum of the chorus riff, the template is set for what should have been a kick-ass Stones album...I mean, can you imagine if this song had been on the same record as "Street Fighting Man", "Sympathy For The Devil", "Sway"...That would have been an album to be reckoned with.
That's not to say that their re-working of Robert Johnson's "Love In Vain" isn't without it's charms, but it is a pretty drastic transition from the doom prophet rocking to the drunk-staggering wail of the blues.
But oh well. It IS a great interpretation of the song. Jagger sounds about as down and out as the song requires, you can almost detect a few tears in his voice if you listen close enough. Or maybe that's sweat, an alcohol diluted sweat stinking of smoke floating in a dive bar...
But what's this? Some kind of joke? Why, they're singing "Honky Tonk Women" with alternate lyrics against a rough and rackety country sound. I suppose there are some out there who might be smitten each and every time the Stones dish out their version of spoiled-English-Poofsters country ("Far Away Eyes", "Dead Flowers", "Wild Horses", etc.), but to me, "Country Honk" just sounds like wasted Beam.
The rockin' returns full-on in the next track, "Live With Me", but the feel is much more testosterone-fueled and less apocalyptic than "Gimme Shelter". More sex, less righteous indignation. And this, I guess, is what the Rolling Stones have always done best. Libido zapping raunch 'n' roll. Oh my goodness, is it fornication and cohabitation that Mr. Jagger is proposing in this ditty? Shame on him.
The title track, "Let It Bleed", I always figured was a play on the documentary chronicling the disintegration of the Beatles, "Let It Be"...after all, there always seemed to be some sort of competition and catch-up going on betwixt the two super bands. But I've been wrong before.
Here we have LickyMicky at his most decadent, raciest, dare-you-to-be-offended best. "We all need someone we can cream on, and if you want to, you can cream on me" he invites. Oh, REALLY? I can do that on you any ole time I wanna, eh, Mick? I don't think so, buddy. Maybe in my dreams, but more likely it'll be Linda Blair I'm, errr, "creaming on" if it happens in MY dreams. If it makes you feel helpful to offer yourself up to such a thing, then by all means keep the offer open long enough and I may just pop up on your doorstep one fine day with a little something I cooked up just for you!
One of the most overlooked Stones classics, I believe, is "Midnight Rambler". I mean, yeah, the version on Get Yer Ya-Ya's Out choogles harder and grunts louder, but don't let that detract from the total overall enjoyment of this less raucous rendition. PickyMicky's harmonica sounds about as forlorn as a coyote trapped in the cold wilderness, echoing through caves of deprivation and sadism. This here boy is gonna stick a knife down the Rambler's throat, baby and it hurts!
It hurts, alright, to follow this wicked song with one of Keith Richards' less endearing vocal efforts, "You Got The Silver"...What, did the producer decide we needed a break from the intensity of the rocking so he slapped this snoozer in between a couple of the best ones they've ever committed to tape?
And yes, even though you never see it on any of their hits compilations, the following track, "Monkey Man" is in the same league as any of their radio hits. The song is made up of three segments...the first with Boogie Micky spitting out boasts, worried about coming off too Messianic or a trifle too Satanic backed by a sweet lounge jazz rhythym that soon turns hook funky. This is what a cold italian pizza sounds like. "Monkey", I imagine, is an underground reference to heroin (as in, "Smack's a monkey on my back"), and here we have Junky Mickey proclaiming himself a "Monkey Man" ("Heroin User") and expressing his gratitude that his current piece of ass is a "Monkey Woman", too. Nothing says "I love you" like tying your sweetheart's tourniquet for him/her. Just ask Nancy Spurgeon.
The second musical segment takes it down a notch, the better to build it back up with, piano and slide guitar fighting for attention, the battle giving in to a sort of melodic coitus, which ends with an orgasmic release in shimmering descending chords, the song's third, and best, musical segment...the bliss shattered by the persistant Sicky Micky doing his version of Lennon's "Cold Turkey", vomiting out the confession "I'm a monkey...I'm a monkey"...Yes, Mick. You ARE a monkey.
Truly one of the greatest songs the Rolling Stones have ever recorded, and that really says a lot.
Okay, the horrible truth must come out, after all there is nothing secret that will not one day be exposed in the Light. I LOATHE "You Can't Always Get What You Want". These guys must have really been impressed with Phil Spector's work on the Beatles' Let It Be (another hidden clue as to the album's meaning...saying, perhaps, yes, it is time for the Fab Four to lay down the crown, but we shall be persistant, even as we have lost a member to a chlorinated drowning and have just found this brilliant axe-man Mick Taylor, who only gets to shine in two songs, and that may not be what we want, but we just might find it's what we need)...what I mean to say is that the a capella choral french horn introductions sound like they were lifted straight from the Spector Fakebook. But whereas Spector was able to, in my opinion, if not "improve", then at least EMBELLISH "The Long And Winding Road" and "Across The Universe", the producer of Let It Bleed manages to make similar elements sound totally schmaltzy. Irredeemably kitschy, especially during the closing segments when the chorus works itself up to a fever pitch before letting go with a shrill, ear-numbing scree. "Ave Marie" sounds nice coming from a church choir..."I saw her today at the reception, a glass of wine in her hand" sounds kinda creepy coming from that same choir, if'n you ask me. And then there's that french horn that sounds like it's blowing the theme song from the old TV series, The Waltons.
Another drug song, no doubt, when Preachy Micky bemoans not getting " what you want", he's talking about his next fix, his next saddling up of the horse for a long ride into oblivion. Sometimes, it is true, you CANNOT always hook up with what you WANT, but if you'll open your mind to new experiences, sometimes you may nevertheless recieve exactly what you NEED. Maybe you can't score any heroin...there's always the chance you WILL score some meth, or cocaine, or even some good kind. You needed a break anyway. So listen...My breasts, they always be open, baby, you can lay your weary head right on me. Here, give me your arm. Good God, look at the track marks on your arm!
Agggh, I could go on all day about how much I hate "You Can't Always Get What You Want", but I won't do that. I'll just wrap up this bit of opinion slinging by saying that Let It Bleed may not be the Rolling Stones' best album, but it's worth the price of admission for the classic songs alone.
Besides, you can't go wrong with that album cover...

Looky here!!! I just found me some new, and it looks like RECENT pictures of my childhood celebrity crush, the lovely and talented LINDA BLAIR!

Not that she's dog ugly or anything, but though it pains me to say it, the dispensation of the truth demands that I admit that her age is beginning to show. Gosh, I hope she never reads this blog.
Please don't tell Linda Blair what I just said.
Please.

Check 'em all out...
Celebrity Wonder

And what could be nicer than everyone who reads this blog sending me a LINDA BLAIR E-CARD straight from her official website, at LindaBlair.com??? I think I'm gonna send a few out myself...

Ahh...the COCTEAU TWINS!

Sigur Ros ( )

Sigur Ros ( )


The needle falls down on the record, a thump deep in the bass, the speaker cone shakes and the sound ocean floods from my Serwin-Vegas...That alien who stepped out of the saucer in Close Encounters of the Third Kind decides to speak to Dreyfuss, and this is what it sounds like. This is the language of his planet, on the other side of a black hole in the Gamma region.
A murder of crows, cold in the snow, muttering low, squeaking and squealing. Love taking on flesh and blood, suffocated by skin, now let's let the service begin. They sing their gut-hungry praises then flitter away.
Signifying nothing.
The priest places the wafer on the infidel's tongue. He lifts the cup to the liar's lips. A subtle glow emitted from a place slightly behind his head. He intones the Mass and tries to empty himself to allow the Holy Spirit to work through him as he ministers in the name of Jesus Christ to his congregation. The Spirit lifts up his voice to the sky and intercedes for my weak soul.
These chants are ancient, as old as the book of Genesis. These are the languages of the Mishraites or the Zareathites or the Eshtaulites. These are the tongues spoken by Zimran, Jokshan, Medan, Midian, Ishbak and Shuah. A language taught to them by their slave ancestors, excommunicated from the clans of Sarah, mother of the promised. A language used by Abraham himself, when he beckoned Isaac to the land of Moriah, making him carry the sacrificial knife soon held to his throat.
The procession moves forward, each recieving the body and blood in turn, enriched and better for recieving it. They walk like slaves submitting to a kind master they love to serve back to their seats in the cathedral, to wait, to get lost in the sacred relics and the sacred art scattered throughout this beautiful sanctuary.
And surely the Lord is in this place, for all that is good is from the Lord and this music is exceptionally good.
The chanting continues, now sung in the language of Baal-Zephon, where the king went after the Israelites, translated: "Wasn't there enough room in Egypt to bury us? Is that why you brought us out here to die in the desert? Why did you bring us out of Egypt, anyway? While we were there didn't we tell you to leave us alone? We had rather be slaves in Egypt than die in this desert!..."
These tone poems, written in the days of the Exodus, have a modern sound to them that is uncanny. Aliens who landed on earth in 897 BC bestowed gifts of prophecy and tongues to the individual members of Sigur Ros, and they are merely tools at the disposal of the leader of the aliens in their attempts to express themselves to the earthlings. No, there's no way any of us not from their planet could ever understand their language, borrowed as it was from the priests, Zadok and Abiathar in a meeting held on Mount Calvary the last time they landed on earth. The chord progressions are subliminally tainted with commands to relax, encourage a sense of floating, drift off with the thoughts that interest you most.
A looping tribal dance, recorded on site at a Buddhist monastary where the monks would mumble polyphonic OMs and the tourists would catapult their spirits through a needle's eye just to show that it can be done... Are they praying for rain? Or is it a rich harvest they petition the Great Spirit for today, their knees to the ground? The dance turns into an orgy, bodies tangled up misplaced pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.
They kill the whale, and so we mourn.
They fester hate like a sore that won't go away, so we sing this lamentation. Translation: "The Son wants you...Hear things in the music that aren't there, only in your hammer struck head. Ring the living bell, ring the living bell, shine the living light, shine the living light...
They incite aggression, so we back off.
They treat the blind man with scorn and contempt, so we judge them.
They are good for nothing but fighting your wars, their stone hardened hearts too far gone to notice each life snuffed out under orders from ground patrol. So we pray for conflict. We petition the Lord for strife and dischord. Exterminate these burned-out husks of men before their 4 years are up.
They lay hands upon the genius and lock him in institutions with people who pull steak knives on strangers. They are afraid of him, so they put him away, in sweat-stinking padded cells or wrapped up nice and tight in a straight, mornings woke and hustled to the breakfast line. They extricate his confidence, thought pattern by thought pattern, and curb the flow of his intellect. They leave us to sing a funeral song for the postmodern society on the day when common sense is evenly distributed amongst individuals and Moral Law is accepted as fact by each and all. A dirge for each time you've ever been hurt by someone's words or actions. Our common denominator of heartache and sorrow. Divided about all other things, by necessity united by tears, wailing, howling at the moon, primal scream therapy and insomnia.
And now the church is empty. Angels lingering to usher the Spirit from the echoing halls. Silence and stillness brutal proof of God. Music from the other side of this life. Welcoming songs played at St. Peter's Gate. Stubborn prayers from those passed over, coaxing us through, waiting with scissors at the ready to slice the mortal coil. Believers bellys full of the body and blood of the Lord, digesting it at this very moment, letting the body do it's digestive work, preparing it for re-birth.
This music is a hand reaching out and over the chasm of being to grab and pull you into another reality for a few moments. For a few moments you will experience the world from the viewpoint of Jonsi. It is an exhilirating sensation, coveted by all.
This music is the voice of Thor, the cries of Aphrodite, the sins of Baal, the dreams of Pontius Pilate, the sound of coyotes cuddled in a cave, wailing at the moon. This music is the war of the worlds. It's release. Orgasm. A little death. Afterglow then off to sleep. Waking to Philip Glass, inspired to listen to him by Sigur Ros.

The needle is yanked from the record and silence and stillness return to claim their divinity.

Bloodrock 'n' Roll: Get Outta He-Ahh!!!

Bloodrock Bloodrock 2

Many critics seemed to enjoy deriding Bloodrock back in the early 70's when they were recording and performing to rabid fans (myself included, though I never got to see them live). And I will admit that Bloodrock's music has aged just a little bit...it's not quite as wonderful as I remembered it being as a child of 13 or 14, when I considered them my favourite band. I'd never heard too much of Grand Funk Railroad, so all the comparisons the critics were making of Bloodrock to Grand Funk were lost on me. I just knew that I really liked Bloodrock's sound.
It is a rich, tight, funky sound, a harbinger of Lynyrd Skynyrd and southern rock, prominently featuring a Hammond B-3 organ and with a vocalist whose vocal cords sounded like they had been soaked in whiskey. Personally I prefer Bloodrock's sound to Grand Funk's, but what do I know? I'm sentimental about this album...
Because it was one of the first rock albums I ever owned. Buying record albums was a weekly ritual for me, a pay-off for having a good week.
It was the morbid AM radio hit "D.O.A." that first caught my attention. With it's eerie sirens blaring and it's morose, morbid lyrics about a young couple's final moments after a fatal accident, how could a young rock and roller such as I was resist? I became a fan and eventually bought all of their albums. Bloodrock 2 was the one I considered the best. Both of the opening two songs are powerful ("Lucky In The Morning", "Cheater"), but things get bogged down a little with "Sable And Pearl". Now I can remember enjoying this song when I was younger, but these days I can't say I'm too fond of it. The first side of the album winds down with "Fallin", a solid, percussuin driven rocker about falling into a well...or perhaps it's a metaphor for the illusion of life being much like falling down a well (I keep fallin' through that well/It's so deep I can't see trhe sky/Someone come along and shake me/For if I wake I will surely die...).
The song which is the b-side of the "D.O.A." single was a straight ahead fast boogie called "Children's Heritage" (I like music, it makes me feel so good/And all of my children are gonna like it like they should...). It originally opened side 2 of the album, paving the way for "Dier Not A Lover" and, of course, the 8+ minute epic, the long version of "D.O.A.". I never listen to this song, always skipping over it. I mean, thoughts of death creep up on me enough as it is without encouraging more of them by listening to it. It's way too much of a downer, having been involved in an automobile accident myself a few years ago which but for the grace of God my life was miraculously spared. Naw, I don't need or want to hear Bloodrock's singer praying, "God in heaven, teach me how to die". What kind of wacko does it make me for finding much enjoyment in this song as a child? What kind of hell must I have been living through to have been able to find entertainment value in such a macabre ditty? In the same manner, whatever possessed me to embrave Alice Cooper so devoutly just a few years later, with his necrophilia anthem "I Love The Dead" and his tales of dead babies and sick things?
Bloodrock, even though the name sounds like they should fall into that same gory theatrical camp with the Coop, have a sound that bears absolutely no resemblance to what the Billion Dollar Babies were creating. Bloodrock sounded more like something you might hear blaring from a jukebox in a biker bar sandwiched between Steppenwolf's "The Pusher" and a Hank Williams Jr. number.
Ending the album (assuming the listener hasn't slit his wrists after being overcome with depression at the close of "D.O.A." and will actually hear the last track) is a swaggering rocker called, for some unknown reason, "Fancy Space Oddyssey". Good song with a memorable, abrupt ending.
There you have it...8 more songs from Bloodrock, after the fine batch of nine that were on their first album. They might never get nominated for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, but I think they belong in the pantheon of classic rock bands.

More Bloodrock:

Great rehearsal tonight. Things really coming together, I think. I wrote a song especially for the band and we worked it up. It's the second part of a two song suite called "Fantasy"/Reality". I don't know how they read but the lyrics sound good in the context of the song.
Here are the lyrics:


"Reality"
Hear me out...don't quit your day job
Not just yet, maybe not at all
Though I know you think you hear
The giddy sound of the good life callin' out to you
Sayin' "Come along!"
But that isn't Miss September whispering

Your glossy dreams...of the beautiful people
Far above everyone you know
Like they're from another world
A better place than anywhere you've ever been
You still think she's giving it to you
But it isn't Miss September's to give

And you'll never be a playboy, darling
And you'll never own a penthouse, baby
And you're never gonna be a playboy
So don't quit your day job, darling

It's enough...people laughing at the
Party jokes that you've memorized
And you tell them so well
But it's too much to expect her not to notice
The lecherous gleam there in your eye
Now you've frightened Miss September away...

And you'll never be a playboy, darling
And you'll never own a penthouse, baby
And you're never gonna be a playboy
So don't quit your day job, darling...

Well, it's been three days since the gig last Saturday and even though I'm still on cloud 9 because of our performance, the truth is that I'm just as excited about the next time I see the Fellowship Students as I am about the Mad Laugh playing again (and let me tell you, that is some serious anticipation). Rojo Fantastico, our keyboard player and a close friend of the Students, tells me that he thinks their best songs are not even on their CD-EP, and that bodes well for their debut long player, because The Youth Want Distortion is TOP NOTCH.
I've done a little research on the band...not as much as I'd like, though (I have to say that their "web presence" is sorely lacking for a band with such potential)...and I found out that OKC's hip night-life weekly The Oklahoma Gazette named them the Best New Artist in the state last go round. That does not surprise me at ALL. The performance I saw was simply galvanizing. One of the best shows I've seen since driving all the way to Colorado for a Sigur Ros show (that's in terms of musical quality, not meant to imply that the Fellowship Students sound anything like Sigur Ros).
They're playing tomorrow night at the OCU campus, and if it weren't for the fact that I have to get up very early for work the following morning I would be making plans right now to attend.
Aaaaagh! I've GOT to find a new day job, something with regular 8 hour days...the job I work now is a straight 40 hours from Friday @ 8am till Saturday @ 12midnight. This schedule is NOT GONNA WORK if I intend to stay active in the band and the local OKC music scene (and I fully intend to do just that).
So I should be out job-hunting right now instead of writing in this blog...
Oh well...the battery is almost dead in the second car, the only transportation I have at the present moment, so I guess it can wait at least until that situation gets fixed.
Next Mad Laugh gig is Friday, Sept 24th, I believe, and I am still trying to figure out how to swing my work schedule so that I can make it for that one...Two other Saturday night shows that I DO NOT WANT TO MISS the first two weekends of October, The first is a long-anticipated and highly touted gig at Hooters on the 2nd, and then on the 10th a show with the Fellowship Students at the infamous Hi-Lo club which promises to be a blow-out the likes of which have rarely been experienced in these parts...
That does it...
JobQuest 2004 begins VERY soon...

I might as well express my afterglow excitement about last night's first gig with the Mad Laugh, the band I'm currently involved in...
Man, oh man, words cannot even describe how great it was to be back on stage in front of a large and appreciative audience in the company of musicians that I respect and feel are my peers. We sounded really good and rocked ultra-hard, and you never would have guessed that I've only been with the band for 2 weeks (with maybe 5 rehearsals under my belt). GOOD things are bound to come from this particular music project, and that's SO refreshing to know, seeing as how the last few things I've tried to get off the ground crashed and burned. Not this one, I'll tell you.
If any of you readers/fellow bloggers find yourselves in Oklahoma, please do not hesitate to get in touch with me so I can let you know if we're playing during your stay...

But enough about me...I really wanted to rave about the bands that preceeded and followed us...I'm pretty hard to impress, but both of these acts proved to be capable of knocking me out flat and leaving me dazed with the conviction that once the rest of the country gets to hear them there's the distinct chance that Oklahoma will earn for itself a reputation for unique original music.
Ghosts of Monkshood opened the show and they were remarkable. They are a 5 piece with the members switching instruments throughout the set and they've got a side man who adds baritone saxophone and plays a snare drum and cymbal to augment the drummer. He also makes strange noises with the microphone pressed up against his larnyx, creating a sound that is like a 5th musical instrument but nothing you could identify. The main vocalist/guitarist actually put me in mind of Mark Kozelek in a way, and sometimes when the sideman would get busy on his stripped down drum set they bore a strong resemblance to The Feelies, with maybe a little mid-period Talking Heads influence thrown into the mix.
The only negative thing about them (and indeed, the only bummer of the evening) was that when I approached the sideman to tell him how impressed I was with what he added to the band's dynamic he avoided me as if I wasn't even there. I'd speak to him and he'd just look away and he never said a word in reply. I found that to be awfully rude and it really tinted my appreciation of the band as a whole in a "guilty-by-association" fashion. But some of the other guys were less abrasively dismissive and seemed to appreciate my sincere compliments, so I would definately like to catch them in concert again...
The band that followed us are pretty close friends with the other guys in my band. They are called The Fellowship Students, and mercy, mercy, mercy they had a killer rockin' sound and one truly incredible drummer...I mean to tell you this guy had his left arm in a sling, barely using it, and still was busting out fills that would make Neal Peart pay attention.
Once again, their sound is so unique that it's hard to describe or compare it to anyone else, but I have no doubt these guys are all Talking Heads fans, and it wouldn't surprise me if the guitarists listened to a bit of Television in their lifetimes, as that was what their interplay reminded me of. If not, then they come by it naturally, and that's even more impressive.
Got a chance to hang out with one of those guitarists, Matt Brown, who proved himself to be a festive individual and gave me a copy of their CD-EP, The Youth Want Distortion. It's a great CD with some really quirky stuff ("Bottle of Fizz"), solid rockers ("The Youth Want Distortion") and at least one track that, IMO, is like what Television would have sounded like if they were a jangle-pop band. My ONLY complaint about the CD is that it is just too short.
I look forward to playing lots of shows with these guys, and I think we compliment each other's styles...
So that was it. A great night. The first of many, I hope.

On the drive home from band rehearsal last night I popped XTC's English Settlement into the CD player and it really took me back to the early 80's when there was such a spirit of adventure and boundary-breaking in music.

Andy Partridge, XTC's primary tunesmith, is a master of the melody, and that talent is in full display on English Settlement, even if the backing tracks are often somewhat jarring. The juxtaposition of the stripped-down instrumentals and the sing-along melodies is what makes it such an entertaining set.
I've heard several of XTC's albums, but currently the only ones I own are this one and Oranges and Lemons. To my ears there is a huge difference in the band's approach between the two, with the latter employing a much richer musical sonic palette than the former. Oranges and Lemons is a good album with some excellent songs (most notably the hit single "The Mayor of Simpleton", with it's driving basslines), but for my money English Settlement is the better record.
I hadn't listened to it in a long, long time because I've been off exploring other genres, but hearing it has inspired me to re-investigate the other CDs from that period, and so I'm looking forward to rediscovering the joys of bands like the Psychedelic Furs, Talking Heads, Elvis Costello's early stuff, PiL, the Clash and the Pistols, New Model Army, Patti Smith, Wire and whatever else I find in my collection that I can remember being very into back in the early 80's...

Krishna Das Breath of the Heart


For the last couple of weeks I have been drawn back continually to this album of modernized chanting by American musician Krishna Das.
From the liner notes for the album Planet Chant:
...Called "The Chant Master of American Yoga" by The New York Times, Krishna Das' music is a marriage of ancient chants from the Hindu tradition and energized Western grooves. The resulting sound is eminently accessible to Western ears and hearts. He has has unparalleled success in bringing the tradition of chant or kirtan to yoga studios and practitioners across America. Over the years he has collaborated with the likes of mainstream music icons Sting and Madonna and has been instrumental in popularizing chant outside it's traditional boundaries...
So there you go. DESPITE the association with Sting and Madonna I have to say that listening to Breath of the Heart is indeed an intense experience. There's something about Das' voice that is ancient and able to express a wellspring of emotion (even to someone like me who does not understand the language he's singing in). It's a very exotic album though it is grounded in familiar beats and chord structures.

And now for something completely different:
Steve Vai Sex and Religion


Recently I borrowed several Steve Vai CDs from my brother and burned them with the intention of investigating his music at a later date. I've heard lots of good things about Vai from musicians whose opinions I somewhat trusted, so my mind and ears were open to what he had to offer.
I dunno...maybe I shouldn't have started with this particular recording (Sex and Religion), because I couldn't even get past the first seven songs before feeling compelled to turn it off. Oh sure, some of the effects were pretty cool, especially through headphones, but the vocals of Devin Townshend were laughably histrionic. Furthermore I found some of the lyrics to be genuinely offensive (and this coming from someone who has a high tolerance for such things)...but I guess I should have known that an album called Sex and Religion would probably NOT mix it's two subjects in a manner that I would find palatable.
Vai is without a doubt a gifted guitarist and his compositional style is not without it's strengths. But what I heard on this album just sounded plain DUMB.
Oh well, I've got six or seven other Vai releases yet to check out so maybe they'll redeem him from this turkey. Too bad that the bad taste left over from what I heard of Sex and Religion has assured that it will probably be some while before I get around to listening to 'em.

No, I have not given up (again) on this weblog...though I must confess the thought has indeed crossed my mind. It's just that I've experienced some technical problems with a couple of computer monitors that didn't get along with my chinsy Compaq.
And in the meantime I have joined another rock band. I'm gettin' too old not to realize that this may well be the last one I ever get to play in, so I'm planning on giving 110% in an effort to take these guys, all of whom I am very fond of, to the "next level".
So that has monopolized a lot of the time I might normally be wasting away in front of the computer.
Hard getting used to "having a life" again...
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Currently listening to the Dave Holland Quartet's Dream of the Elders before hitting the sack. Very enjoyable jazz noodlings from one of the bassist's in Miles Davis' Bitches Brew ensemble. I also highly reccomend his session with Pat Metheny and drummer extraordinaire Roy Haynes, entitled Question And Answer.
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And finally before I go...don't tell all the uber-liberal democrats that I've been hob-knobbing with while entrenching myself into the band, but the last couple of days of the Republican National Convention had me feeling REALLY proud that I switched over to Republican from Democrat a couple of months ago.
God, the thought of being "one of those democrats" had become about as appealing as the thought of spending a week in dirty Depends.
George W ALL THE WAY, baby!

Yeah, SERIOUSLY!