God, I Love That Rock & Roll

I'm so excited, and I just cannot hide it. So, as seems to be the case on the internet, I will blog about it and no one will read it! How we vent into the unknown ether...

Next month is going to be a huge month for music. In my humble opinion, the hugest month so far this year. I won't even give you time to be the judge of that. Just sit back and read about why you should be as excited as I am. As is quoted from Tommy, which I'm listening to now (Live @ Leeds, the only way to listen to Tommy): Come on the amazing journey; and learn all you should know.

Three artists that exist on my all time Top 5 list of musicians are coming out with new albums, all in the merry month of March. Hopefully by the end of this, you'll be just itching to skip down to the local record store, and fork over the dough for all three of these joints. Maybe I'll even let you skip with me. Only maybe though.

First things first, the old farts who brought you the greatest hard rock albums of the 1960's and 1970's: The Stooges. March 6th will see the release of 'The Weirdness', their first studio album since 1973. I'll let Iggy Pop have the first word before I make an attempt to match his:

"The one thing that kind of amazes me is that it sounds like us. But it doesn't sound quite like 'Fun House,' 'Raw Power' or our first one. You put it on, and right away, you'd know, well, that's them. There they go."



Without going into all three masterful albums prior to 'The Weirdness', I'll simply state that they're all good, to say the very least. 'Skull Ring', which came out in 2003 was technically an Iggy album, although the remaining members of The Stooges played on some of the tracks. Even for his age (or their ages, in this case), and despite the ever changing musical times, it is proven time and time again that Iggy Pop is just one of those artists that really can't do much wrong (this is where people who aren't fans of Bowie will disagree with me slightly; you know who you are). He continuosly makes even new rock bands look like light weights by comparison. No one has really matched the raw power (no pun intended) of The Stooges since probably 'Fun House' (with the exception of Nick Cave and The Birthday Party, which I'll get to later). It all leads us to a fully formed studio album by these great pioneers of rock. Could it be one of the top ten rock albums of the current decade? If the old timers still have in, even, their little finger what they encompassed entirely in 1969 and '70, then I'd be hard-pressed to say 'no'.

One song off the new album, My Idea of Fun, is available to listen to on The Stooges official MySpace page (www.myspace.com/iggyandthestooges). If it alone is any indication of the rest of the album, then it sounds pretty promising. They certainly haven't lost their rough edge. If anything, the song sounds more stripped down than anything heard on 'Funhouse'. It suffers from the band's loss of original bass player Dave Alexander, whose licks were one of the premier draws of 'Funhouse'. However, with the addition of Mike Watt (from The Minutemen): who am I to complain? Not heard on this particular song is the saxophone of Steve Mackay (also one of the most essential elements of 'Funhouse'); however, even knowing that the guy is back for 'The Weirdness' is cause enough to purchase the thing just to hear what they do with him. Stranely enough, Pop's vocals sound younger and more juvenile than they did when he was in his 20's. Ironically, The Stooges were a huge influence on the Punk movement that would sprout up a little more than a decade after the release of 'Funhouse'; but the overall sound (primarily in the vocals) of My Idea of Fun is clearly heavily influenced by the Punk movement. Wrap your mind around that. What goes around, comes around I guess. Even for such heavies as The Stooges.

Buy this album and listen to at maximum volume in your car with the windows rolled down. It's been far too long the country's neighborhoods have gone without getting riled up over some good old fashioned noise.

While everything is quiet and easy
Mr. Grinder can have his way...
--Memphis Slim, 1941

Speaking of old timers getting their "rock" on. Nick Cave and three regular members of his almighty back-up band, The Bad Seeds, have teamed up to create the much anticipated side project known as Grinderman.

"Foul-mouthed, noisy, hairy, and damn well old enough to know better."



Anyone that knows me knows that I can't get enough of anything Nick Cave has done. I'm of the school of thought that 'Junkyard' was just an element or two shy of being as good as 'Funhouse'. It was definately the next best thing, and still is. The Birthday Party, Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, even Nick Cave without any seeds...the guy is a giant among very small men. So mention of, not another album with all the Bad Seeds, but another album under an entirely new band name altogether didn't phase me in the least. Especially when I read above quote. And below quote:

"It is the howl in the dark of the Everyman."

And that was simply talking about one song! No Pussy Blues. The song and video can be found on the band's MySpace page (www.myspace.com/grinderman). Calling themselves "old enough to know better" is a gross understatement, after having watched the video. It's a rock video all current "young" bands wish they could make; or should wish they could make. If the members of Grinderman are too old to be making rock music as good as they are, then the only conclusion that could possibly be drawn from their statement is that the only people who know better are the over 40 crowd.

Jim Sclavunos doesn't so much play the drums, as he beats on them. Both sticks at the same time to match the shit he's kicking out of the bass drum. Raw also is Martyn Casey's continuous bass; it doesn't let go. Whatever kind of hell the other three instruments unleash, Casey is persistent in reminding us that this is a song that is going somewhere, but it may never get there. Warren Ellis drops the bow and treats the violin as if it were an electric mandolin...on several occasions...enough said. And the ringleader himself, Nick Cave, busts out some of the sickest thrashing he's ever dared to maneuver in his career. Some notes can be made out, but for the most part he puts up a solid wall of distortion that almost dwarves the rest of the band.

This is the garage band to end all garage bands. If you were walking past someone's house and heard a song like No Pussy Blues tearing up the driveway, you'd for sure think, "these kids are going somewhere." Luckily Nick Cave has gone there, done that, and then some; and now his band, Grinderman, have decided to show the "youngsters" a thing or two about how to play rock and roll.

If you didn't buy 'Grinderman' (out the same day as 'The Weirdness'!), you'd be missing out on one of the top five rock albums of 2007. And if you're a die hard Birthday Party fan like I am, this is as close as you're gonna get.



Last, but certainly not least, is my favorite band to date. So naturally I'm very excited about their much anticipated next album; and henceforth, the following words may be slightly biased and congratulatory. But fuck it. Modest Mouse is by far the finest rock band making music today and, arguably, in the last ten years.

I could write a blog a day about how and why they have been consistantly rising above any other professional band in the business since being signed by Epic in 2000, with 'The Moon & Antartica' (and even before being signed, with 'The Lonesome Crowded West' and 'This Is a Long Drive for Someone With Nothing to Think About'). For the sake of this particular blog, however, I will attempt to reign it in, and keep to the task at hand.

"A nautical balalaika carnival romp"
--Isaac Brock

'We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank' has been in a kind of limbo since before Christmas, with an original release date of December 19th. The group has been busy touring parts of Europe, Mexico, and The United States, so they can be forgiven for having to push the date a couple months. But it's enough already. The first single from the album, Dashboard, was played on 107.7 The End in Washington on New Year's Eve, and has since been made available on Modest Mouse's MySpace page (www.myspace.com/modestmouse). One of the first things evident from the single, not surprisingly, is the one thing about this Modest Mouse album that makes it their most talked about. The inclusion of The Smith's old lead guitarist, Johnny Marr.

Perhaps one of the most influential guitarists of the 1980's, Marr was originally asked by Modest Mouse frontman Isaac Brock to help out on a track. Brock rightfully thought to himself something like, "why would the guy who backed up Morrissey for all those years help out a couple kids from Issaquah, Washington for anything more than signing some copies of 'The Queen is Dead'?" But as a testament to the sheer talent that makes up Modest Mouse, Marr obliged to help out the band. And after jamming with them on their one track, Marr took to the road with them in order to fill out the sound for 'We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank'. It wasn't long before he was considered a full-fledged member of Modest Mouse.

I laughed a little after typing that last sentence. Never in my wildest musical dreams would I have imagined one of my favorite bands of the 80's becoming a piece of my favorite current band. If you consider the sound of the two bands however, and the dynamic of both group's lyrics and accompaniment...it makes perfect sense. Evident in almost every Smiths song was such a bittersweet sarcastic wit. Biting lyrics no one would want to be the source of, masked brilliantly by a barrage of snappy , infectious rock beats. Thanks to Marr, the electric guitar became a living soul that couldn't live without Morrisey; or Morrissey without it. Liken that to Modest Mouse. Brock's words transcend anything being written today about someone's girlfriend, or government, or whatever. Themes such as a vast and harrowing universe, the impact of our places of birth, and an ever-looming God consistantly crop up in his lyrics and trouble him into humbleness. It's like when someone asked David Byrne if he would ever write a love song and he wrote The Talking Heads' best song, Naieve Melody; it's as if someone asked Isaac Brock why he doesn't ever write a song about himself.

The difference between The Smiths and Modest Mouse however, is time. Rock has changed since The Smiths' self titled album hit record stores in 1984; Modest Mouse is a new band. They're a hard rock band, and anyone who has listened to 'The Lonesome Crowded West' even once can tell you that they aren't as modest as their name suggests when it comes to tearing down a conventional rock song and trampling it into the mud. Which is what separates them from most current bands today. Their sensibility of what makes a solid pop song, fused with the almost eerie personal relationship each member has with his respective instrument. Sounds like The Smiths. And the ease with which the two bands were married, aside from being justifiably philosophized here, can simply be heard by listening to one song.

Dashboard is just as good as anything you'd hear coming from Modest Mouse the first time you hear it. It's catchy, off the bat; it's clever, lyrically; and it tells a story. Telling a good story in song is something Brock is no stranger to. But telling a story with an instrument is not always an easy task (even for Brock, who is still mastering it quite well), which is why you need a seasoned storyteller like Marr. Modest Mouse was wise enough to pick up on this, and I'm sure this alone will make 'We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank' the best rock album of 2007.

Thus concludes my journey into March. The real "March Madness". All three of these powerhouse albums, coupled with the trechery and wanton all-day-drunk of St. Patrick's Day...I'll be suprised if April isn't just one big hang over under the rain. But if no other month resembles March, musically, in any way...I'm sure I'll recover.

Anatomy of a Traffic Jam

Being stuck in traffic in Los Angeles is much like taking the slow boat down the river Styx. After a while, whatever your destination (be it work, Hell, or otherwise) starts to seem pretty inviting.

It's a combination of the surrounding desert hills, endless palm trees, and persistent sun that make the solid bumper-to-bumper journey all the more maddening. The looks on the people's faces: confused, dead. Confused as to how they have died? Scared. And of course, the droning sound of the helicopters.

Helicopters?

Helicopters. Only in Los Angeles will every helicopter in the county buzz out to cover the chaos. No matter what the magnitude of the atrocity. I guess vultures circle for a dead lizard every bit as much as they do for a dead zebra. In my case, I was held up by a dead tzi tzi fly. After all the commotion, the hour hold-up, the helicopters, the digital reader board claiming "major accident, all lanes become one", the 0 mph, and the dead faces; it was all for glass. By the time I realized this, however, I had far passed the point of rage and frustration. That was how it started.

The psyche of a human being adrift in a traffic jam sea can be broken down into a few simple stages. No one's mind is safe from the torment. And if you can cut through the daze, if only for a moment of sheer will, you will notice that everyone around you is experiencing the same twisted mind fuck. I did just this. Before turning my head onward again, and re-entering the funhouse.

Upon realizing that I was slowing down, something akin to "oh, come on" was softly dispelled from my lips. Directed at no one, and heard only by me, this proved nothing aside from agitating some inner morning demon. He would proceed to convince me that "this can't be happening", at this moment in time.

After some time in a dead standstill, I found myself uselessly swearing into the empty cab of my truck. Swearing at no one at first; eventually turning the tirade to anyone I made eye contact with, anyone I couldn't see ahead of me (including the poor suckers involved in the accident), and anyone that came to mind that had pissed me off recently. Swearing seemed to make the truck crawl at around 2 or 3 mph (depending on the creativity of the word).

Then comes the acceptance of one's own fate. Looking around, I noticed everyone had reached this moment of zen at the same point in time I did. The guy behind me was tapping away on his steering wheel with a pair of drum sticks. An Asian woman next to me stared peacefully into the early morning sunrise. The music I had turned down, in order to better hear myself swear, suddenly became calming and every word poignant. "Even if things get heavy we'll all float on". Beautiful.

Fuck. The swearing seemed to be more effective. These traffic jams, they respond better to a little roughness. You've gotta grab 'em by the shirt collar and shake the hell out of them.

The closer you get to the incident, whatever it may be, the less you care about what it is anymore. I'll have to shift gears here for a second and revert back to the possesive "I"; because if "you" happen to be an Angeleno, then at this point in the jam you still care very much about what the incident is. In fact, as I would find out in this case, it was "you" all along that put me through an hour long inner struggle of fragile nerves and self doubt.

I understand the curiosity of an automobile accident. Death and injury aside, two or more large pieces of machinery entangled together on the side of a highway is a rather impressive display, and not something you see every day. However, in Los Angeles, the native's necks seem to be made of a much more pliable and liberal rubber than anywhere else in the country. I recall times when I would pass up an accident without blinking an eye. And they happen far more often in this city! But at this point in this particular jam, the crawl had gone on for the better part of an hour. So, morbid as it may be, I thought to myself, "this mother fucker better be good. Maybe I'll even wind down my window to get a better look at the carnage."

As I rolled into the vicinity of the veritable auto battlefield (as the digital reader board promised; and the helicopters implied) I realized the extent of my heartache and pain. As I said before...glass. Glistening in the sun, and crunching delicately below my tires. I wondered if the helicopters could even see the glass from way up there. If the cameras would be able to pick that up. They weren't anywhere to be found anymore, so I guess they got bored, and fluttered off. Clearly, either I had been in limbo for so damn long that the accident had occured, been responded to, humans rushed to the hospital, reported, and cleaned up, all before I reached it; or, I had been the butt of a very cruel LA joke. They were breaking me in, giving me a taste of what I can expect for the rest of however long I spend here.

If this, resulting from glass on the roadway, is any indication...then I'll be packing my bags tonight and hitting the 101 back North. But then again, I'd probably get stuck there too: plastic bag in lane 3.