Open Mic

About six months ago I started listening to podcasts. They’re great! Kind of like super specific online radio shows, except with bad words. Finding a few I liked, I dove into their back catalogues like a dog chasing a gopher down its hole.

During an episode of the widely popular Nerdist podcast, comedian Mike Birbiglia discussed his process for writing jokes.

Intrigued, I thought to myself “Self, you’re pretty funny. You have a blog that more then five people read. Maybe you should try writing some jokes.”

To which I responded, “Capitol plan old chum, you always have the most splendid ideas.” (Half of my inner dialogue is in posh English.)

So I sat down at my desk and wrote some stuff down, then audibly, and to absolutely no one, exclaimed. “Shit. Now I’m going to have to perform these, aren’t I.”

I put it off for a couple of weeks, but eventually I went online and found a number of Open Mics in Colorado Springs. (No! I’ve revealed my location! Now hordes of screaming blog fans will decent on the city to harass me!)

I won’t bore you with details of how well my first few sets went. (Not great) What I will do is tell you about this weird, amazing world I discovered.

The open Mic community is a strange one. It’s fluid, ever changing and always unpredictable. I’ve seen singers go up on stage, destroy, then never come back. I’ve seen good ol’ boys with a bluegrass band take the stage after a drag-burlesque show; and I’ve seen comics (usually me) bring the house down with a joke one week, only to have it fall flat the next.

(I added this picture so you'd know I'm not full of shit)

What’s stuck out to me the most over the past few months, though, is the sheer acceptance that resonates from this bizarre, quasi-community. Whatever your level of talent or experience, you can get up on the stage, swing for the fences and nobody will laugh at you… unless, you know, you want them too. I’ve heard this isn’t the case everywhere, but here in the Springs, we seem to have a decent scene going.

 So, I guess what I’m saying is, give it a try! If you play jazz trombone, jazz out. If you can belly dance, belly dance (Please!) If you have a funny story about your 3rd grade teacher, get out there and have some fun! We won’t laugh at you we promise… unless you want us to.

Fugazi

So I’ve got a lot going on this week so this will be a short one, but I had a thought today I wanted to share with all 5 of my lovely readers.

As I’ve stated before, music nerds such as myself can be condescending pricks. (You’re an Interpol fan and you’ve never listened to Joy Division? What the hell is wrong with you?)

But even the staunchest of rock n’ roll fans can be blindsided by something that just somehow slipped between the cracks.

Case in point, I’d never listened to post-hardcore pioneers Fugazi until this week. (I know! How can I even presume to call myself a punk rocker?)

I’d heard the name bandied about in interviews and by other bloggers, but for whatever reason I didn’t make the effort to check them out until watching Patton Oswalt sing their praises during his Werewolves and Lollipops stand up special, and I’m glad I finally did.

As I’m writing this I’m burning through their catalogue like a junkie in a poppy field. Vocalist, guitarist Ian MacKaye, who I’d enjoyed in Minor Threat, and the rest of the guys are, excellent at crafting punk songs that breath and build tension, while still maintaining the manic energy essential in punk.

I guess it just goes to show, you can’t know everything. I realize I’m about 20 years too late, but if you’re into punk rock check Fugazi out.   

Rock is dead… Long live rock

As anybody reading this probably already knows, Gene Simmons of legendary arena juggernaut Kiss recently declared the death of rock n’ roll during an interview for Esquire magazine.

           

Now, to be fair, Gene Simmons says a lot of stupid things, but for some reason this comment got under my skin, which is good, because it motivated me to start blogging again!

           

In the interview, conducted by his son Nick, Simmons calls out file sharing as the “murderer” of rock music and even goes so far as to tell aspiring musicians to give up now because it just ain’t worth it.

          

What the hell Gene? I realize that the unapologetic pursuit of money and fame was all your band was about, but do you really believe that’s all rock n’ roll is?

Don’t get me wrong; I think Kiss was a great band. They wrote fun, hard rocking songs at a time when everybody else in rock music was taking themselves just a bit to seriously. Kiss is the pro wrestling of music, and back in the day it was great because they never pretended to be anything other then a huge joke. Hell, they even wore clown makeup.

But now Gene Simmons, the bloody-mouthed snake-tongued demon bass player from hell, is telling kids, don’t picking up a guitar, it isn’t a fiscally responsible move.

Are you kidding me? What kind of asshole tells kids to give up on their art? Yes, record sales are in the toilet, yes labels are running scared, sure there is a glut of “talent” shows telling every 14-year-old with a decent set of pipes that fame and fortune are just television audition away.

            

GOOD!!! GREAT!!! OUTSTANDING!!!

            

Rock n’ Roll is a subversive art form. Its changing, constantly battling conformity, giving the finger to the mainstream, be that roller-skates and disco, spandex and blown out hair or dwindling iTunes sales and reality television.

In the 60s, songwriter bands like The Beatles and The Beach Boys sent the Tin Pan Alley music pimps packing. In the 70s the punks literally gave the major labels the finger, then forced them to sign them anyway. Even in the 80s when the suits thought they’d finally captured, sterilized and repackaged rock to maximize its earning potential, underground musicians performed in living rooms and basements and tiny clubs, bidding their time ‘til the worm turn once more in the form of depressed sludge-punks from Seattle.

            

Do you really think in this age of availability, when every man, woman and child can access nearly every song ever recorded at the push of a button, that new bands won’t find their audience? That this following made up of fans that actually give a shit won’t buy t-shirts or tickets to their shows? Sure record sales are down! who needs ‘em anyway? Oh right, the suits… screw em.

              

As I type these words I’m listening to U2’s new album, Songs of Innocents, which came out for free today on iTunes. It’s not the best album they’ve ever put out, but it’s a hell of a better then their last one, and I'm thinking U2 probably gets this new marketplace.

Times have changed Gene, and maybe your right. Maybe the era of “rock stars” with palaces in the hills and gold encrusted toilets is over, but I think something even better is on the horizon, an era of artists who who make a living, not a fortune; who genuinely love the music they are making and love their fans they've earned.

            

Anyway I’m done ranting, I’ll leave you with a lyric from punk-folk rocker Frank Turner, who can say in a few lines what takes me 600 words: “There’s no such thing as rock stars, There’re just people who play music, and some of them are just like us and some of them are dicks.”       

Dancing (The Wedding Blog)

My younger brother got married last weekend. It was great! The bride looked radiant, the ceremony went off with out a hitch, and at the reception toasts were delivered, (Including an exceptionally stirring speech by the best man [ME!] that left nary a dry eye in the house) before we sat down to an excellent meal.

Everything was going great… until the dancing started.

On my best day I’m about as coordinated as a landlocked jellyfish and about as rhythmic as a sloth on tranquilizers; add to that the fact that I am currently at the uncomfortable crossroads in life where bookish young men start to lose the fight between unfit and fat, I knew things were going to get ugly.

I stalled as long as I could; busying myself by talking to relations and returning to the buffet table numerous times to help fat win the war on unfit, but eventually I had to make my move to the dance floor. As the best man it was expected.

 I chose my song carefully, something fast, catchy and about on par lyrically with the ridiculousness I knew would ensue. I think it was by K$sha.

I made my way to a group of twentysomethings grooving in a circle in the middle of the dance-floor and proceeded to cut a rug… by which I mean I jerked around with the spastic abandon of an epileptic at a dubstep concert.

Thankfully all photographic evidence of my exploits have been destroyed, but this stock photo is a pretty accurate depiction.

The other dancers gracefully ignored my sweaty thrashing and, a few songs later, when a group dance like the Cuban Shuffle or Electric Slide or something started, I bowed out. Thankfully I was the only casualty in my vortex of uncool.

I took this opportunity to play to my strengths (Read: high jinx). Enlisting a few of the more artistically minded of the wedding party I partook in the age old custom of embarrassing the happy couple by drawing vaguely inappropriate pictures and slogans on their vehicle.

That was a lot more fun then dancing! 

Vinyl (The Hipster Post)

It’s been a few months since my last post. Life forced me to focus on other things, but it’s good to be back here blogging once more for the three family members who take the time to read these posts.

So a few months ago despite mental warnings from a black-faced Robert Downy Jr. to avoid going “Full Hipster” I bought a record player.

In true hipster fashion I’m now going to try to justify why I’m totally not a hipster despite my new retro listening device and stupid hat addiction.

I didn’t buy the thing because I’m an audiophile. Yes, as Neil Young is more then happy to point out we did lose something in sound quality when we switched over to digital formats, but you need a killer speaker system to even tell the difference. I’ve just got an old used Peavey guitar amp I picked up a guitar center for 15 bucks.

Additionally, I didn’t buy the player to show off my rad record collection to my friends. For one thing absolutely none of my friends give a damn about records, for another I’m too poor to buy special edition color vinyl or limited press Hendrix bootlegs. My collection has crept up to about 30 records at this point and about 70% came out of the dollar bin at my local record store.

The other 30% are from bands that I care about and I want to support, which brings me to my first reason for buying this badge of hipsterdom. In a world where most of us download nearly of what we listen to, it’s important to make an effort to support artists we believe in. When I buy a record by My Morning Jacket or The White Buffalo I’m basically financing their next project and hopefully their next tour. (Seriously MMJ I was in the desert the last two times you came through Colorado, please come back!)

The second reason I bought a record player is much simpler and way more selfish… I honestly can’t get any work done when listening to iTunes on my computer. Seriously iTunes is like the opposite of Ritalin. I sit down to write a paper or a blog post and the next thing I know I’ve spent 45 minutes making playlists and another 20 trying to download music I thought I already had. So records are good. Records don’t leach half of my day away. There’s no skipping tracks, or digging though the archives for that one song you forgot the name of.

And yes, I suppose you could do the same thing with CDs, but lets face it, the first thing we all do with a new CD is put it in in computer, upload the tracks to iTunes and promptly lose it.

Plus there’s the added benefit that my dog, Abby, loves records too!

To be clear, I don’t have a vendetta against other listening formats. I still download the bulk of my music. It’s the best way I know to learn about new bands, and to be honest no matter how good Lorde’s album is, buying electronic based music on vinyl seems kind of silly to me. (Not to mention, she really doesn’t need my help.) In the car and I use my iPod or even CDs, but for my money live music is the best. Still there’s something comforting about the ritual and tradition of playing records.