DIG THIS REAL MAGAZINE - #12

Issue 12 $4.99 US

$4.99 CAN

LIVE EARTH REPORT 2007

How this concert transcended a neighborly climate.

by Federico Di Pasquale

SEARCHING FOR SPINETTA

A writer’s quest to translate this brilliant musician’s work.

by Samantha “edie” Collins

On the Road with GUNFIGHT!

by Lauren Piper

Master of Innovative Arrangements

DAN WALLACE Juana Molina

Urge Overkill

Vivian Linden

The Johnny Parry Trio

Dig This – It Used to Be Funny, The 7 Lies of the “Working Musician,” Chicago’s Section 4, Nuttin’ But Stringz, Are You Man Enough to Be Pretty?, Scrim Shank Say Cheese/The Complete Photo How-To, Staten Island Folks Trish & Christoph 6 LIVE EARTH REPORT Political Platform? Astronomical Convergence? Or just a wicked good time? 12 FEATURES Vivian Linden This artist doesn’t want you to hear her. She wants you to feel her 17 Johnny Parry What’s a nice guy like this crafting darker than night music? 18 This Car Up It’s a family thing you won’t understand 19 Live Reviews – Bjork, Massive Attack, Toots and the Maytals, Primus, Secret Machines, Mew, Urge Overkill starts on page 20 COVER STORY Dan Wallace Enter the world of this master composer of song 25 Release Reviews – ALO, Apollo Up, Beirut, Bodisartha, Chris Carelli, Deftones, Elliott Smith, Helmet, Jennifer O’Connor, Michael McDaeth, Mold Monkies, Page McConnell, Shooting At Unarmed Men, The Shells, The Woes, The Vibration, Thom Yorke, TV on the Radio, Vilot starts on page 28 GUNFIGHT! This band is not afraid to run with lit cigarettes 37 Juana Molina The musical web she weaves is only natural 41 Dig This Reel – R. Kelly’s Trapped in the Closet 43 Trendoid – Campaigning for the return of PSA “Just Say No to Drugs” 44 From the Foam Finger Committee – Fight like a Girl / Pillow Fight League 45 Dear Cthulhu by Patrick Thomas 48 Kulture Shock – Mike Parsons 49 Zine Corner – Sarah Becan’s “Ouija Interviews” 50 Book Reviews – The Pornographic Flabbergasted Emus interview, in its entirety 53 Manifesto published by dadrabbit International Artist Collective 60 Jack of All Trades – Take control of your finances (or lack of) 61 Dig In – All hail Ramen Noodles 62 Kind of a Big Thing / DTR Style – Manage work, motherhood and creative muses. Have a t-shirt crafted just for you by PMP. Starts on page 63 Poetry Corner – Belowsky 66 SEARCHING FOR SPINETTA One innocent obsession transpires a complete Nationality make-over for this writer 69 Cover photo of Dan Wallace by Joseph Derr

Ok. So, I’ve got a severe case of South America on the brain. But what if I told you readers that this issue actually fell together this way. Would you believe me?

This issue started with my obsession over brilliant, Argentine musician Luis Alberto Spinetta. Read the first of three installations starting on page 69. Feeling isolated due to such a new topic (a country and culture I knew nothing about) and forum (a short story!), I dredged away, only to score a new writer from, you guessed it, Sante Fe, Argentina. Federico Di Pasquale became my creative anchor as I started penning my piece on Spinetta. Federico’s work can be found throughout the issue, as well as his sidebar to my Spinetta piece, found on page 70. Read his report on the Live Earth concerts on page 12. Federico has been a musician, composer of both music and lyrics, singer and rock guitarist. An insatiable reader, he has also been part of the band, Rictus, for ten years. The other members of the band include his brother Petty Di Pasquale, who plays drums and Mauricio Helu on keyboards and bass. He can be reached at federico@digthisreal.com.

Quite frankly, I wasn’t too worried that this issue would be so “Latin” heavy but then in walked the new Dig This Real designer Jorge “Leandro” Rodriques from São Paulo, Brazil. Designing and conceptualizing page after page at the speed similar to Houdini’s, Leandro is truly a magician of layouts.

Shortly after, I interviewed Dan Wallace on his music found on page 25. As I transcribed my tapes on him, I was dumbfounded when our interview revealed that one of the major influences in Dan’s guitar playing was inspired by forms of Brazilian music whether it be folkloric or from the 60’s.

Aside of the wacky coincidences, we do have some wonderfully, normal stuff happening around the DTR offices. Ali Kooney is a new addition to DTR, with her piece found on page 63. Ali, an artist and new mom, found me running amok and on fire as this issue came to a close. And as all new mom’s do well, she calmly put the fire out, put her pen to paper and wrote into the night because, as she put it, “I’m up all night. I never sleep anyway.” How pleased I was to find that two of DTR’s favorite scribes, Leopold McGinnis and Wred Fright got together to discuss the joy of independent publishing, the joy of being in indy bands and everything in between. Read more starting on page 53. When staff writer Lauren Piper pitched that she wanted to go on tour with a band, I chuckled to myself, “poor, young thing.” But in reality, I should have said, “poor, old me!” Lauren’s epic story tells of how in just 10 days, a band of friends grew up into a accomplished touring band. Check it out on page 36.

Issue 12 PUBLISHER Brass Monkey Girls EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Edie MANAGING EDITOR Evan Bleier DTR STAFF WRITERS Lauren Piper, Thomas Page, Federico Di Pasquale, Kevin Walsh, Mike Stone, Nelson Heise, Dutch & Denny, Shelby Meyers and Nick Vatterott CONTRIBUTORS Leopold McGinnis, Patrick Thomas, Aaron McCombe, Azrel O’ Neal, Alison Kooney, Julie Dauber, Dowel Jones and crzy.

GRAPHIC DESIGNER Jorge Leandro Rodrigues PHOTO CREDITS: Johnny Parry Trio/page 18 - R. Cooper Gunfight! / starting on page 37 - (mostly) by Lauren Piper Dan Wallace / page 27 - Susanne Kirschnick Dan Wallace / page 26 - edie Illustration on page 54 Leopold McGinnis

I received tons of letters from readers stating how they hated last issue’s letter from the editor photo. Hope this photo of Leo Messi’s right leg and me is a better shot.

DTR’s newest writer enjoying his job on the Copacabana Beach in Brazil .

244 Fifth Avenue Suite 29037 New York, NY 10001-7604 www.digthisreal.com

It used to be Funny...

The 7 Lies of the “Working Musician” Truths And 7 in-Your-Faceem to Combat Th “If you live to play…Then play damn it.”

1)Thinking that you have to make your money “touring”. Where is it written that you have to live by the breadcrumbs the bars and clubs of this world are willing to give you in some town you have never heard of?

This is bad thinking champ. And bad thinking leads to bad business.

At 7:00 PM eastern standard time millions of television viewers across the country tune into Comedy Central.

The reason(s) they turn that dial is to watch an hour of politically themed comedy beginning with the Daily Show with Jon Steward followed by the Colbert Report. The two hosts, Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert, fall on the liberal side of the political spectrum and for the most part, their shows do as well. Viewers are given the chance to catch up on the political happenings of the day through the medium of jokes, one liners and “correspondent” reports that are filmed in the same studio as the show. Most of the time the shows are funny and informative, if not somewhat biased towards the left, (not that there is anything wrong with that considering the right wing bias most other news shows have). If I feel like watching the “news” I am definitely more inclined to watch the Daily Show than network news, if for no other reason than that it makes the day’s events that much easier to take. It is much easier to laugh at all of the scary shit that is going on right now than to actually think about it. However I am not so sure if this is really a good thing. I mean sure it’s funny when Bush mispronounces a simple word or uses incorrect grammar when addressing a foreign dignitary or can’t find his

way off a stage after giving a speech or just looks like a monkey who has lost his banana, but it is not actually that funny that this guy is in charge of the country.

It’s not really a good sign of the state of affairs in the US that not one, but two television shows can get enough comedic material from our political “leader(s)” to be on the air five days a week. The men and women who run the free world are not just mildly evil and somewhat corrupt (they are politicians after all), but they are also incompetent. Well that’s just great. I mean don’t get me wrong.

I love to laugh and enjoy a good joke as much as the next guy; I’m just not convinced that this stuff is really funny anymore. Our county refuses to acknowledge and deal with a large amount of the environmental and social problems that we have created both at home and abroad and our leaders don’t even make an effort to conceal that fact. As a country we have pretty much told the rest of the world (excluding our direct allies) to go fuck itself, just not in so many words.

Sure its funny to make jokes about testicle shockers with regards to our newly updated terror/interrogation policy but is it really funny that Bush now has the power to authorize people to use those

You have no following in Bumblestream Ohio - so how do you expect a club owner there to pay you and your band enough money to get there, feed all of you along the way, and get you to your next stop?

By promising him you will promote on the local college radio show which noone except the dj´s three stoned buddies listen to?

Ok, I´m the bar owner…what guarantee can you give me besides the lie I hear from every single band from out of town… the “we- are- huge- in- all- butthree- Eastern Block countries” lie?

Think again champ.

Promote your butt off but don´t expect immediate payoff…most tours fail…expect poverty and the all too often accoutrements of said situation: over indulgence, infighting, crappy food, and no sleep…been there…no thanks..

2)Thinking business is evil..The patent stupidity of this view shocks me.

That is like a fish saying they don´t like water.

Even if your vaunted dreams do come true and you are able to make a living on the road, or, more likely- teaching little Johnny how to play “Stairway to Heaven” 6

for 20 bills an hour(when his mommy actually doesn´t forget to drop him off) what are you making? Money.

So what does this mean?

It means you are in business big guy!

In terms of the music business I like the advice of my old wise Jewish grandfather who was able to make a good life for his family through the great depression.

He said to me, “You like music? Great.

Play all the music you want. But it´s a whores business. Make your money somewhere else…”

MySpace, YouTube, Blogs…ever decaying copyright protection.

People want their music good and free.

Deal with it.

For me, a business is a great way to not only make all the money I need, but to also then have the free time to play anywhere in the world with great musicians and do the real work of realizing my artistic vision…

But this does not come without the economic freedom to do so.

You want to know what I don´t like about business?

When it mixes with my art.

That is when you start to do things artistically you don´t really want to do.

Yes the dreaded “cover band syndrome.” That horrible disease that keeps the free exchange of authentic artistic expression subservient to the drunken desires of children of all ages who want to hear nothing more than the last thing they just heard on the most outdated of all formats- FM radio that very day and they want to hear it again, and again and again. Can anyone say “Hotel California?” Good, now play it or get out and I will find someone who will.

3) Thinking there is nobility in poverty. And its rejoinder that there is only great art from poverty. Crap.

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shockers if he deems it appropriate? I doubt if the rest of the world sees the humor in the fact that the US doesn’t care to honor the decades old Geneva Convention or world environmental treaties anymore. I want to be able to watch the “news” and laugh, but that laughter is starting to get hollow. The reigns to shaping the free world are in the hands of men and women (Condy Rice I’m looking at you) who don’t give a shit about you, me or anyone else that doesn’t directly affect their bank accounts or their access to power and control. Kanye West was half right. It’s not the George Bush doesn’t care about black people…he just doesn’t care about people in general. (There are probably not too many Republican voters in New Orleans if you get my drift.) They make dumb laws that border on being illegal and unconstitutional (Patriot Act anyone?) and I laugh because Bush probably doesn’t even know how to spell Patriot (“I could’ve sworn it was e-t”), but it ain’t really worthy of a chuckle. Before I would have dismissed this sort of ramble as paranoid conspiracy mumbo jumbo but now I really just don’t know. Programs like the Daily Show and Colbert Report just make it painfully clear how unqualified and unfit most of our country’s leaders appear to be for their positions that it is absurd. Maybe it is funny in a way.

We all sit and watch these shows and laugh instead of doing anything about the things that we’re laugh about. That is kind of funny. I just don’t know who the joke is on anymore. – Evan Bleier

Section 4

Emerging from the bowels of Chicago’s growing pool of up and coming musical talent, Section 4 has earned it’s place as one of the front runners of the windy city’s indie rock circuit. Catching the band at the Subterranean in Chicago’s artist rich Wicker Park area, their growing following packs it in to catch an act subtly referred to as prog rock, but more accurately trip hop show. Driven by the powerful prolific singing of Serena Romero, a first time ear will find her vocal agility reminiscent of the playfulness of Bjork and the breathy sirens of Portishead. Yet soon into the set every audience finds that her style has a life of it’s own. The past year addition of jack of all trades musician Chris Graham adds the accouterments of a skillfully handled vibraphone which completes the trip hop sound by filling in background ambiance and heightening an already dynamic groove. Bass drops by Josh Hansen, the guitar wails of Mike Lassen and Justin Flanigan’s drum raps work perfectly to complete the band’s dramatic sound.

Songs vary in feel everywhere from some of Zeppelin’s more experimental material, to more defined pieces similar to Tool. Unlike many bands where a distinct sound often overrides an entire set, Section 4 is able to pull off gigs where each song is it’s own animal. Their set lists weave together numbers with a variety of styles. ‘Sunday Song’ embodies the band’s experimental side with it’s dreamy, cloud like, walk in the park pace. But if ‘Sunday Song’ is a walk in the park, the lyrical and melodically powerful ‘Mean Guy’ is like an all out sprint through the dark forest. If anything matches the intense talent and songwriting of the band,

it is their ability to perform. Each members total immersion in their instrument fronted by Serena giving herself into every note leaves those in the house with a rare feeling that the band truly gave a piece of themselves on stage. Interesting lay lay ons occasionally work their way into a Section 4 show. A night recently at the Double Door found the band decked out in bloody, inept surgeon scrubs. An addition as unique as the music they masterfully deliver, Section 4 is a lesson in what the difference between a band that simply plays several songs in a row, and a band that entertains and puts on a show. – Nick Vatterott

From The Subway To The Charts with Nuttin’ But Stringz

The duo Nuttin’ But Stringz is comprised of two brothers from Jamaica, Queens who use their talents on the violin to compose music that blends hip-hop, R&B, classical and dance. The brothers honed their craft while working the NYC subway circuit and the grittiness and perseverance that helped through that particular undertaking really shines on the album. Their cd entitled, From The Subway To The Charts opens with the first few tracks heavily introducing a sound comprised of violin flavored with hip-hop.

No longer just part of a string arrangement and relegated to the background, the violins actually lead and dictate the tempo of the jams. The drums and

bass have a very basic, understated east coast sound to them and the violins fill up the empty space quite nicely. “Thunder” (which is referred to in the album jacket as the brothers’ “joint”) is a high energy, sharply melodic ramble which almost sounds like Riverdance with an old school backbeat. In the middle of the album the duo gets in touch with their soft side with songs like “Beauty from Afar” and “Suka 4 Her”, the twist being that in this case, the “Her”, is actually music. Unfortunately these songs have a somewhat generic ballad flavor to them and due to some overproduction lose the grittiness that was coming through earlier in the album. The same sort of problems crop up in the dancehallish “Get Low” which employs the inspiring chorus: Let me show you how to do my dance/ Move your body from right to left. Not exactly Shakespeare. However after this brief deluge into generic Hip-Hop land, NBS comes roaring back with the lavish, sprawling, Timbaland-sounding “Egyptian in the Night”. This song is layered violins over a simple drum beat has a very structured feel throughout. The intensity of the different violin parts is accentuated crisply and concisely. “Egyptian” is followed by “A Nu Day”, a song built around a handclap for a drum beat. “Day” has a very bouncy, happy, sound to it and has some of the best MCing on the album: On the beach being served grapes/ One

by One/ Tanning out in the sun/With my son. The album finishes strong with the gospel like tune “Dance with My Father” and a “Thunder” remix. The depth and range of the album really showcase the group as musicians and prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that they are more than just a novelty act. Still, as with many new and emerging artists, they need to avoid falling into the same pitfalls and traps that their produced for mass audience predecessors have fallen victim to. NBS’s appeal is their uniqueness and when they conform to pop music standards, they lost exactly what it was that made them good to begin with. Even so, very cool sound and very cool first album.

They are out of the subway league now. www.nuttinbutstringz.com – Evan Bleier

Maybe it´s like that. But I sure know a lot of really poor people who suck.

Being poor in and of itself does not make you a good artist.

Work on your craft, hours upon hours upon hours of playing and writing and listening is a much surer way to becoming a good musician or songwriter or what-have- you.

A quick question - who has more time and energy to dedicate to his pursuit of artist expression? A guy who works two hours a day (from anywhere in the world) makes great money doing it and has the rest of the day to practice, record, and jam?

Or the dish dog(one year of grease pit hell was enough to cure me) whose hands are so cut up he doesn´t want to play and even if he did he has another 8 hour shift of nonsense to deal with to make his 80 bucks for the day….

Oh yeah, and by the way, if we are talking about “touring” our dish dog then has to quit his job and start a new one… going nowhere….building nothing financially…and wasting time that could be spent actually “doing” art. The work of art. The war of art? Think hard.

4)Thinking musicians and artists are above economics and the game of money. Here again, this is worse than childish wrongheaded hooey this is dangerous childish wrongheaded hooey.

It´s so naïve as to border on the absurd.

You spend money don´t you?

You spend it every day don´t you?

So what makes you so special as to think that you are not involved in a business endeavour?

This money comes from somewhere does it not?

Where does it come from genius?

Business, free people exchanging goods and services for perceived mutual benefit. You are playing this game. Live with 8

it. Embrace it. As Cheri Huber, the Zen teacher likes to say, “When you are falling….dive.”

Learn to make the game work for you.

Staten Island Folks

Learn to make the game serve your art instead of whining about how life isn´t fair.

Here is a hint.

Life isn´t fair.

Free people are free to make deathdefyingly stupid decisions. Don´t be one of them. Take your art and your vision seriously enough to realize it.

And yes that requires work.

If you decide to promote and people buy it, great. But Van Gogh died poor.

He didn´t sell out. He didn´t compromise his vision for money. Are you playing what your heart tells you to play or what you think will sell and get you laid? Only you and the morning glance in the mirror will tell the truth. If it hurts, stop and start the battle of creating what you were born to create.

5)That we play music for money.

Some people play for money.

Some people who are much better than me play for money.

But I do not.

If people want to pay me money to play music and I like the deal that they are offering me to play then I will play and take the money.

But I don´t need it. And that does not mean that my daddie has some trust vault with my name on it. It means that I struggled for 10 years of debt and misery to get to a place where I have what they call in the business “f you money”.

I play when I want how I want and with who I want…

If clubs won´t have me I go to Churches, if Churches won´t have me I go to Hospitals, if Hospitals won´t have me then it is my home studio, baby.

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…”Home of the Wu-Tang Clan, Steven Segal and borough president Jimi Molinaro and still, the uncoolest borough of New York City,” reads the website for pro-loving Staten Islanders Trish and Christoph at www.northshore.noizart. com. This dynamic duo (and with the Inauguration of the Staten Island Freak Corps) openingly spend their time defending their beloved Island against the backlash of hipster boroughs. And just how cool is Staten Island? Single-handedly demystifying all stigmas attached to the dreaded, ‘that’s an island?’ phrase, Trish and Christoph bring their organic, musically educational performances to various places (mainly the ETG Book Café located at 208 Bay Street in Staten Island or the occasional Rhubulad gig) while performing music against a carefully curated slide show and peppered with deeply profound personal commentary.

The concept works with the offering of music, images, people, film and the rare apperances of ‘North Shore’ personalities thrown into the mix. DTR caught up with the duo.

Dig This Real: Do both of you reside in Staten Island; were you born there; if not, what brought you to Staten Island?

Christoph: We both reside in St. George, on Staten Island’s North Shore.

Trish is from Kingston, NY, I’m from Göttingen, Germany. (Göttingen was depictured on the 10-Marks bill before the European currency reform!) I met Trish in Brooklyn in early 2000 through a mutual friend. I moved to Staten Island in 2000, legally, through a student’s program, related to my studies in music theory at the Humboldt University in Berlin, working for the then island-based arts organization “Art and Science Collaborations, Inc,”, (asci.org). Trish joined me in Staten Island in 2002. We got married in our

backyard in ‘04.

How did the idea of campaigning for the exposure of this misunderstood borough come about?

We invited people from all parts of Germany and the US to our wedding.

The Tompkinsville section of Staten Island can be pretty rough at times (fist fights, motorbike races, the occasional shooting and plenty of unsupervised kids) and we didn’t know how some of the folks, especially those from more sheltered surroundings, would take it. So we decided to give our friends and relatives a smooth, humorous introduction to this sometimes not so smooth and funny neighborhood and created the “Songs from the North Shore”. The Vol 1 CD originally had a different cover and was also our wedding favor. But there was much more to tell, so we continued.

Fresh Kills land fill was a sore spot for a lot of Islanders, so much so that they lobbied to have it closed in 2001. But later in that year it was re-opened, and transformed into the largest receiving spot for the disastrous ruins of the World Trade Center. How does this important footnote hurt/help the image and reputation of Staten Island?

I don’t have the feeling that Staten Island took any extra honors for taking the WTC rubble. From what I know, there’s no “holy site” at the landfill area. It rather seemed a sad necessity.

(There might be other facts in this matter that I’m not aware of.) The important fact for the islanders though is that the site is closed for good. The islanders are sensitive and not very humorous when it comes to their landfill status and they probably hope to finally get rid of it. It also has to be noted that we didn’t grow up here so we can’t really share the feel-

ing of being offended when others give us shit. I think that the sensitivity of the locals in regards to the island’s public image doesn’t help to rebuild a decent reputation. We don’t like being teased and the rest of the city keeps teasing us therefore. (Like the recent local uproar about the landfill-flavored ice cream.)

How does a Christoph and Trish composition or song come about?

In the beginning it was a pretty improvised approach. That has changed and it became more structured. Like we say, “OK, the next song is gotta be about the real estate crooks”, and “yes, we need another fast number”. So I premeditate the song structure and some lyrics, usually in bed at night when I’m least distracted. Then I come up with a first draft on guitar and Trish adds a harmony that usually brings the song to immediate life.

What’s the greatest thing about Staten Island?

Beautiful hillside sceneries, empty parks, amazing views. Also, you’ll find great friends because you depend more on each other here.

What’s the not-so-greatest thing about Staten Island?

Absence of significant cultural life and lack of decent bars. http://northshore.noizart.com - edie

Are you

MAN

enough to be

pretty?

I can’t think of anything more masculine than the sport of football. Sure, women appreciate it, or at least, tolerate it now more than ever.

But whenever a guy is depicted through media as being a guy, he’s sitting around, drinking beer, eating meat and watching football.

Guys love watching guys pulverize other guys.

Why then, in the most testosterone fueled athletic contest in all of sports, the most dude oriented of all events, is the prize for whomever comes out on top, whomever is the toughest, most manly of all the men, receive a Super Bowl RING? A Ring! Jewelry! Yeah, sparkly shiny jewelry! Why is the champion of the most masculine in American pastimes rewarded with the most feminine of prizes? Do coaches use that as motivation during the season? “The way you are all playing out there today, I’m not sure if you even want that jewelry!!!”

Coach then knocks over a row of lockers. “Do you boys even want your hands to look pretty?”

You need to be rewarded with something more manly if you’re the champion of all of football. No Super Bowl Ring, you should win a Super Bowl…Punch in the Face!

Is the idea that the victors should receive something that has some value to it? That’s fine, but given them something that a guy could use. A solid gold chain saw. 15-carrot ammo. A diamond encrusted blowjob. You now, something practical.

I don’t understand it. Perhaps it’s a result of how in general, I don’t get jewelry. I don’t understand its appeal.

Women love jewelry. Women feel beautiful in jewelry. I find women beaufitful but I don’t find women any more or less attractive according to the amount of ornaments that they are adorned with. No guys have ever had this conversation:

“Hey, did you see Rebecca Romain on that award show last night? Man she looked hot in that locket!”

“Dude, I was watching the Beyonce concert and let me tell you what - there’s something about a girl in a tennis bracelet.”

“I got the new Janet Jackson poster and I’ve got two words for you - toe rings”

But playing is what gives me the most tangible evidence that there is something out there that is bigger than me.

I picked up the guitar 18 years ago because I loved the way it sounded, still do.

The whole making money with it is an addendum.

Extra, scrap metal to be burned away.

The gold is a well written song.

If people don´t want to hear the ones I write fine.

But I continue writing. I am compelled.

I imagine you are as well. What does this compulsion to create have to do with money? All money gets me is the freedom to pursue the joy I get from music. Period.

End of sentence.

6) Thinking blue hair and vaginal piecing makes you good.

Anyone can dye their hair blue big guy…

Hate to spit on your parade. But to improvise like Coltrane, to compose like Bach, to play and transmit like Bob Marley or Bob Dylan or whoever gets you off this takes more than blue hair.

7)Thinking there is no way out.

Not true. Defeatist bs. crzy...is a songwriter, traveller, freelance writer, and entrepreneur who’s freedomclimber program is the sherpa for wanderers and artists of all types to the top of mountain of economic freedom. A place where there is actually enough time and energy to create, think, explore, tour and travel. To access his story and program visit http://www.thecrazyexpat.com for a free gander at what economic freedom can look like for creative wandering souls.

What is it? Women love looking at jewelry, it’s appeasing to the eye. I like looking at baseball cards. That doesn’t mean that I’m going to hang them from my earlobes (which probably for the best since I don’t have any good cards. I’d have to wear like a’79 Bob Euker and an ’88 Tops Checklist Card).

I, myself, am going to steer clear of jewelry all together. Although in the vent that I ever get married I am supposed to buy a wedding ring. Not only that but they say that you’re suppose to spend two months salary on a wedding ring. Two months salary? Yeah, Right. Like I’m going to send $300.00 on a ring… Nick Vatterott

Scrim Shank Say Cheese/ The Complete Photo How-To

I came across this digest-sized zine during my travels and broke down in tears when I read it. Why, you ask?

Most of you know that it is not new news that I tend to burst into tears at any given random moment, mostly due to some form of art or music. Scrim Shank Say Cheese/The Complete Photo How by Ben Brown (published in 2004) is a valuable and easy to understand collection of info about photography before the bitter slaughter brought on by digital cameras and cell phone snappers. To satisfy those into what I fondly call ‘real photography,’ within the 30 pages of this zine, you will find enough inspiration on the true art of photography.

Remember when it use-to-hurt-when-settingup-the-shot photography? With the infiltration of the common use of photography through digital and cell phone use (which, I may add, instantly trivialized the art of photography with the technique of looking into that damn screen and hitting ‘delete photo’), any real photographer will find this zine refreshing. Within the handwritten pages, you will find advice amongst the pen illustrations despite the fact that some of the info here is no longer useful (like the chapter on dark rooms and film developing - hold on, I need to get a tissue). Some profound and stronger articles like Brown’s, “Snapshot vs. Artistic,” is a well received slap in the face to all those giggling proudly at their digi-shots. If you are interested in receiving this zine in either PDF or printed manner, please contact us at info@digthisreal.com. We’ll throw in a pack of Pin Me badges courtesy www.PlaidPonyVintage.com.

- edie

By Federico Di Pasquale

On Saturday, July 7th, 2007, I was sent to the Brazilian city of Rio de Janeiro to report on the Live Earth concert series. This series, founded by Al Gore, was scheduled to happen all over the world on this very date. Other locations for concerts were in Sydney, Johannesburg, New York, Antartica, Tokyo, Kyoto, Shanghai, London, Hamburg, Washington D.C. and the city I found myself lucky to be in, Rio de Janeiro. Scheduled at approximately 4:00pm, this South American edition of Live Earth would be kicking off on Copacabana Beach.

The dates uniqueness (7/7/07) could lead a superstitious person to believe that the planets and stars aligned favorably on this day, wishing good luck upon this marvelous city and its inhabitants, who are known as Cariocas. The temperature was 31 degrees despite that it was the middle of the winter and both the sun and moon reveal the beauty of the sea and sand, surpassing any work of art created by human hands. I opted to walk (and walk) with big, surprised eyes due to lack of sleep, observing the sublime beauty of each landscape that has been perfectly carved by the masterful hand of God or by chance, atomic collisions. Although foreign, my poet’s heart found its home in Rio de Janeiro.

Strange astrological phenomenon or not, I arrived in this paradise city in order to evaluate the political controversy of the concert. However, we must make it clear that the “politics,” we refer to are made up of the “people:” unique individuals who exist

in this era of contamination and globalization. For this reason, we must ask whether the people attending these Live Earth concerts are truly interested in the climate problem or because they want to catch performances of big rock stars and various artists. It is impossible to generalize regarding the interests of 400,000 concert goers and conclude that all of them attended because of either reason stated above but within this diverse audience, we will surely be able to find the answer to this question and much more. In Rio de Janeiro, attending a concert because of interest in the artist’s music does not preclude attending because of an ecological conscience. In this incredible city situated on the Atlantic coastline, enjoying a party for the people and honoring Mother Nature, is the same thing. Here, concerts like these are reminiscent of ancient Greek and Roman parties, Saturnalias or Bacchanals, during which people bonded with each other, forgetting the social differences between them while honoring nature by liberating themselves through music.

In this text, I will omit several facts that fail to touch the soul of a poet, even though they may be indispensa-

ble for texts with a different focus. Here it is of no interest if Al Gore is behind this huge environmental campaign or if the Bush Administration, in all its warlike eagerness, is opposed to any sort of investment in green policies. To the heart of a poet, this type of information is unnecessary, since beauty and life fuel creative writing, instead of cold facts captured on a dead piece of recycled paper. These

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facts can never capture beauty, joviality, or the lives of flowers, animals, plants or people. The exact facts and statistics can be found by those interested in the endless array of means of communication, but for a poet they are still dead letters, petrified symbols, abstractions without spirit, statues without blood or voice. Poetry finds its nourishment in that which is alive and Rio de Janeiro is an ode to life, both man’s and planet earth’s.

Therefore, for the sake of this text and its contents, I felt more interested in describing the people and their culture, way of life and habits instead of reporting on the politics of cold impersonal statistics. People are not numbers.

They are not percentages of quantities.

Rather, each and every one is an infinite Universe, an unrepeatable miracle, a combination of thousands of factors that combine in a way to create someone distinct and unique. The best way to observe and reach conclusions is to approach those in attendance, strike up a conversation, ask them why they came to the concert and what they think of the world and the environment. For the purpose of this article, I will concentrate on offering my personal experience to the reader, my subjective opinion of the event. What I have found in Rio de Janeiro, in its beaches, its waters and its people’s culture has provided much more interesting writing material than numerical facts that petrify life and dissolve man in the waters of abstraction.

On Friday, July 6th, the day I arrived to this unbelievable South American city, I decided to locate the place where the concert would be held the following day. I was informed that from my hotel, I must cross the beautiful beaches of Leblón and Ipanema until I arrive at Copacabana Beach. I chose to experience this journey on foot instead of on a bus, this way I could observe more and interact with the people. Although I speak castel-

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lano (or Argentine Spanish) and Portuguese is spoken in Brazil, I decided to make myself understood. Thankfully, both Brazilians and Argentines are able to understand an informal intermediate language known as Portuñol, a non-academic mix of both languages that enables communication between the two bordering, brotherly Countries. Each Country’s residents take words from their own language and pronounce them how they would sound in their neighbor’s Country. This is possible because both Spanish and Portuguese are ‘romance languages,’ and are both derived from Latin. Portuñol, the common language of Argentines and Brazilians, is an excellent tool for communicating, mostly in an informal manner on the street.

At a beach stand in Leblón, I stopped to purchase a can of Brazilian beer, a drink consumed in industrial quantities. In this sense, I seem Brazilian, given that Argentines have an identical habit. I happened to ask the gentleman who served me; “Do you know how to get to the location where the Live Earth concert would be held?” speaking in Portuñol of course. He responded that the concert was cancelled due to security problems.

Others also informed me that a Rio justice attorney, public prosecutor, Dense Tarin, had cancelled the concert because of a lack of police officers to look after the security of the concert goers. Rio is the venue of the Pan-American Games and the majority of the police had been sent to the athlete’s village in order to protect them from potential assaults carried out by delinquents from the favelas. Luckily, the organizers of Live Earth offered their help in security guarantees and the postponement was eventually cancelled.

This good news graced my ears.

In Rio, structural problems, (mainly the difference between rich and poor classes) are increasingly worse and more pronounced. This gap between people with large sums of money as opposed to a class that lives in extreme poverty is a characteristic that Brazil shares with the rest of Latin American countries and is a result of globalization and governmental corruption. Furthermore, even though Brazil today has a democratic government like all other Latin American Coun-

tries, its history is filled with abuses and insults inflicted by bloody military dictatorships that left lasting emotional and economic scars. Poverty and social exclusion problems mean that in Rio, the poorer people live in favelas, improvised neighborhoods on the morros (hills or low mountains) of the city. In these areas the problems of violence and cold-blooded delinquency are plentiful and the smuggling of weapons and drugs is a commonplace survival characteristic. Of course, the vast majority of the inhabitants of favelas lead a peaceful life, but the violent minority controls the favelas and this frightens their residents.

As in many other Countries, the government attempts to maintain the dominant, privileged class by killing the delinquents and repressing the poor instead of fairly distributing the riches, thereby failing to achieve a lasting change. As a result, the problem of violence continues and a happier solution for everyone remains out of reach.

However, at the same time, the city is a modern wonder, capable of competing with some of the most imposing cities in the world in terms of beauty and development. Rio is one of the most important cultural centers in the vast territory of Brazil and is truly a must-see for travelers with a desire for adventure and artists and lovers in search of inspiration.

Once I was sure that the concert would take place, I hurried through the beaches on the way to Copacabana.

When I arrived, my jaw dropped. I had never glimpsed such perfection as the modernity of the architecture combined

with the natural beauty of the sea and the beach formed a landscape of unusual splendor. The Live Earth stage was set up on the sand inside a large white tent while Lenny Kravitz and his band worked through a sound check. There were only a few of us spectators witnessing this intimate and improvised concert. When Kravitz was satisfied with his sound, he left the stage as the audience dispersed along the beach. Tomorrow will be a new day. Concert day.

After eating at a beach stand and drinking some delicious caipirinhas (a drink made with cachaça; sugar cane, spirit, lime, sugar and ice) and beer, I walked back to my hotel to take a bath and get some rest. I needed to relax, even if just for a few hours, in order to take full advantage of the next day’s event. In the early morning, I ate breakfast at the hotel and got myself ready to hit the beat once again. Since the show was not scheduled to start until 4:00pm, I decided to look for the, “Garota de Ipanema,” an emblematic bar of the city that I had been told about.

The bar bears this name due to the fact

Tom Jobim, Vinícius de Moraes and me.

that the poet Vinicius de Moraes and the musician Tom Jobim (who recorded with Frank Sinatra) composed a song within its walls, a bossa nova (musical genre of Rio de Janeiro from the 1960’s; a mix of samba from Brazil and Jazz from North America). They named this song for a garota, a beautiful girl, who walked past everyday towards the beach of Ipanema.

The song would be known as, “The Girl from Ipanema,” and it’s English version was recorded in 1963 by Astrud Gilberto, Tom Jobim, João Gilberto and Stan Getz.

It was chosen in 2005 by the American Library of Congress as one of the 50 most important musical pieces of all time.

I arrived at the bar and choose a solitary table with only one chair. From there I had a most pleasant view of the street and a comfortable place to write about my recent experiences. After drinking an ice-cold beer, I asked the garcon; “Which was Vinicius de Moraes’ preferred table?” The man replied that it was precisely that one at which I was sitting at!

The great Carioca poet liked to sit down for hours, drinking and writing on the marble of this very table, day after day, night after night. My reaction to this was of great honor and the coincidence filled me with tears of joy and astonishment.

Right where I was sitting, de Moraes wrote his best verses, songs, theatre and cinema pieces. To share this space, filled me with much joy. I moved from the “Garota de Ipanema,” and proceeded by foot, nearing the show at Copacabana Beach. I arrived at around 3:00pm and watched the public start to arrive. However, the beach was already crowded with people of all ages, playing ball, sunbathing, walking, jogging, eating a coconut or having a drink. Because of the city’s beauty and its fantastic climate, a large part of a Carioca’s life takes place on the beach’s sand. As a result, their character is always cordial and pleasant.

This happiness and optimism (they confront the social problems with a smile on their face) causes the Cariocas to be a

very sporty and musical people. Spanish guitars (called violão) are heard all day on the beach along with percussion and the singing among the people that enjoy the sun while being physically active.

Just after 4:00pm, the show finally began with a presentation of images of the rest of the Live Earth stages set up around the world. Images of devastated forests, melting icebergs and other ecological and climatic problems passed across the screen. The artists played without breaks and as the day turned into night, the spirit and intensity rised throughout the people gathered in this incredible celebration. For many of the attendees, alcoholic drinks and maconha (marijuana) were the seasoning of the night. The shouts, the laughter, the joy, the dancing and the embraces embodied the desire to live life to its fullest and to celebrate it on this beautiful beach on the shore of the imposing ocean. It is important to avoid passing judgement on these types of liberties, since the Brazilian people are the heirs of sacred, ancient parties where wantonness ruled in order to purge the pains of everyday life. Greece and Rome enjoyed these types of popular parties and Brazil has inherited this tradition.

Wantonness and permissiveness cannot be categorized as immoral or excessive or as vices in these parties, since they are invested with a sacred character. The energy generated by the people united to celebrate life in communion with nature is like a great religious ceremony giviing alcohol and drugs a religious characteristic and likewise experience, similar to the ancient people and tribes. The sacred character that wine and bread have in a Christian mass is the same that alcohol and marijuana have in Rio. If during mass, wine is considered neither negative or morally bad, why is this not the case during a sacred celebration? These substances have become an important part of popular Brazilian life. In Brazil, many religions influence daily life; Greek and Roman elements coexist with African aboriginal, Portuguese, tribal and Christian values (the official religion of the Brazilian territory). This party is simultaneously Pa14

gan and Christian. Therefore, maconha and alcohol do not play the same alienating role that they do in urban society, where man is a miniscule solitary part of a great machine and uses these substances to relax. In these parties, marijuana and alcohol do not isolate people, but rather reunite them, creating a communion between the party goers, nature and the Gods. It is a party where our ever-present theatrical side plays a determining role, producing a metamorphosis: everyone pretends that they are someone different from who they are in daily life.

Because of this, it is not surprising to see a formal and polite high-governing official dancing wildly at a Rio party. It is similar to taking a break from one’s own personality, responsibilities and the demands of the social position we occupy to join other people in a collective and sacred dance. People unite to be loved, free from the chains that social life imposes on them during their daily routine, which is forced upon them by modern existence. Now there are no rich men or poor men, no guardians or people being watched, instead, all are equal.

This equality leads to a happiness and camaraderie that governed well into the night. Now there are no enemies like there are in the real world. It is a sacred party where all become brothers and make communion with their own symbols.

The concert transpired in a neighborly climate, something that the Brazilians know well.

Carnival has its remote origins in the old Roman and Greek celebrations. Permissiveness in behavior and sexual freedom characterized these Dionysian and Bacchic parties. However, ‘sexual,’ does not 15

necessarily refer to a sexual act. It is rather a “sexualization,” of the body, a body that acquires more life and heat than during any other day, a body that wants to express itself by means of the intervention of reason. This body separates itself from the rule of intelligence and lets itself get carried away by the magic of the music.

It is what the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche defines as “Dionysian,” in his 1871 work called, DER GEBURT DER TRAGÖDIE. The collective energy does not permit one to stay still like a distant spectator. Rather, one is dragged in by a human wave to join the sacred celebration. All of these people united together have a force as big as the sea. The joy of these parties is expressed in the body by the rising of temperature, sweating, moving, dancing, singing, metamorphosing into others and turning into brothers of civilization through a mystical and religious ecstatic experience.

People are able to connect with ancestral parties, reunite with ancestors and recover tradition. We should not morally categorize these types of liberties if they truly celebrate life in union with nature. Here there is no self-destruction, rather self-affirmation.

During this spectacular day, I caught the following Brazilian artists: the children’s television presenter, Xuxa, O Rappa, Jota Quest, Marcelo D2, MV Bill and Jorge Ben Jor. The Americans who performed were Macy Gray, Pharrell Williams and Lenny Kravitz. I should clarify that the Carioca is very proud of his tradition and feels strongly about el samba, the music of Rio de Janeiro and of many popular parties, mainly the famous Carnival. A young girl named Ana explained to me that she enjoys foreign music but prefers the music of her homeland. Other people let me know that same thing. They feel the rhythm of samba in their body and soul, music that has many aboriginal ingredients and contains an infinitely repeating melody and jovial percussion that inspires dance. During Carnival, people abandon

their daily activities to give themselves a week of freedom and dancing (also united in a sacred ceremony) in the streets.

Though there are always problems with violence, it never interferes with this main purpose, since the great majority of the people enjoy the great popular celebration in peace, without causing harm to others. The violent ones are only an unfortunate minority.

During the concert, I observed that the crowd seemed more entained by the Brazilian artists, especially with the traditional and renowned Jorge Ben Jor. This fact does not imply that they are closed or narrow-minded in their defense of tradition, since the international music was enjoyed as well. However, they feel el samba, like something which belongs more to them, which is magnificent. The people enjoyed each performance with great intensity, but were most ecstatic when their own music was performed. Lenny Kravitz performed like a true superstar, crossing an aerial bridge from his hotel, situated in front of the stage. Even though his show sounded incredible, Kravitz made a mistake; he forgot to step down, since the brightest start of this night and of this entire concert was Rio de Janeiro itself and no one can compete with such brightness.

Every artist that tried to shine in this incredible city should remember that no one can complete with the beautiful buildings, the sand, the moon and the sea, or else, this city will surely let them know.

To conclude, we should reflect on the above. Attempting to create ecological consciousness on a planetary level with a

mega-concert like Live Earth is a praiseworthy task. The majority of human beings live without thinking of the ecological consequences that our daily activities can have (and in fact, have had), on present and the future generations. Most of us live in the present, day by day, without stopping to think about the protection of the planet for the future. Industrialization, technology and large cities with harmful toxic waste that devastates the soil, contaminating the water and the atmosphere are all common sights in modern society. However, the only way man has survived since the beginning of his existence is with a functioning atmosphere.

Without this important factor, terrestrial life is impossible. Organizing events that encourage awareness about these severe problems is very important because it attempts to turn the utopia of inhabiting a better world into reality. Sadly, this utopia will inevitably follow the fate of all utopias as a dream of an ear and of a generation that is dreamt by many but realized by few. Fighting for a planet free of pollution is still indispensable and necessary, but only a small percentage of people will consciously do so. However, this does not mean the failure and defeat of utopia because if it has shaken the conscience of a number of people, it will have triumphed.

To say that Live Earth improved the ecologic conscience of every concert attendee (and of those who where informed by the media) is an exaggeration. This does not mean that the concert has failed in its intentions, since surely many people have gotten some message.

Rio is special because its inhabitants love nature. It has around 11 million inhabitants and grave ecological problems like every huge metropolis around the world. However, the Cariocas send a message of life and love for nature in the manner they enjoy the city. Although they cannot avoid the negative consequences that the complexity of technology imposes on the environment, they co-exist with it and honor it all the time. For example, during the New Year’s festivities, all Cariocas go to the beach, approach the water and launch millions of lit candles into the sea. To them, the sea is a Goddess called Iemanjá, whom they worship in the same way, every year. Rio de Janeiro is like a constant song to nature, Live Earth, 365 days a year.

During the show, an event occurred that served as evidence of the paragraphs above. Between the performances, a speaker took the stage and emotionally announced that Christ the Redeemer, the huge 38 meter-high statue of Jesus Christ that crowns the Cerro Corcovado, had just been chosen as one of the “new 7 Wonders of the World.”

Since this magnificent statue is visible from the beach, the entire crowd turned to it and in a deafening ovation, saluted with cheers of pride and joy. From the heights, Christ the Redeemer has always watched over the city with pride as if to say to the Cariocas, Cariocas saluted it happily and went on with the party at the Copacabana called Live Earth.

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While many Seattelites are looking forward to those rare clear days, Vivian Linden happily awaits the rainy ones. The rolls and rumbles of each thunderstorm are a welcome inspiration and her secret weapon in the studio. A native of northern California where she grew up surrounded by a simpler way of life, Linden looks back on her childhood and those damp afternoons for musical insight. “Growing up in a one room cabin in the mountains used to be a big inconvenience to me, and I was really into the white picket fence idea when I was young, but no way now,” Linden said. “I’m not happy unless I’m surrounded by nature. I have to be connected that way.” Linden’s debut album “Watch the Light Fade” with Tarnished Records, a Seattle based label founded in 2005, is drenched in a stormy, forlorn style, with feelings of longing that hang in the background of each track.

The release leans toward the lost country souls of singers past, but not in a twangy pop country sort of way. “I’m inspired by Emmylou Harris, and when I started the whole process, “Wrecking Ball” which has that devastated, lonesome quality, really spoke to me,” Linden explained. “I’m not looking for people to hear my music and be like, ‘Oh I love country.’” Instead she hopes listeners will hear the emotions behind each chord and not just a genre. “I feel it in my heart, and I’m tapping into something deeper. It’s an endeavor of art, not just music,” she said. For Linden working on her first full-length album was a long, nebulous process. She began writing music just seven years ago even though she always knew she wanted to sing, ruining countless Pat Benatar tapes as a child. “I grew up in such a remote area that [writing music] didn’t really happen until recently,” Linden explained. “I looked up to Tracy Chapman and others that could play an instrument and write their own songs, and that’s what I wanted to do, but I was pretty intimidated by it.”

Flushing out years of ideas naturally took some time, but Linden dove right into her creative endeavor albeit quite naïvely. “It’s all still a bit of a mystery to me,” Linden confessed. “I started by just picking up a guitar and messing around. I would have these weird moments of inspiration and would just see what came out of it.”

Linden was also fortunate enough to work with talented musicians from local Seattle bands like Eric Eagle (Johanna Kunin), Jon Hyde and Bill Herzog. Together in the studio, they were able to build up each track into haunting accounts of her life’s landscape. “My favorite song on the record is “Going Back to Houston,” because it has that really lonesome genuine quality about it, like a longing open sky,” she said.

Linden continues to look for inspiration by focusing on what she calls sweet sadness, gathering thoughts for her sophomore album while out on the road promoting “Watch the Light Fade.” “Right now I’m exploring, writing new music, and looking to take it to the next place,” she said. “I’d love to just go to the middle of nowhere and do music, but then you’d have to drag your band and all the instruments out there which probably wouldn’t work,” Linden said laughing. It looks like long nights on an open lonesome road touring will be a welcome, even beautiful indulgence for singer songwriter Vivian Linden. www.vivianlinden.com. - Shelby Meyers 17

As distinct, dark, dredging, and disjointed as Johnny Parry’s mysterious mesh of estranged romantic advances clashed with sensually classic strings on “Songs Without A Purpose” it divulges itself into what appears as a somewhat disorderly sound design, its listeners are definitely left to decide whatever they choose about it oddly or not. After getting the chance to go back and forth with Parry it wasn’t the obvious elements of, “Songs Without a Purpose,” that seemingly settled at the top of the cup. It was the unobvious extensive and somewhat ironic observations that found their way into what I’ve titled 7 Things You Should Know About Johnny Parry and “Songs Without A Purpose” : 1. There’s a method to his madness: “I started the writing for this project almost three years ago with the idea of putting together a few songs and laying them down as efficiently as possible. I started however to get quite carried away/obsessed and after a year I found myself with pages and pages of manuscript. As

we write and play liberates us from having to worry about image as it was never meant to be fashionable. The relationship of Andy Holden’s artwork and films to the music is very important, but still it bears no connection to how people look at the image of the band as such rather than just part of the work. Trying to write interesting music is hard enough without worrying whether people think we are cool or not. Such worries would probably only backfire on the music being the focus of what we do.”

3. Parry doesn’t like to K.I.S.S. (Keep It Simple Stupid): “Apparently the recording can be sometimes a painless process. I have yet to prove this though as I seem to make things as difficult for my self as possible. I constantly change my mind and tweak what could be conceived as the most minute details for hours, all the musicians not only deserve a medal for their performances but for their endurance of me being relentlessly unmanageable about not knowing when to stop. 16

a Purpose” was made in London whilst I was surrounded by the great work of Show without Punch, The Black Memorial Fund, and Jon Redfurn.”

5. Dues were definitely paid creating, “Songs Without A Purpose”: “Even though thinking about how much work I did on some of the songs makes me flashback (on) relentless long nights, I am proud that I stuck it out.”

6. It’s all for one and one for all, for Johnny Parry is a band: “The core (of The Johnny Parry Band) is a Piano Trio, drums, Ben Milway, bass, David Lynch piano and vocals, Johnny Parry 7. Solitude before multitudes: “We are setting up a studio in the Polish mountains where we can really work free of distraction and quite simply make lots of records. The surroundings of the studio have always been important to me as you have to maintain the same head-space for large periods of time so as not deviate from the concept. To be able to liberate ones self from everything except the things you are writing would be heaven to

more time passed the bigger the project got until one track (Little Prayer No.5) ended up being 50 pages of a manuscript and took up 200+ tracks of audio in the studio….”

2. Artistry and musicianship are # 1: “The music is very much the most important thing to me as of course it is in my job description. I think the style of music

hour days were not uncommon but when things do come together it can be the most joyous thing you can imagine.”

4. He’s a rolling stone: “My home town is Bedford, but while making my record in Toronto I was inspired and worked with some great writers (like) Adam Cotton, Marnie Lee McCourty, and Tony Hamilton to name a few. (Also) “Songs Without

me. And of course, being a bit of a sentimental old fool, where better for me to find that seclusion than in the Carpathian Mountains…”

You may check out more from Johnny Parry @ www.johnnyparry.com and www. myspace.com/thejohnnyparrytrio. - Azrel O’Neal 18

This Car Up is a Boston-formed band whose platonic romance has evolved into a family-style unit built upon their sincere desire to create music for a living. But the five scraggly miscreants are also quite modest as they describe their sound as Indie/ Folk/Crunk (the boozy crunk, not the booty one). This is a pretty fitting definition of their experimental yet slightly poppy music; it is often gritty with certain ambient qualities. The amounts of different sounds that compile to make this music are very reminiscent of Broken Social Scene’s ability to collaborate billions of instruments and create a glorious wall of sound. The vocals glide perfectly off of and into each other and their collaborative style makes their music sound passive and like home, but it’s the most explosive kind of beauty.

The “fathers,” of this self-proclaimed family, Eric Glassman, appreciator of roast beef and soy nuts and Paul Sentz, a lover of all things turkey, met at an open mic night and it was love at first sight. Their friendship was built upon a mutual respect for each other and their music. Glassman explains, “It’s hard to find people at Berklee, especially where you just feel them right as a person, a lot of people are kind of plastic and fake about it. When we met, I think it wasn’t really forced, it was a natural thing that we should just start playing together and it’s progressed to where we are now.”

So Glassman and Sentz started working on each other’s songs and eventually found people through their circle of friends who loved the music and wanted to play with them. Gaining the bass skills and witty banter of “wife,” Kevin MacDonald, whose favorite things are burritos, “Lost” and dogs. Burritos are actually a common love of the entire band and were they not so compatible already; burritos could have brought them together. Their “son”/keyboards/ synth/guitar player, Kurt Schneider, loves local Boston bars and Youtube and met Sentz from Berklee. Their other “son”/ drummer Barry Marino is a fan of nature, jazz and of course, burritos. They have been together since July 2006, performed at shows, gone on a mini-tour, created pod-casts and recorded a demo.

With them, you will notice that they are completely at one, finishing each other’s thoughts and sentences. All members are also songwriters and are now working on collectively contributing lyrically and melodically to songs as opposed to before.

There is an energy and warmth that emanates from This Car Up, particularly their live set. Not only do they feed off each other while still 19

playing their own parts, but prove they are still just guys having fun and doing what they love. With their cute dawdling atmosphere, MacDonald says that This Car Up is, “endorsed by Lenscrafter,” and babbles on about Wookieepedia.com. While Glassman fiddles with pedals, Sentz graciously but passionately plays alongside Marino’s dynamic drumbeats as Schneider and MacDonald rock the stage, shaking it with their energy. The keyboards uplifting and playful sounds echo a Mates of States style flippancy. Glassman then slammed his guitar into the ground and plays it with a broken tile. He then jumped off the stage, knocking over the mic stand. It’s this, when you see that they couldn’t be happier anywhere else. Each member plays a part, there is no front man; they say Glassman and Sentz are the alter ego “dads,” but on this stage, it only matters that they are family. Horn players, who are friends of the band, make a beautiful addition to the performance as everyone now in the band and audience too have an arm around each other singing along to words they have just learned.

Glassman sings as loud as possible into the crowd, standing on top of an amp (since having knocked the mic out of its stand) and everyone is won over and quite content with this performance. “I just love the feeling of togetherness,” said Sentz after the performance. “We all respect each other and when we’re playing, I’m just looking at everyone just like, I love you...” http://www.myspace.com/tcarup.

- Lauren Piper

Bjork

Radio City Music Hall New York City, NY

Let me get this out of the way right off the bat. The only things that I knew about Björk before seeing her were: a) She was from Iceland, b) She was very popular with the ladies and c) Her music videos always seemed better with the sound off. After seeing her I learned that: a) She is really, really short and likes to dress in red which makes her resemble a pygmy who just stumbled upon a yard sale at a burlesque house, b) She has a good singing voice and is a good arranger and performer and c) I pretty much have no business being at one of her performances. My whole experience at the show reminded me of going to see a movie at an independent theater when I was only mildly interested/familiar with the movie. Most of the Björk fans were HARDCORE fans where as I was only there for poops and belly-

laughs.

There were some things I liked (kick ass laser show and some pretty digital effects on her projection screen) and some things I didn’t like (the overall lack of rhythm in her songs and the way that her speaking voice pierces the ear).

Allow me to illustrate my point with an example. Bjrok was performing “Where is the Line?” which features the somewhat related chorus of “Where is the line with you”. During the aforementioned chorus her projection screen would feature a multitude of differently colored neon “lines” forming, collapsing, connect-

ing and gyrating (I’ve always wanted to use that word) in time with lyrics of the song. I thought that this was a really cool effect and was a redeeming quality for a song that seemed pretty stupid to me, but which everyone else around me really seemed to enjoy. If you were a Björk fan I’m sure that it was a great show. She sang her songs about passion, desire, living by the ocean and so forth and so on. (Does she ever think about anything she doesn’t have to sing?) People were happily convulsing around the place and I think there may even have been some actually dancing during a few of the newer songs, especially the opener “Earth Intruders” (Thank you Timbaland).

For an “outsider” like me it was more of a baptism by fire to the strange world flamingo coats and purple lollipops than an enjoyable concert experience.

I can’t say the show wasn’t good because my frame of reference is not refined enough to handle the ice princess. P.S. I don’t know what was weirder, the Björk show or being at Radio City Music Hall stone sober. I was walking around without difficulty, the patterns on the carpet were all staying still and the room didn’t even spin for an instant. Never though I’d see the day. – Evan Bleier

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Massive Attack

Orpheum Theater Boston, MA

There were many surprises when Massive Attack came to Boston. Although, it’s really hard to call it a “Massive Attack” show when only one member of the original group is actually present for the gig. That was surprise number one.

Surprise number two came in female form: Elizabeth Fraser (formerly of the Cocteau Twins)! Surprise number two was a good thing, although her vocals could have been cranked up a bit higher in the mix.Then there came surprise number three, which was not such a good thing and the frequency with which it occurred was pretty unsettling: tuning.

More than a handful of times, the band was out of tune and, in this day in age, it really makes no sense for that to happen.

At one point, guest vocalist Shara Nelson (another great surprise!) gave a look to her band mid-song as if to say, “What the hell, mates?” Fortunately, greatness overshadowed the bad and the steady stream of guest vocalists made for a very eclectic night. Reggae legend Horace Andy was also on hand for easily the best tune of the night, “Angel” from the band’s most well known album Mezzanine. It also happens to be the song playing in the background of the scene in “Snatch,” where Brad Pitt is standing half-naked and looking all pissed off because his mom was just burned alive inside her mobile home; what a great song. For a band that has been around about 15 years now and gone through as many line-up changes that it has, it was still very impressive to see a live show put on with so many different styles and energies. It will be very interesting to see what happens with a new album, rumored to be due sometime in 2007. – Kevin Walsh

Toots and the Maytals The Canal Room New York City, NY

The chance to see Toots at a venue that only was letting in 500 people was too good an opportunity to pass up. With the recent passing of James Brown, the number of performers who can pull off a shiny purple suit and not look like some 80’s sci-fi/disco movie gone horribly wrong was reduced by one. Luckily Toots is one of the few remaining guys that can still rock the P-I-M-P suit with style. Wearing a tiara for much of the show (which seemed a little more bizarre than anything else) and playing to a room that smelled like liquor and Jamaican beef patties (specially made for the occasion-stereotyping anyone?) Toots held the stage and the crowd’s attention with the authority of an old pro. The first number Toots “dropped” when he hit the stage was, wait for it, wait for it, “Pressure Drop.” Bad puns always feel so good. That first song had the room rocking and set the tone for what was going to be a really high energy show. Toots really seemed to feed off the small setting and had a big shit eating grin on his face for most of the show. He reeled off classic numbers like “Monkey Man,” “Funky Kingston,” and “Reggae Got Soul,” with a smooth ease and seemed to really enjoy being on the stage with and playing off of the other members of his band. One thing that somewhat irked me was that at the end of about half of the songs the band would start much faster and try to get a reggae rave sort of thing going on. This would have been okay a few times but for more than half of the show it was a little too much. Maybe I was just too tired to dance. He played guitar on a few numbers but most of the strength came from his singing. Covering both “Country Road,” (popularized by John Denver) and “I’ve Got Dreams to Remember,” (Otis Redding) over the course of the night while at the same time playing tunes off his recent “True Love” album was a great representation of the Toots experience. He is a guy that has been around for a long time and has proved that he can play with and hold his own with more well known and commercially successful artists while also using some of their music and making it his own. At the same time, as is evidenced by many of the songs on his “True Love” album (which features Toots collaborating with artists ranging from the Roots to Willie Nelson) and his performance of those songs, Toots has his own style and is a strong and distinctive songwriter in his own right. When he performed the duet “True Love is Hard to Find” with the help of his backup singer instead of Bonnie Raitt the song was still pretty damn good. My point is that the real strength of Toots and the Maytals both on record and onstage comes from the Toots himself. The Maytals couldn’t ask for a better front man and he couldn’t ask for better backup. They go together just like peas and carrots. With or without the beef patties, the purples suit and definitely without the tiara, Toots is a dynamic stage performer and a living legend in his own right. – Evan Bleier 21

Urge Overkill

@ Lee’s Palace Toronto, Ontario

Everyone has that cd or album. You know what that one is all about – it’s the one that got you through a rough patch

known as ‘the breakup.’ I could easily use every page in this zine to list all the music that saved me during my rough patches but none as precious as Urge Overkill’s, “Saturation.” When suffering out a heart that was broken into a million pieces and left out on the street, along with my clothes, books and artwork, it was this collection of songs that helped me find myself. Despite that this epiphany happened in a smoky bar known as “Scruffy’s” in Hell’s Kitchen, NYC, it was the jukebox that became my own personal power tool to self-realization. The Scruffy jukebox soon replaced my ex as I faithfully pumped quarter after quarter in its slot, playing every track from “Saturation” all night long. I would go to this bar every night after work and spend my time drinking tequila while settling in for dinner, which consisted of a large order of firey chicken wings. The wings came with carrots and celery so I figured I was getting all the nutrition I needed for the day. I would top off the night with dessert, which was a large pina colada.

Hey, it had fruit in it, ok? And I would do this all under my safety net – my cowboy hat. That hat sent messages to every bar fly emerging from the bathroom with his jeans unzipped and future directors of Girls Gone Wild videos, to leave me the fuck alone. I was here to drink and listen to music by myself for, I was working through stuff…

To this day, “Saturation” is still a favorite. Each of the 12 tracks on this 90’s release is perfectly recorded, with chock full of hooks, sing-along chorus (that are easy to pick up when drunk), and a sense of hopefulness amongst the humor and dry wit placed within the lyrics.

Urge Overkill’s profile was kicked up a notch when Quentin Tarantino added the band to the soundtrack of his latest movie, Pulp Fiction and now a younger generation was learning how cool Neil Diamond really was. And while Tarantino was busy winning an Academy Award for this black comedy, Urge Overkill remained in the spotlight with “Saturation.”

Forward to many years later, I found myself at NXNE 2007 scanning the music listings and couldn’t believe my eyes. There it was! Listed – Urge Overkill! I had never seen Urge Overkill during the height of their hoopla and nothing was going to stop me now – no tequila, no plate of wings, not even a pina…

Once inside Lee’s, one could easily tell that this was the show to be at. And it had nothing to do with the fact that it was a sold out performance. It was because every industry type, record label exec, pr maverk and rock critic stood elbow to elbow in anticipation for the show to begin along side the die hard fans passing out UO stickers and badges. It felt like the best kept secret was about to leak out as my mind raced on all the possibilities that this band, fronted by Nash Kato and Eddie “King” Roeser, had achieved after the success of “Saturation.” Did they have a new cd out? Where they reuniting? Was there a movie in the works?

When the band hit the stage, it was then, that it hit me. This band had saved my life so long ago with their songs about Erica Kane, 7-11’s, Fidel Castro and 90210. And the band did just that – all these songs and more from “Saturation.” They did it all, clad in uniformed outfits that consisted of purple, velvet jumpsuits, while gracing the stage with so much glam rock gusto, that Lee’s Palace became a slight mad house of bobbing heads, clinched air fists and those beloved sing-along choruses. Looking up at Kato and Roeser, both looking a bit weathered but beautiful just the same, was extremely enjoyable since they displayed a sense of satisfaction performing their meaty repertoire. At times, they even seemed a bit bewildered with the cheers and standing ovations that came with each completion of a song. Their stage personalities came through as humble yet strong and effective.

At this time of the show, personal comfort became all but a distant memory as the audience swayed to the music. It could have been because it was so hot inside the club, one, that didn’t quite display air conditioning on this summer evening. Some of the swaying could have been occurring because of many drinks consumed or just due to complete excitement of a real rock show. I can firmly say it was probably due to a mixture of all of the above. It was then that I saw her. I spied a girl, holding onto the foot of the stage. The girl had a cowboy hat on and she danced with complete abandonment to the music. It was apparent that she was a bit lit but it didn’t matter for the music was transporting her somewhere and she looked happy.

Once outside the club, my DTR assistant sheepishly turned to me and said, “Man, you must really like that band…”

“Why did you say that?” I asked him back, thinking what an odd statement.

“Because you were dancing like crazy, almost like a drunk person who was being transported somewhere else…”

I guess heartbreak looked good on me, I proudly thought to myself. And I now know for sure that it never sounded any better all due to the evening’s performance. - edie 22

Primus

Tower Theatre Philadelphia, PA

“Primus Sucks, Primus Sucks…” echoed through the Tower Theatre as the more than twenty year old band (Can you believe that shit?) began to make their way onto the main stage. The capacity crowd was primed and ready to go after swilling gallons of overpriced concession stand Yuegling, a beer which in Pennsylvania is affectionately referred to only as “lager”. On this night the theatre was housing a mix of punks, drunks, hippies and middle aged people who had probably been one of the other three about ten years ago, (and possibly still were). The stage looked like some sort of science fiction spoof.

The first main attraction was a gigantic inflated baby, complete with a diaper and a pacifier that appeared to be inserted far beyond the range where a good mother would dare. The second was a twenty five to thirty foot tall spaceman with a wide variety of multicolored buttons and switches on his suit and a flashlight that actually worked in sync with the rest of the light show. Scaffolding towers were set up on the remainder of the stage, and it was on these that the florescent light tubes that would shoulder the bulk of the light show duties resided. The stage was ready. The crowd was ready. Primus was ready. Or so they would have had us believe. The band opened up with a version of “Those Damned Blue Collar Tweekers,” and segued into “Here Come the Bastards,” with the masked Claypool, (either bear or monkey depending on who you ask,) urging 23

the crowd to sing along with the “Here they come,” refrain.

The place really erupted a few songs later when, after beginning to address the crowd and then deciding he didn’t have anything meaningful or profound to say, Claypool began “My Name is Mud”. People were singing along, flailing wildly, making out, and swing dancing, and that was just the row in front of me. This behavior continued right on through their next number, Extreme Sports rocker, “Jerry Was a Race Car Driver.” (ESPN plays it during their Extreme Games coverage, I know these things). Sometime shortly after that there was a pretty rocking drum solo with a lot of double bass pedal that wasn’t too short or too long, but was just right. Around this time Claypool giddily bounded off the stage and grabbed his Whamola and thoroughly knocked the hell out of it to the fullest enjoyment of himself and the crowd. He came back on with his electric bass, no mask, and the band began “Too Many Puppies.” They rocked that out, instrumentally teased the introduction to “Master of Puppets” (Puppies, Puppets, Ha Ha?) before finishing the song.

Then a weird thing happened. Claypool went up the microphone and said “Thank You, Goodnight.” They had been on stage for a little more than an hour. Now anytime Les Claypool is involved everything must be taken with a grain of salt. This had all the makings of a large scale practical joke. I mean our tickets cost 48 bucks each and once you added in all the ass rape vampire sugar in your gas tank Ticketwhore charges they came to 58 dollars. There was no way that Primus could extract 58 dollars from their fans and then play for an hour…. was there? Pretty much. They came back on and did “Pudding Time,” and “Groundhog’s Day,” and then the lights came on and the balloons began deflating. This time the “Primus Sucks” chants began to rain down in earnest. People were pissed. People were shocked. People whose drugs were just starting to kick in were looking very confused. People were trying to steal potted plants from the lobby in order to make up for money gouge that had just been inflicted on them. People in uniforms with badges were preventing them from doing this and then putting them through the side door onto the sidewalk headfirst.

Some people were just shaking their heads and thinking of all the other ways they could’ve blown 60 bucks. I could’ve bet it on red. I could’ve bet in on black. I could’ve bet it on the horse with the smallest jockey. But I didn’t. I bet it on Primus and I bet in on Les…usually a pretty safe bet. Granted, I don’t know the whole story. Maybe someone was sick. Maybe someone just had a kid, or their wife/baby momma was pregnant. Maybe there was a bomb threat or someone was in danger of losing their kneecaps to the mob. (I doubt it but you never know.)

The point is that if there were some sort of extenuating circumstances they should have let us know. As it stands now, I feel like I got hosed and I am not the only one by a long shot. I went to MMW with Scofield the following night (Awesome by the way but I got too intoxicated to do a review full justice) and people were talking about it in the beer line. I don’t want my money back. I don’t want my time back. I don’t want free tickets. I want an apology, man to fan. Primus say you’re sorry.

Les say you’re sorry. (He’s the leader so I blame him more).

Until then, Primus Sucks. – Evan Bleier

Secret Machines

Avalon Boston MA

It’s kind of a shame that the Secret Machines got lumped into the sophomore slump category, because “Ten Silver Drops” was a relatively impressive, self-produced effort for the Dallas trio. But because it never quite built up to the explosion that was 2004’s “Now Here Is Nowhere” it was destined to fail in the eyes of the general public. And, let’s be honest, unless you have songwriters named John or Paul in your band, it’s pretty damn hard to followup one amazing album with another. What was even more impressive, though, was the fact that despite a crowd of about half capacity, the Machines still blazed through a killer set of just the right amount of atmospherics and boneshattering drums. Another special feature was that the band’s management decided to put on the show in the round, meaning that the crew built a small, circular stage in the middle of the dance-floor instead of having the band use the venue’s normal stage. Whoever had that idea is a genius (sad, though, because they must have known well in advance that ticket sales were down) because it made for a much more intimate performance. I also happened to be close enough to grab drummer Josh Garza’s drumstick after the show. (As a side note – to give you an idea of how hard he plays – the guy uses marching drum sticks on a normal kit and still breaks them!) Highlights of the show were easily the eerie, spacey “Pharaoh’s Daughter,” and the perfect encore closer “Lightning Blue Eyes,” with that perfectly catchy yet never annoying lyric of, “remember watching while your lightning blue eyes reflected sunlight!” The Machines rather eloquently mix Dark Side-era Pink Floyd with the thunder of Led Zeppelin, but the fact of the matter is that this is music for the narcotically inclined and I don’t think the band would disagree with me here (see the song “Alone, Jealous and Stoned”). There are plenty of us out there who enjoy this kind of music, but converting the mainstream masses is quite the uphill battle and, let’s face it, stoners are probably the last people you would see running uphill, much less battling anyone. – Kevin Walsh

Mew

Paradise Rock Club Boston, MA

Imagine this situation: beautiful, long-haired Danish boys and underachieving Rolling Stones wanna-be’s all walk into a bar. Can you tell me which band’s image sounds better? I had planned on catching Mew (the Danes) having little idea of the kind of show to which I was about to become witness. Not only was the line-up of bands so mish-mashed, but the headliners (Kasabian, the Brits mentioned above whose lead singer was just a little too fond of Mick Jagger’s hip movements) were greatly over-shadowed by their supporting act. Who knows, maybe Mew was a late addition to the line-up? Regardless, the band ripped through a tight 30-minute, second-billing set that unfortunately didn’t leave any room for a muchneeded encore. Mew opened with what appeared to be a rehearsed jam before slipping into “Special,” the latest single from, “And the Glass-Handed Kites,” which is the band’s sonic masterpiece and most recent release.

Most songs, keeping with the style of “Kites,” smoothly transitioned into the next with the highlight of the set being, “White Lips Kissed,” an almost Sigur Ros-like epic of celestial proportions. There’s a touch of My Bloody Valentine in lead singer Jonas Bjerre’s voice – combined with the lyrical maturity of what sounds like a Kid-A-era Thom Yorke – and all of that backed by Bo Madsen’s mind-blowingly fresh and original guitar sound. The whole package easily makes Mew the kick ass space, pop, rock (whatever you want to call them) group of our generation. – Kevin Walsh 24

To meet Dan Wallace, songwriter and composer, is a journey on its own. If you were to rely on his last two cds on Torito Bravo Records; “Neon and Gold” and “Culture of Self” as a road map to the man behind the brilliance of these two releases, plan to get lost a few times. But you will eventually arrive at the destination of Wallace’s musical crossroads. Me? I am not afraid to ask for directions when lost, so when Wallace’s release “Neon and Gold” landed on my desk in mid 2006, I immediately saw a future cover artist, for the songs on this are not only magnificent and wonderfully overwhelming to this hungry music critic but large in sonic landscaping. Wallace has been keeping busy with handling the press along with both cds, each released a little within a year apart. As the reviews offered the, ‘daring to be different, it should be treasured for its originality’ and ‘it’s hard not to fall for this intoxicating and expertly-crafted lp,” praise, I too, felt it was time to throw my hat into the ring and track him down in his hometown of Chicago, Illinois. I caught him freshly jetlagged off an all day flight from Montenegro and held an interview in The Café at Four Seasons Hotel located downtown.

Since I was hording “Neon and Gold” in my mind for a while, it felt like my secret was just that but soon and out of nowhere – the press picked up on it. When I asked him if he thought that it took a while for the momentum to pick up with “Neon and Gold” he responded: “Yeah, it did take a while. Mostly because I didn’t have the contacts.

With my new release (“Culture of Self”), though it may take the same amount of time to see the press, I have the contacts. When people hear it for the first time, they don’t know what to make of it. With “Neon and Gold,” I got a lot of people stating that they had to listen to it six, maybe seven times to understand what I was doing. But it got favorable reviews despite of it.

Most say that the first time they hear it - it’s ‘strange,’ but then after they listen to it numerous times, they like it. I am finding that when listeners get into new things, it can take a while for a new experience to grow on them. But that’s because it’s an over time experience and that’s when the listener can truly enjoy it. The DJ’s I speak with say the same thing, especially in Europe. They start working with a couple of songs until the songs really grow on them.”

Wallace is a songwriter, but can be more of a mastermind composer where his compositions run uninhabited, passionately between modern and contemporarily classical. Where he can be easily recognized for performing Indie Pop-Rock, he has also cut his teeth curating Clas25

sical pieces and is just as comfortable working with string quartets, for whom he would normally write his compositions for. Once I found this piece of information out about him, the songs on both releases started to make more sense to me for I felt while listening to them, that Wallace was encompassing a bit of a mad composer, anxious to get out. Yet, there are radio friendly hits here as well, causing a gentle parallel in Wallace’s songwriting craft.

Wallace had this to offer; “During my involvement with The Pindrops, my band and working within Contemporary Classical time moved so much slower. When I moved to Chicago, to me, three, four years may have moved that pace but the last 10 years I focused my involvement with these music genres only to find myself running out of ideas.

Maybe I couldn’t jive with the scene? I found myself listening to a lot of Brazilian music and that’s when I picked up the guitar again. Some main influences were Caetano Veloso, then Jorge Ben Jor, Paulinho da Viola, Tom Ze and Gilberto Gil. I also listened to a lot of old recordings of various forms of Samba and regional, folkier stuff. I played between the ages of 14 to 17 and then stopped, just in favor of composing. I even tried the piano but I’m not that great at it. I also

found myself getting too caught up in the technical aspect of the guitar – the science and motorization of it. I was already writing a lot of music on paper anyway. I was working with a string quartet. But the Brazilian music, old bossa novas eventually led me towards the pop rock stuff of the late 60’s. I was getting all these ideas for piano/cello/clarinet, etc. and after several months, I found myself starting pieces, not finishing them and realized I had never written a song or what you would call a song. I finished one under this Brazilian influence I was under and ended up playing some of these songs to a friend, the same one that got me into this music to start with. Then writing in Spanish and Portuguese, I started to look for a singer to work with on this new project but little by little it started to turn into something else where despite that I ended up forming a band, we were just playing guitar-bass-drums and I wanted more. More instrumentation and flexibility. The band did start out as an acoustic band but ended up a rock band. It just didn’t work for me, so when we went in to record “Neon and Gold,” I truly felt I didn’t want to do it this way. There were only three of us in The Pindrops and I still work with the drummer, George Lawler, who plays on both my albums.”

When hearing Wallace’s com-

mand on guitar, one would think technique and mastery. Wallace explains; “I practice but I also feel like I’m a natural.

When I started out playing guitar, I was into Classical Fusion, Jazz, Frank Zappa.

I would play out Charlie Parker solos but soon I felt I needed to get away from that in order to hear what was going on in my head. Years later I picked up the guitar again. On “Culture of Self,” I consciously wanted to do more guitar work but I am, first, a songwriter. Now I do not mind being called a guitarist as well. I just bought a bunch of pedals and really want to get to another emotional level with my playing.”

To get to the bottom of a Wallace song could take hours. Whether it’s one of his free flying instrumentals like, “Bound to Be Free,“ or “Counting Backwards,” (both found on “Culture of Self”) or piano driven tunes like “Vante Left Them Human,” found on “Neon and Gold,” each song offers a fragments of Wallace’s style, a very unique imprint.

Songs like, “The Heap” (“Culture of Self”), marries both guitar and piano as Wallace builds the tempo and beat into a mix of driven hooks as the chorus comes in, loudly and brazenly. You forget where the song started until his voice sings, “give it to the beast.” On “Culture of Self,” a song called, “I Want to Be,” sounds more 26

like it belongs on a cd that you would locate in the Broadway Musical section of a record store.

When I asked Wallace about this one particular song, he replied: “I work with layers. Layers that are kind of hidden. “I Want To Be,” is that kind of song. It’s a song where you are fantasizing about other things. I have a day job and I wrote the middle section piano part while I was at work and the girl (Robin Morgan) who sings it, actually did the job I am at now. I try not to think too much about whether a song is going to work or not. It can get scary. I can see how a band like the Shins can leave a huge album and then what? How could you possibility follow up to that? Creatively, I do whatever I want to and sometimes I do feel that I may not meet up with what’ve I’ve done or that what I’ve done could be boring or not interesting, or not challenging enough. But this happens only when I look back on it.”

Wallace is at work now on releasing his next cd. He had this to say: “Some could find my material intimidating but it’s not going to change what I do with my older material. I tested my new album to see if it would appeal to people.

I actually have two cds done, mainly Brazilian influenced. This catchy stuff I’ve written is the stuff a lot of people will connect to. And then maybe they will go back to “Culture of Self” and re-listen. But these newer sets are written and demoed already. I am working on a solo list and hope to play out of Chicago. I just don’t want to perform with anything prerecorded before I go on stage. It’s not specific to one particular album, but it has stuff from all periods – all the periods of my songwriting and it’s pretty fun to do acoustically. Ideally, I would like to mix in with electric guitar and pedals. I want to play in Europe next year. There is a DJ who has a show on National Radio Madrid and we’re planning for me to go out there next year, do an interview and a live set.”

One more thing I wanted to ask Wallace about was the artwork that grace both “Culture of Self” and “Neon and Gold.” Thought provoking, this artwork does not feel like it spent any time in Photoshop. Wallace chose to work with artist, Vesna Jovanovic. He offered this: “Vesna did both these covers and she works with a technique called ink spill. When she works with my covers, she actually sees images from my songs, some, which are abstract.”

Whatever the style, image or technique, it all speaks of this amazing musician named Dan Wallace. www.danwallacemusic.com - edie 27

ALO - Roses And Clover

This is an album that has a jacket made out of 100 percent recycled paper and plastic. The songs contained on the actual disc don’t have a recycled feel to them at all but they definitely seem like they were written by guys who are, how do I say this….big fans of extra crunchy granola and surfing. (Brushfire Records is Jack Johnson’s Label.) Roses and Clover is a very happy, laid back disc with lots of songs that would be “hella” good to listen to at the beach. For those of you who don’t habla Californian “hella” means very and is synonymous to Bostonians usage of the word “wicked”. On this cd ALO have a very mellow sound which at times verges on being a little too easy on the ears for a rock band. However most of the songs really thrive because they are so chilled out. Accessible lyrics, easy choruses, relatively short instrumental solos (so no one gets bored) and catchy riffs are all over this disc. The most captivating song is the third track, entitled only “Try”. It’s a diddy that has somewhat of a reggae feel with a lot of cool wah-wah effects and a bright, horn-backed chorus. There is nothing cutting edge or ground breaking about it but damn if it doesn’t go great with a Corona. After a few listens I realized that it reminds me of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with the crusts cut off. There are no hidden surprises or sharp corners. The simplicity is what makes it great. It’s very comfortable and isn’t going to offend anyone. Also there is no denying that a lot of heart went into making it. Roses and Clover isn’t going to set the world afire but it does make it a slightly warmer place. – Evan Bleier

Apollo Up - Chariots of Fire

In Apollo Up’s album Chariots of Fire, there is lot of heat and I hear energy and talented musicians but I am not quite convinced to buy this album were I to hear a song or two. There are some elements that are pretty well done: the timing of the drums, changing up the guitar in different songs, the beeping, almost horn-like guitar sounds and the spitting high hat make for a great combination but it gets boring. Mostly, singer/ guitarist Jay Phillip’s, vocals are unnerving. Granted, he does not have a bad voice, he just sounds like a mix of Jawbreaker and Smash Mouth or like he is singing through sandpaper. He “Oohs,” and growls but it sounds like its put through a tube and its too loud and not quite fitting; like he’s a little too musical but also maybe has smoked cigarettes for too long.

This album is filled with harmonies that almost hit the notes they wanted but then get muffled. There are banging drums that while they do smash the speakers with the booms, clicks and clangs, I feel as though there could have been more room for the drums to actually become something and not just sit there carrying the other instruments along. The harmonies and vocals are thick and straight-forward like those of the Foo Fighters but with the choral-esque quality of Q and Not U. The guitar shreds, pops, bleeps and plucks and the bass is good when it hides in the background and great when it comes right out to carry the song.

While there are a lot of great sounds in this album, there seems to be a lack of style. Songs such as “Cut Up,” or “Custom Critical,” sounds as though it is in the dance-y, sassy style of Q and Not U. Other songs sound like the guitar riffs were inspired

by Hot Snakes songs, and others are reminiscent of the upbeat raw masculinity of the Foo Fighters but they rarely take on characteristics of their own. Their album just becomes a bad attempt at playing another bands sound. Most bands want to push past the point where they are just compared to other bands they sound like. “Situation: Ho,t” is one of the only songs where I feel the band taking their own liberties with insane alien guitar squeals, tiny piano plinks and then some punk influenced guitar riffs.

Because of that song, I know that Apollo Up knows how to make music of their own, even if inspired by other bands but I rarely hear that in this album. – Lauren Piper

Beirut - Lon Gisland

It’s sort of an odd feeling when something different, yet still vaguely familiar finds its way into your cd player; excuse me, mp3 player. And after a bit of thinking, I came upon the realization that Beirut singer/songwriter/composer Zach Condon sounds like what would happen if Rufus Wainwright and the guy from DeVotchka mated and were somehow able to birth a child. That is to say that his voice is amazing and relatively distinct, drawing on almost too many influences to count.

The only thing I want more from Beirut is music. The first track off the band’s new sixsong Lon Gisland EP is essentially five minutes of the same riff, but the sort of ‘accoutrement,’ if you will, of horns and various other gadgets (glockenspiels!) make it eternally listenable.

The three middle tracks almost feel like teasers, as if the band were holding back something even more great and inventive, yet not ready to release. But there’s still enough solid emotional songwriting here for this EP to stand on its own. The beautiful mix of accompanying 28

instruments – including some killer, marching drums, swelling trumpets, violins, etc – take you from what feels like the streets of Ukraine to a parade in Spain. All the while backing Condon’s brilliant voice, of which I wouldn’t have minded hearing more. But the emphasis on the musical arrangement was never tiresome or boring.

So, in summation, what the world needs now is just a little more Beirut, in the form of a full length LP and a world tour.

If the band can keep up the solid pace they’ve set so far, there’s really no telling how far they might go. – Kevin Walsh

Bodisartha - Find Yourself Getting Lost

This record has come to be part of the immortal collection of grunge recordings from the 90’s, among which stand out those by Nirvana. The songs that make up this album hit our ears with the same rawness as those of that trio from Seattle. They present a similar style, with the same force and strength of feeling. Bodisartha learned - perhaps and in my humble opinion– from Kurt Cobain, that rock should be simple, conclusive and that the ultimate secret depends on composing (or pushing yourself to compose) good songs. The release of raw albums, direct and rocking such as Find Yourself Getting Lost is due in large part to the influence that is exerted to this day by Nirvana. The style of the songs, the way they are instrumentalized and executed, the sound and the singing style are in large part that legacy. I do not mean to say that Bodisartha is a pure copy of the work by the author of, Smells Like Teen Spirit. Instead, I mean that such a strong personality is hard to exceed or omit when considering the such rock tradition. To say that the group imitates the style of another would be an exaggeration; it would be acting in bad faith, which is not my intention. What we can say is that they are strongly influenced and that is heard in their music. This is only natural, because it is impossible to imagine current rock without the modifications that Nirvana was responsible for making in the genre. An entire generation turned up the volume of their speakers and fell in love with the format Cobain gave to his composition: the Pop Beatle structure, combined with the dirtiest, most rotten sounds of a garage band.

Bodisartha plays rock with a primitive and savage power as well (thanks in large part to the fact that Nirvana represented a break in the rock industry). To close this brief text on Bodisartha and their album “Find Yourself Getting Lost”, we can say that in all decades –as in the 90s with Nirvana– there are talented and original musicians who recreate rock according to their individual sensitivities and the period in which they live. It is these people who become myth and legend. The difference between the musicians who will last and those who will not lies in the originality of their work. Those who are innovative and have their own sound and style will leave their mark, while those who are not will sadly be lost in oblivion. Bodisartha finds itself walking the thin line between its own light and the shadow projected by Kurt Cobain: he inspires with his light to compose and play songs in his style.

But if we do not challenge him and try to do something different (just as he did when he challenged his own influences in order to create a new sound) his shadow will prevent us from attempting to create a new type of music that reflects our own souls. Each soul has its own sound and we must search for it and stop being eclipsed by the vibrations of someone else’s soul. The big test that will surely overcome in the future will be to impress Bodisartha’s own style on the rock music audience. Little by little. They know that, in order for their music to be good enough to endure the test of time, they must put feeling before technique, turn the volume up full blast, play with piercing drums, sore throats, and distorted sounds, create good songs, with heavy and catchy verses and choruses, display rebellious attitudes that prize savagery, freedom, debauchery and exert the feeling that they put their life on the line in each song. This is the only way that rock and roll works, but one ingredient is missing –in the future, they must not allow Cobain’s shadow to eclipse the light of their own originality. www.bodisartha.com – Federico Di Pasquale

Chris Carelli - Anthology/Music of the Last Four Centuries for Solo Guitar

Many years of academic study have furnished the guitarist with a professional training and perfection in the execution of the instrument. Chris Carelli, in his debut album, Anthology, A music of the last four centuries for solo guitar, displays himself as a guitarist that through the years has studied the execution of classical music with great effort and precision. The works interpreted in the album - William Walton, Stanley Myers, Claude Debussy, Isaac Albeniz, Matteo Carcassi, Johann Sebastian Bach, Sylvius Leopold Weiss and Gaspar Sanz- are a journey through the musical landscapes of the last four centuries of the West, beautiful compositions that he masters with great skill. Works include those composed for the guitar and those adapted to be played by it, for example the symphonies of Bach, which were originally composed for violoncellos. Carelli is a magnificent musical academic but not a composer. He belongs to an institutional class of musicians capable of reproducing, to perfection, music from the past, but they are not interested in composing pieces for the present and the future. It is common knowledge that in many of the institutions they maintain the idea that all of the geniuses are from the past and that they have all since died. Therefore it only remains for the youth to reproduce musical scores, but never to try and create new and personal music. Opinions about music should be widened 29

and the distinction between academic and pop musicians should stop, because although there is a need for good instrumentalists to delight our ears, not all the erudite music has already been created, so it is more positive to have faith and trust that mastery was not a thing of the past and that if nowadays no young great composers have come to the fore it is because the educational system limits and excludes them, making them reproduce, for years, others’ creations. There could be thousands, if not millions, of impersonators but there is only one Bach. Having made these explanations, Carelli’s album is brilliant and highly recommendable.

– Federico Di Pasquale

Deftones - Saturday Night Wrist

Deftones are one of those bands that, for me anyway, need to be listened to a few times through before they can be fully appreciated. They have been and still stand today as a predominantly metal band, though there is so much more to their music than just metal. The group is constantly reshaping and experimenting with their sound.

Saturday Night Wrist, their newest effort, is no exception. it seems that the more years they put between themselves and Adrenaline, their major-label debut album, the farther they get from that uniquely aggressive sound they captured so well at the time. As the band has grown over the years, they have been moving toward more pop-like songs, really giving singer Chino Moreno an opportunity to flex his vocal muscles. His voice is at times haunting, captivating and soulful, at other times anguished and manic, yet controlled. At times, it’s all of these wrapped into one intense bundle—truly an amazing and distinct voice.

Drummer Abe Cunningham is such a defining aspect of the whole Deftones sound image, keeping a simple, steady pace to keep those ballads rolling. When it comes time to flourish, he pours himself into those fills and can really bring the songs to life. The combined guitar work of Chino, Chi Cheng and Stephen Carpenter definitely impresses me. Deftones have never really been technically complex as a band, but they have a sound I feel could never be duplicated. From the drifting melodies layered with Frank Delgado’s cloudy, dreamy-feeling sampling and keys, to the rapid fire attack and the crushing weight of the metal riffs, Saturday Night Wrist is one album that should appease Deftones fans and metal fans alike, as well as make them more accessible to a larger crowd of our music-loving culture. They truly defy genre, and create a sound one can only call Deftones’. Some key tracks: I would not miss out on the stellar track titled “Beware.” With Moreno’s voice exploring all corners of the vocal map and Delgado’s ethereal piano coupled with those big guitars, that is one track I can safely say will be widely appealing, accessible and truly expresses the Deftones’ sound. Also, look for “Mein” - a collaboration with System of a Down’s front-man, Serj Tankian, and “Cherry Waves”. - Aaron McCombe

Elliott Smith - New Moon

You never know what to expect of an album that is released posthumously by an artist as talented and inspiring as Elliott Smith. Albums like this are always made into a big deal even though they are simply dedications to the artist. New Moon is a two-disc compilation of songs previously unreleased by Smith, save a couple original recordings of songs from past albums. Most the songs were recorded in Smith’s free time and during the same time as Either/Or recording sessions, but didn’t make the cut. These songs just sat around until after Smith’s tragic death when the people at Kill Rock Stars felt it important to release them, seeing as they were just as good and just as meaningful as Smith’s other albums. With this album, we get even more of a sneak peak into Smith because inside the liner notes is a description of how the cd was put together as well as touching memories and thoughts of Smith written by his close friends.

Everything about Smith’s music feels familiar. It feels like you already know it and are already somehow connected to it, which has always been the appeal of his music. There’s a comfort in it, a comfort in knowing that he knew how you felt before you did. New Moon is a great collection of Smith’s style throughout his years as an artist; these songs combine Smith’s charming and innovative instrumental style with his confessional writing and telling vocals, which give the listener something to hold on to in every song. His voice is just as haunting as ever as it quivers in a high-pitched wail or comes out low and whispery with each breath. The melody cushions the harsh blow of Smith’s emotional lyrics with poignant guitar parts comprised of finger picking and thick, fast strumming. His harmonies are perfectly effective in pulling you into the music, and solo, his voice is just so open and melodic, it compels you to listen. The music flows from one track to another, conveying everything Smith is known for, confessing regret or self defeat, there is also humor but you feel the sadness throughout. His writing is so subtle that in paying attention to everything, you feel closer to Smith, because he was just human, just like us.

This album is at the moment the most important because these are the songs he may never have wanted to release, so we feel we are being let on a secret. It’s also not his best and definitely not a favorite because he wasn’t here to present it to us.

Smith’s spirit is all over this album but he didn’t release it, he didn’t put it together and you can feel throughout the album that there is something missing which creates the tragic realization that it is him. These songs were his babies, his secret creations, 30

recorded in his own solitude, possibly only for his reflections. Most of them are just blue prints for what they could have been had he desired to turn them into full-fledged songs. So we are left listening to Smith’s abandoned children, the rejects and the ones too emotional to force onto other people.

For me, the most grabbing songs were “See you Later,” and “Half Right,” both songs recorded acoustically that had been released on Smith’s old band Heatmiser’s third album, Mic City Sons. These songs represent the beginning of Smith’s career, because he was the heart of those songs; they feel the most meaningful, the most thought out, and less like musings he just recorded because he needed a sense of release, but never meant to actually release to the public.

Everything is here: the lulling vocals, the strums and ditties and thoughtful folk-y low-fi attitude and energy of Smith’s music. The lyrics are what connect us forever with Smith; his reaching out and allowing his listeners to understand him and perhaps better understand themselves. For his music really was soulful in that it gave you someone to smile with, someone to cry with and to know that you aren’t the only one. This album is more of a historical documentation of Smiths works; you start to feel closer to him by listening to his autobiography while reading about his life through others. The thoughts and memories about Smith are written with enough love to create a bond with the artist, but his music, the music seals the deal. – Lauren Piper

Helmet - Monochrome

Helmet is as Helmet does sir. Monochrome has many of the same aesthetic qualities one would expect from a Helmet album. The album title itself is a synonym for toneless and given that Helmet is not known for being the most melodic of bands one could lead to some assumptions as to where the name came from. The album is fairly heavy, extremely tight and many of the tracks are quite jolting in their combination of the two. The rhythm sections thumps along providing the drive and the direction for the Helmet steam engine.

Songs like “Bury Me,” and “On Your Way Down,” just build and build upon the solid rhythmic foundation with the guitar work creeping over the top and screeching down at just the right moment like a siren warning of things to come.

The album’s title track “Monochrome,” is actually lighter than much of the rest of the album, with less distortion both on the instruments and vocals. The track is still heavy, but vocal lines like, “we’re only running in place/ hey are you tired?” are able to make their way through the debris. Likewise on the song “Money Shot,” (of all places) lines about a “veteran actress” wanting to be wanted are sung in a way that approaches tenderness. However if that soft side exists at all, it is very miniscule. Some lines from the last song on the album, “Goodbye,” clearly showcase that the boys are hardcore, (have a sense of humor?) and probably aren’t ready to settle down quite yet. “I spent 3 dollars on/these non-slip garden gloves/ so I can bury you/without blistering”. Pretty much sums it up. If you liked Helmet before, you will probably dig this album. If you didn’t, then Monochrome is probably not going to change your mind. – Evan Bleier

Jennifer O’Connor - Over the Mountain, Across the Valley and Back to the Stars

After even a quick glance at the title, it’s not a surprise that Jennifer O’Connor’s latest release is filled with brooding, earnest stories of her life’s journey, set to subtle melodies drenched in heartbreak. O’Connor uses simpler arrangements so her expressive and often sprawling lyrics remain in the spotlight. She has a story to tell and doesn’t want complicated chords getting in the way. At the same time O’Connor avoids the traditional earthy style of folk by adding drums and electric guitar to many tracks- producing something in between folk and rock and garnering several comparisons to Liz Phair. Like Phair, O’Conner experiments with melodies outside of the grounded major keys that sustain the folk genre, tipping her hat to the rockers that came before her in tracks like “Bullshit Maze.” The album as a whole seems as if it was written on a long and tangled road trip, making it easy to picture quiet trees and forgotten towns rolling by as O’Connor’s soundtrack plays quietly in the background. Using a first person approach, O’Connor’s songs are honest, raw and often sorrowful especially in tracks like Sister, where listeners can tell she’s singing from somewhere deep inside. She’s not afraid to put her heart on her sleeve, as long as her guitar is in her arms. - Shelby Meyers

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Michael McDaeth - The Blank Album

Whether it is passion, madness or both, Michael McDaeth is a true renaissance man. Whether it be his numerous websites, including a myspace page, McDaeth continuously enthralls me. All this is due to a cd release called, The Blank Album (which, as you guessed it, has it’s own webpage, www.theblankalbum.com), which brazenly offers 9 slippery tracks that paint various canvases of frustration, confusion and isolated all the while making the listener either want to scratch their eyes out or buckle in sexual organism. I use extremes here because McDaeth is a man of extremes as well, but in a simple, yet powerful acoustic way. While I traveled between the numerous sites he has to offer, I was dumbfounded with his catalogs of music, which raises the awareness of other many madmen and their inability to stop writing and recording music. Most impressive was his work with his band, Weeds Peterson, a threesome that due to lack of desire, concentration, motivation or everything listed, never got the attention they deserved. Weeds Peterson’s release, All Hail the Coming of Weeds, (released in 2006; check it out www.weedspeterson.com) is above exceptional. Getting back to McDaeth’s ‘solo’ cd, during songs like, “More Morphine Please,” and “Everybody’s Fault,” a mild sense of bewilderment and awkwardness is displayed reminiscent of a pre-record deal signing, Daniel Johnston, but McDaeth also has a knack for clamping down on his listeners in a precise, condescending manner. He also has a thing for Nirvana, but I find that it is too premeditated to compare his compositions with the late great Cobain, because McDaeth (check out his other site: www. uncoveringnirvana.com, where he offers his takes on some Nirvana gems.) has a similar, underlining greatness too, all found among these edgy songs. As he frantically strums his guitar like a 12 year old on white sugar and Ritalin, he also simultaneously makes this music very approachable, in a train-wreck-watching kind of way. That is, until he opens his mouth and it is apparent that McDaeth mutilates poetry with dark contrasts of subject topics, some, not even making any sense at all. But for some reason, I have this sneaky feeling, it’s just his way of poking fun at everything. McDaeth offers multi-media fullforce. You can find it on the sites, or even in the videos that accompany his songs. As he sings, “I couldn’t kill her,” during “Everybody’s Fault,” the listener watches a somewhat grainy film of a dog that looks like he could walk into a street of cars zooming by. In his video, “It’s A Weapon,” we watch a child from above, as he races up and down a court yard on a bicycle, cardboard box as a helmet and branding (what appears) to be a plastic sword. It’s the sense of simplicity coupled with a no angle approach that gets you thinking while watching these videos. McDaeth is also a brilliant writer and showcases his short stories on www.mcdaeth.com. He also penned a column for Cake Magazine between 1995 and 1996 called, “My Beautiful Blue Plastic Hammer.” While The Blank Album may not be for everyone, it deserves at least, a once listen through.

- edie

Mold Monkies - O Brave Yet Ignorant Swine

Besides from the mellow intro to the first track “No No No No,” the Mold Monkies, seem to rattle the cage with their bouncy Indie rock. Plenty of melody and the right touch of humor to make a solid disc. The group is led by Nick Appleby and Russell Shaddox. There is such a deep appreciation for the DIY band, mainly because I’m in one with my brother.

The persistence of cranking out an album even though you don’t have a full band is done with great determination. What makes that even cooler is when someone does that and it’s good like these boys do.

So what songs particularly kick harder than others? Well the aforementioned “No No No No,” defiantly brings the rock, but it’s not until the hilarious “Nixon’s Nose” where Russell proclaims that, “they’re cloning Nixon’s nose,” and that “The CIA is behind it/The KKK wouldn’t mind it.” There is also “Out of Control,” a full throttle rock track with a super cool bass intro. I also found admiration for “Life in the Big City,”with its right on main riff.

Making a solid disc is so essential in impressing us music critics, and I think these guys did that. Not all tracks stand out as amazing, but nothing loses you until you get to those tracks that really do catch your ear. Also, there has to be appreciation for bands that don’t take themselves too serious, and allow a good sense of humor to shine through in their music. Maybe more than anything I can’t stand is the over serious, over pompous Indie rock band; that can detract so much from the music. These guys just bring the goods, and sound like they had fun doing it; kudos to the Mold Monkies.

- Nelson Heise 32

Page McConnell - Page McConnell

Page McConnell is a man in search of some answers. In recent times he has gotten divorced from his wife, been involved in the break up of one of the (debatably) biggest bands of the past twenty years, and tried to reinvent himself as a solo artist. I don’t know the details of his personal life so it is not in my power to say whether he should have stuck with his wife or not. However I am privy to the details of his musical life and there is no doubt that no matter how painful a relationship it may have been, he was better off with Phish.

It’s not that his solo album is that bad in and of itself; as an easy listening record it’s probably quite good. The problem with the disc lies in Page’s inability, or perhaps even reluctance, to play to his strengths. The songs on the album are based around the vocals and not around the music. Page is a good singer and a great piano player, but as a songwriter he relies far too heavily on old tricks sugarcoated with new lyrics that seem heartfelt but are just too sappy for their own good.

“When the crooked elections have become the norm/and it turns out the man has created the storm/ that is melting the icecaps on Earth’s outer domes/it’s the greed that surrounds us its what toppled Rome/I know the sun is gonna come out again/ we can reason, respect and maybe we’ll understand.” Those lyrics are from “Close to Home,” and although some the points may be valid and serious, I find it hard to take them seriously. In his heyday Page was one of the funkiest and raw keyboard players out there and now he’s singing about the sun coming out. Come on. The content of the love songs is not even worth getting into although suffice it to say that Maid Marian, Genghis Khan and Praying Mantises all get mentioned. (It comes up as “Easy Listening” in Itunes….Ouch.)

It sounds bleak but there is a light at the end of the tunnel, or rather, down the basement stairs. “Back in the Basement,” is an aptly titled song which features no vocals (and therefore no cheddar lyrics) but has Mike Gordon and Trey Anastasio playing the respective bass and guitar parts. The result is an in the pocket groove that serves as a reminder that these guys can still rekindle some of the old Phish flame if the mood strikes them. Actually Mike Gordon plays bass on quite a few tracks on the album and former Phish drummer Jon Fishman is behind the kit on 6 of the album’s 9 tracks (“Back in the Basement” not being one of them). Musically the album is solid. The first few songs have some interesting breakdowns where the electronic side of Page’s side project Vida Blue can be heard but their intrigue is quickly covered by the onset of the vocals. Clearly Page had a lot on his mind and a lot that he wanted to say with this disc. He just tried to do too much, too fast and the resulting effort ends up far short of where he has the potential to be as a solo artist. – Evan Bleier

Shooting At Unarmed Men - Yes! Tinnitus!!

This release has it’s share of ups and downs. There is a punk feel for some of the songs, a grunge feel for others, and a few songs that mix up the two. One of the casualties of this particular blend is the vocals and the lyrical content of the songs. The vocals are difficult to decipher at times and generally have a raw, raspy quality to them.

Overall they have a somewhat strained feel to them but definitely are not lacking in emotion.

The music is pretty straight ahead and fairly rigid. Lot’s of short guitar riffs over slow melodic bass lines with the drums (listed in the credits as only a snare) not doing much more than holding time and the occasional fill. The songs all are pretty punchy and tend to be on the aggressive side. There is not really an emphasis on soloing or any one instrument and purposeful, simplistic rhythm seems to be the name of the game.

The song “I Am United Nations” is based around a heavily repeated, screaming chorus asking the question “What if we lose?.” “I Cry For No Man,” is highlighted by the verse’s refrain of “You Fucking Tool,”and so forth and so on. The best and most diverse track on the album is “In-Flight Instructions are a Joke, Say I.” The song starts with a simple groove that speeds up and slows down before settling into straight time for the rest of the song. Harmonized vocal lines like “Don’t save anyone, until you yourself are saved,” and “She drank the whole bottle down,”come across quite well and give the song some melody that other songs on the album could use. A simple hand clap added at the end of the track locks in the outro and ends the album on a positive note. As an added treat, there is a few minutes of guitar buzz and effects, and then the whole cd plays again as one continuous track. – Evan Bleier 33

The Shells - Everything/Nothing (with Fish Altieri)

The sultry, sexy and soulful babes better known as The Shells blend both folk and alternative more than believably on their release, Everything/Nothing. On this freshman effort at alternative flavored folk music the fabulous and feverishly framed trio from New York harmoniously fixate old fans and new listeners with true to life and at times tastily twisted perspectives on various subjects ranging from the power of forging ahead in life to the empowering sensations of remembering what propels us to want to look back. Altieri’s acoustic endeavors of Everything/Nothing prove both soft and subtle at times while detectably driven to drench The Shell’s harmonies with just a touch of more than stimulating support. Everything/Nothing begins by begirding the listener with the self titled track about starting over amidst finding the strength for the light in dark times. The vocals are so sustaining that the song could hold it’s own without Altieri’s addition.

“What Are Your Looking For?” stands to be one of the albums gems in the scope of lyrics inventiveness. The variable comparative of our divine to survive versus a car proves rather genius. “When I Grow Up,” a sarcastic and unexpected male proposal perspective on a likely cynical future is both a delight for both The Shells and Altieri’s appreciators . Still, “Sam’s Cow,” showcases Altieri’s acoustic authority at its best, yet, “Dorothy,” serves to stand out most memorably on Everything/Nothing.

If you’re fond of harmonious fused folk then keep a good ear and eye out for The Shells. www.myspace.com/bombshelltrio - Azrel O’Neal

The Woes - That Coke Oven March

From the crack of this album, there is a rush of energy and raging folky-blues that is the essence of the Woes. With a dark, steady beat overlayed in the gravely Tom Waits-reminiscent vocal style of Osei Essed, there is no choice except to get into the groove and allow it to take its toll over a hard drink on the rocks. Not only does this album offer a powerful and quite creatively-produced set of tracks, it also displays a group of diverse musical styles and instrumental usages. The band’s New Orleans-reminiscent sound includes various strings, horns and an accordion to name a few. One of the great assets to this set is its fluctuation between pounding pieces such as “Alleluh,” and “The Visitor,” at its onset and its quieter, more contemplative changes, such as those in tracks like “Oh Theodore,” and the beautiful “When in Bed.” Not only is there great versatility in the overall sound of the group, but there is incredible variation in the vocal characteristics of Essed himself. At some points, one is given the experience of sitting on a porch with a banging group of talented barflies, and at others there is the serenade of a quieter voice and gentle guitar strumming. He shows a remarkable change and style in the track “Tomcat,” and in the next track brings the sound back to the bar with “Arlene.” The somewhat schizophrenic emotions that this album displays defy expectations of any kind from one track to the next, however there is a cohesion to all of the madness. Deeply drawn emotions and a rugged-sounding production style give the Woes an overall quality of sweet, yet stern wisdom and understanding of the human condition. www.thewoes.com -Thomas Page

The Vibration - Amarilla

The Vibration are very good at playing dissonant notes and making it sound pretty, so good, that it’s pretty much what they do throughout the entire album. Their latest release, Amarilla, easily creates great imagery; like a chandelier making a prism rainbow from a glare of light. Ann Fitzgerald’s vocals give an older feel to the music; very Jefferson Airplane meets Kathleen Hannah and some sprinkles of Karen O minus all the sass. Her voice squeezes through the speakers and pops out sugary sweet but slightly acidic, like a sour patch kid. The mood of the music can either be eerie, empowering, or thoughtful. And her vocals seem to only have two styles, either soft and whispery or wailing with tons of energy. The instrumentals are a mix of shoe gaze meets a not so layered cake of 60’s psych rock. A Sonic Youth feel can be heard through the spinning guitar stylings of Randie Williams. Also the instrumental aspects of the album sound a lot like the style that Sleater Kinney displayed in their last album, 34

The Woods. There is a lot of finger picking riffs that are high pitched and dissonant chords clashing with the vocals. Alison Esposito’s drums travel all over the place from tribal to rocking hard to a repetitive high hat beat that stings the ears like a bee. The bass played by Antonia Selerno rings out and is clearly pronounced, waltzing through the guitar melodies. The layers of creativity put into this album are well heard and while everything is very tight throughout the album I’m still have trouble completely feeling it?

It’s obvious that The Vibration are on to something. Nice, very sweet but with a bit of edgy-ness, perhaps? There are some really great moments in songs like, “Sweet Oil,” where the sparkling of finger picking and the drums meet perfectly with the vocals and this balance creates a great harmony. The opening track of this release, “Muscle Memory,” starts off with just vocals and then the music comes in gritty and full of distortion and clashing notes. It all has an excellent sound, its thoughtful and instrumentally stimulating but through out the album. There is so much passion, build up of momentum and energy but it never reaches a climax to get past this wall that they created and in the end, it is a bit of a let down. If I just heard a couple of The Vibration’s songs I would dig them because they have tons of talent and sound like they have a lot to offer but the entire album just doesn’t change it up as much as it should to show that they can be any more dynamic and creative than this. www.myspace. com/thevibration. - Lauren Piper

Thom Yorke - The Eraser

For those who have been curious as to the whereabouts of the newest innovations from the famed band Radiohead, Thom Yorke has answered the question from his hidden creative perch with the release of “The Eraser” in May of 2006. The album is Yorke’s independent creative release, and speaks of his own contribution to what has become known as an historically jarring and innovative group of musicians.

Many artists remove themselves from their counterparts in order to explore their own artistic careers and voices. Some are met with respect and others with admonitions to return to what they had when they were part of the larger sound. In the case of Yorke, embarking on this strange and creepy listening journey is notably successful.

The beginning of the album, with the title track, “The Eraser,” sets the tone for the mixture of colorful noise that is gently repeated throughout the project. The initial feeling is one of resistance and restraint in the listener, an attempt to detach from the deeper meaning of the art. The use of jarring backbeats, disruptive noise, and rhythmic tones quickly draws the listener into a wash of a digital ocean, where it nags at the brain and forces it to listen to what is being said.

When critically listening to such an introduction to a set of musical pieces, the expectation is that there will be a catharsis at some point, a place where the wave breaks and falls back. A once-over will not satisfy a person looking for that break. There is an anticipation through tracks such as “The Clock,” and “Skip Divided,” that there is going to be some kind of brain-smashing tremor in the middle of the album, however this never happens. Yorke’s art slowly climbs to a plateau and stays there. At first it is difficult to understand the intent and direction. It is easy to dismiss the project as simple and unsatisfying.

However, a closer listen to “And it Rained All Night,” suddenly makes it clear that at the top of the plateau, there is a sharp pause and a walk over an edge. This track starts off like the rest, and then suddenly departs from the steady trudge that precedes it. The change is subtle, however the mixture of tempo changes and overlays is perfectly complimentary to the fall off that edge, evoked in “Harrowdown Hill,” and followed by the release in the final track, “Cymbal Rush.”

The politics in this album are clear from the beginning if one is mindful of the words being spoken. Its message is a response to the public policy in recent years within the British government, and a time of confusion and mistrust among citizens in Western society. Yorke asks people to pause here and listen to his words. He does so with incredible grace and tact. Listen to it twice. http://www.theeraser.net - Thomas Page

TV On the Radio - Return to Cookie Mountain

Return to Cookie Mountain grew on me, but it didn’t hit me in the face and blow me away like TV on The Radio’s first full-length album Desperate Youths, Blood Thirsty Babes. At first listen, I was comparing too much and felt that Return to Cookie Mountain lacked feeling and character. This album is not as experimental in the noise rock way as their previous one was but it experiments with itself in so many other ways. I also learned that I was listening in the wrong song order; which changed my feelings a lot. They fill up the album with loops, beautiful harmonies, repetition of beats, and electronic sounds. Their use of rhythm vocally and instrumentally in this album seems much more substantial and important than in Desperate Youths. Perhaps this album is meant to rely more on the rhythm; like a heartbeat to drag your own beat along with it, speeding up and faltering at the same time.

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Listening, you can feel the album picking you up and inserting itself into your body with the soulful vocals and distortion muddying your exterior in the best way possible. The harmonies created in this album by Tunde Adebimpe and Kyp Malone sometimes give me chills and create this feeling that my mind might explode because it can’t even comprehend the beauty that my ears are hearing. They give this quality of warmth with their harmonies and you can almost feel it on your skin. At the same time though, there is a serious sense to the music, a feeling that they really know what they are doing. They still use electronic blips and clangs that give the illusion of pounding nails into a wall with a hammer like in the song “Method” or that you are walking through a porthole with the song “Province.”

TV on the Radio’s ability to create a wall of sound with the bleating guitars is like swimming inside of their invention, hearing their inspiration. The song “Let the Devil in” gives way to animalistic qualities and lets the use of drums take over and create the song with hypnotizing guitar surfing its way through the rhythm. Then the incredibly emotional “Woo oo ah’s” that are interspersed throughout the song really make it almost a tribal anthem were it not so electronic.

And while I now find this album to be completely inventive and compelling, it took me a while to find the soul that I had loved so much in the last album. I felt that it was distorted to the point that the emotion was only on the surface. This album seems slightly more hurried and rock oriented than the all over the place quality of Desperate Youths, Blood Thirsty Babes. But comparison can only get you so far.

This album is different; TV on the Radio is evolving, just as anything evolves as a human being or a life form and that seems to be the message they are giving in this album, the message of evolution and growing and forming. And while I was a later bloomer in grabbing hold and digging into the life-like elements of this album and I still feel as though there is a thin film between the music and me, I can’t deny that Return to Cookie Mountain is more than just a clever album title. – Lauren Piper

Vilot - Magic Tea

From the hands of two young men, Vince and Bruce Senini, comes the pop-rock sound of “Magic Tea,” a slowly churning set of drum and guitar-heavy recordings. The album kicks off with the track “A Good Evening Afternoon,” with its classic rock feel and concise lyricism.

The first part of the album continues along a similar path of rhythmic guitar and slow drum beats with the occasional drifting muddy guitar solo.

The vocals are gentle and easy to listen to. These tracks are short and simple, and lead up to a change in attitude that explains the meaning of the title of the album in the untitled “track 5.” This track starts off like the rest, but departs into a long instrumental and electronic break that brings an otherworldly feel to the production with its floating extra-terrestrial sound effects and changes of rhythmic pace. The listener is encouraged to travel to an outside and unsure place.

This happens again later in the album with “Tomorrow Never Knows.” The album quickly returns to its soft, understated sound after the conclusion of this track, and stays there for the next few tracks. The beat picks up a bit in the track “Mine that Matters,” with a somewhat heavier drum and guitar combination. The conclusion of the album, with “Umbrella Girls,” somehow circles back around to the beginning and gives this set its finishing touches, retaining the soft-sounding feel of the voice of Vilot. www.vilotmusic.com -Thomas Page

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I am on the road with the first ever self-proclaimed, post-country band and we are going in squares. We are being directed by a robotic British woman telling us to keep making right turns in the middle of Kentucky. This has happened right after we’ve consumed our meal at one of the band’s required dining establishments, Waffle House. Gunfight! consists of four guys with funny facial hair who quote Arrested Development and do the dirtiest and most twisted Madlibs I have ever heard in my life. But being on the road and as I learn this about them – one thing is apparent. This is also the most fun I’ve had with the same group of people for multiple days in a row. Each day we wake up early and drive at least four hours to any destination and then arrive, normally, just in time to set up. Maybe then, we get some dinner and then play a show in some city. We go to bed (maybe) by 4am only to get up and then do the same thing all over again. It’s exhausting but this experience was absolutely exhilarating and made me want to do it for the rest of my life. The GPS system was once German, only for the purpose of Eric Glassman (drums) yelling profanities at it. As we pulled out of Boston, we needed directions. We got them from ‘she’ (who became American but seemed too unsure of herself so it was decided that she would be British). “Gypsy,” would sometimes get confused and try to bring us back to where we’d started and everyone would yell at her and call her a ‘whore’ while Glassman coddled her in his arms saying she just ‘needed to be understood.’ Once we hit the highway, a CD would be put in and a jig/accordion type song off a Paste magazine compilation would come blasting out of the speakers. After the first 20 seconds, the song became normal and would then be ejected making this tour full of hilarity, complete with listening to funny music and cracking jokes in the van.

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I spent ten days in that van. Ten days with laid back, freewheeling gents who could open a can of beans using only a broken drumstick and a grapefruit

shovel. Other tidbits about this group? Drank day-old forties that had been sitting in the van, spent an extra 30 minutes trying to find the parking lot for the beach in Chicago just so we could walk around on the sand for 20 minutes, got really excited about eating at Sonic since there isn’t one in New York and played whiffle ball at a rest stop. And these guys liked Cracker Barrel so much we went there two days in a row, not too mention that after too much alcohol, some passed out on a back deck for the night as well as hitting Canada (to see Niagara Falls). After those ten days were over, we all realized that we actually missed each now that the tour was over and we weren’t hanging out everyday together.

Gunfight! is a band from New England and consists of Drew Mintz on vocals and guitar, Eric Glassman on drums and Tony Aquilino on bass. These three friends went to high school together in New York. Guitarist Bill Dvorak, is a New Jersey native who ended up in Boston at Emerson College with Mintz. In their early twenties, they started out as a threesome (Dvorak, Mintz and Glassman). While messing around musically and eventually finding their sound in what they call post-country, this is a combination of post-punk and country roots music. “It’s a form of country music but it’s not country music. It’s definitely a different genre of country that takes into account the influences of punk, post-punk and indie rock. We bring a lot of stuff from the Strokes and Franz Ferdinand which is what I would consider pop/post-punk, a definition given from the visionary of this idea,” offers Mintz. Aquilino adds, “Punk and post-punk is a wide open style where weirdness is really encouraged and so post-country from the start, is a genre that, though its really based in tradition, the influences allowed us to expand far in different directions.” The band became a band in August of 2006, when Aquilino, who lived in New York, was asked to record bass lines for the threesome’s demo. After a week of recording, the energy was so high, along the fact that they all worked so well together that Aquilino became the commuting bassist for Gunfight! (and yes, there is an exclamation point at the end of Gunfight).

When Gunfight! invited me to come on tour, it was decided I would be the band journalist, as well as roadie, merch girl and mom. Due the fact that I hide a very large Jewish mother somewhere inside of me, my duties on tour were to include feeding the meter at 8am while the boys slept in, providing snack foods, paper towels and Vitamin C, as well as carrying equipment and patching crotch holes in Dvorak ‘s and Mintz’ pants. And because these guys are true gentlemen even if they do go several days without showering or shaving, they still want to look nice for the ladies.

This tour started in Boston, dipped into the South via Nashville, then into the Midwest, onto New York and back to Boston. The whole trip was put together mostly by Jinsen Liu, a friend of the band, whom had done many tours with his band 28 Degrees Taurus. Liu set up Gunfight! with a solid tour, playing with good bands and the guys were very grateful for his help in the process. They kicked off the tour playing in front of friends in a small venue called All Asia in Cambridge, Massachusetts. It was Gunfight!’s third show since reuniting after five months of being apart and despite their rustiness, it was obvious how happy they were to be back together.

Everything was an adventure on this tour for I didn’t know what to expect next. The band was excited to explore different cities, meet different scenes and communities and to just be together for ten whole days because they truly love each other (platonically but they could fool some peo38

ple!). We left Boston, Massachusetts late at night to try to get a head start on getting to Baltimore, Maryland. As we hopped in the car Feist’s new album, The Reminder, was put on, followed by 80’s Gold (a cheesy 80’s mix), then Eugene Merman stand-up comedy.

The music choices expanded, while showcasing the band’s varied tastes which included of a mix of: The Smiths, Pavement, Ryan Adams, Mirah, Jerry Reed and more.

One night I sat in the van while some smoked cigarettes and others slept. I wondered what the hell I was going to think about my four musician friends at the end of the ten day tour.

Would I hate them? Would I be tired of their music? As the tour went on, I watched Gunfight! grow from good friends who loved music to a real band whom I had been unable to see under the disguise of just guys whose company I enjoyed. I learned that they all had great ideas and were articulate about their hopes for the band, for their sound and this tour. Gunfight! showed me how talented and passionate they were for the idea of post-country and every night I stood in admiration as my friends wooed the crowd.

The Baltimore show was at a warehouse/loft called The Annex with a bunch of bands including Thrushes (Birdnote Records), an excellent local group with a Rilo Kiley meets Explosions in the Sky feel to them. The people at the show were all about music as a culture and clicked with Gunfight! right away. While in the beginning I worried for their ability to play for people who weren’t already their good friends, I noticed everyone tapping their feet and nodding their heads as the band warmed up to the audience. Glassman thrashed at the drums, keeping energy high as Mintz howled into the microphone while strumming the guitar and slicing out lyrics about the monotony of being kids in a small town. Aquilino floated bass lines with the rhythm and jerked around as he played while Dvorak plucked out catchy and distinctive riffs -- focused on his part but still tuned in to the rest of the band. Mintz and Dvorak’s guitar styles, country roots/pop-punk meets post-punk work well together and allow the rest of the band to throw in their own influences. The twangy, dance-rock music really did turn some heads in this Baltimore warehouse and they left with $100 at the end of the night, which also included the money they’d earned from a show in New York a couple days before.

According to Mintz, post-country had come about from aspects he had noticed in the music of Kings of Leon (except their last album). “The idea of post-country came from the second Kings of Leon album for me because I think that’s a pretty big example of post-country but I don’t think they would call it that; that’s what we called it. That’s the basis for the idea and building off that… it’s also just all the things we were into. I think we are still getting closer to figuring out what that sound is.” While bands like Kings of Leon gave Mintz the idea for this sound, he really defined it and I learned through watching Gunfight! night after night as they worked hard to evolve it into a real genre. Because of the nearness of this idea to Mintz and his interest in country roots music, Nashville was a pretty big deal to the band. “When we decided we wanted to go on tour, the one thing we were definite about was that we wanted go to Nashville… I feel like it’s a religious pilgrimage to go. It’s a silly thing that I made up in my head listening to Hank Williams, even if it doesn’t mean anything at all.”

I think the band got a lot of what they expected and hoped for out of the city. Nashville was a smattering of Southern hospitality and country charm. There were drunk magicians doing card tricks and a pre-teen boy making balloon animals going from city to city with his mother trying to fund his college tuition. Music did emanate from this city and everyone was so nice that the atmosphere was much more genuine than that of Boston or New York. We spent a day in Nashville and went from exploring around the city to sitting in a bar talking to the people for a while and then eating watermelon and drinking beer on the deck of fellow Boston formed band Eureka Gold who moved to Nashville after recording an album there. During our time here, the band really did feel a connection with Nashville and were it not for them having jobs and plans, they might have considered moving there. Perhaps in the future.

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Gunfight! played that night with The Glib, a band backed by Eureka Gold members and fronted by Joe Mormon.

Both bands put on a great show and it was clear that this tour was becoming a learning experience. Through out all of tour, much of the time in the car was also spent listening to the cd’s of fellow bands Gunfight! played with or knew including Thrushes, The Glib, Eureka Gold, The Western Front and they were really beginning to understand why touring was so great. Even so that

talks about doing it again, or just touring Nashville for a week or tackling the West Coast came up. Aquilino explained, “One of the things that was really inspiring about being on tour is the other musicians we played with – those, who are really amazing. Like hearing Eureka Gold’s record and hearing Joe Mormon play live makes me want to go out and make more music, play more shows, be more alive on stage.”

And that’s what exactly happened - they became more alive on stage. Each show had more experience behind it, introducing them to different ways of thinking about music.

While in Chicago, the band was excited to be playing in Wicker Park. This seemed to be a big, legit venue that charged at the door (= gas money). The guys played on a stage that was actually higher than the audience. At this show, I realized that Gunfight! wasn’t sounding familiar to me now that I had been traveling with them for so long. At first I could hear snippets of The Strokes, maybe Kings of Leon, all influences that they pull from. But after a couple songs you can feel the bouncing melodies along with the kicking sections of start/stop strumming, creating a real thrill and energy to the music. Mintz’s voice is enticing, light and a little bit sad with that slight country twang evoking the emotions and feelings attached to the songs. And it is impossible not to be pulled in different musical directions while listen to Dvorak’s guitar parts and Aquilino’s rhythmic bass lines and not realize that you are being pulled into different musical directions because everything meshes together so thoroughly. The proficiency of Gunfight!’s tour was remarkable and though maybe there were a couple of flukes while on the road, they always kept it together with a very professional stage attitude.

Despite being road-exhausted, every night, Gunfight! played their hearts out, and then continue on with the night by going out with the bands they played with and the people they met. In Madison, Wisconsin, another pretty talented band, The Western Front, opened for Gunfight! and though the venue was a little vacant due to college students having fled the town after school ended, the two bands hung out until late in the night eating pizza, going to bars and walking around while talking about their interests and their different styles.

As the tour continued through the Midwest, we continued picking up on how much nicer people were than in Boston. Every place we went had its own charming qualities; Gunfight! questioned whether or not they could live in each city we went. We stopped at a Hooters somewhere in Illinois for some wings (because obviously on tour we ate mostly crap ie: tuna sandwiches at 4am and Taco Bell). In Columbus, Ohio, the guys were surprised at the booming scene and the large amount of people at their show in the Bourbon Street Café before the gig. Aquilino and Glassman invented something they called the Ciga-run where they would both run around the block while smoking cigarettes to see who would throw up first. We watched them in awe. After the show (which friends from Boston had come down to), they met a young guy named Fozzie who’d just moved to the area and came out because he heard Gunfight! on Myspace.com. Fozzie invited us to stay at his house for the night. We chilled out on his back steps listening to music as he offered everyone food and drinks. It was amazing that Gunfight! could connect with people in such a way that they made friends everywhere they went.

In Buffalo, New York, we stopped at what was supposedly the first place ever to have wings. Gunfight! proceeded to eat an absurd amount of them. We ended up with leftovers but Dvorak stepped into them later in the night, so we throw them out. The guys from the band London vs. New York who also played that night hung around and talked to Gunfight! about the Buffalo music scene, making it pretty obvious that this is a thriving scene. Some random guys from the audience yelled out, “I think I like your band!” but as the show progressed, later yelled, “Yes I do!” They eventually came up to talk to the Gunfight! giving them an open invitation to play with their band the next time they came back to town.

Gunfight! and I came traveled to a triumphant show in Brooklyn, New York with 28 Degrees Taurus, Thrushes, Sanguine Drone and others. There were tons of friends dying to know how our tour went. It was a great welcome back into our community of friends. We took our final drive together to Boston, Massachusetts the following morning and for the first time in ten days, we finally separated only to meet up at the night’s show, showered and ready for the closing of tour. The lineup was all friends: Paparazzi, The Soundscapes (NY), Bridget and the Squares, and Gunfight! Gunfight! played to a huge crowd and they played one of their best shows. It was obvious they were happy to be back among friends.

I look back on this experience because while it’s funny that Gunfight! were my friends before this, their professional style, articulation as a band and talent truly did blow me away time and time again. They aren’t just goofy guys with funny sideburns, mustaches, big hair and weird quirks or more hair products than I have, but talented musicians dedicated to their craft. They have an idea of a sound that they are trying to evolve into and are really excited about where this tour took them. Gunfight’s! music is truly unique and definitely deserves a chance to be heard by many others since everyone who they met couldn’t help but dance to their music.

- Lauren Piper 40

Juana Molina

Some musical genres are characterized, paradoxically, by not being certain genres at all. They don’t respect geographic or esthetic boundaries, with the exception of the infinite itself. Within them, music is a universal language that follows no compass or conventionalism.

Juana Molina is an Argentine composer, vocalist, and multi-instrumentalist whose work is devoid of flags and barriers, only bordered by that distant limit that can be seen on the horizon, over the ocean: that line that divides, and at the same time reunites, sky and water. Molina’s songs are like a journey through the open sea to collect breezes, storms, animals, photographs of clouds and rainbows, landscapes, suns, moons, and people from every country. The vastness of the world and the nature of its peoples are the only limits of her work. Her fourth album, Son (2006), is a true itinerary of a trip through Earth’s sounds and music.

If you don’t know Molina’s music and wish to picture it, I invite you to close your eyes. Imagine a woman that sings softly while she strums an acoustic guitar. Imagine that she is all alone in a garden, but her guest musicians are the leaves of the trees, the crickets of the summer nights, and the warbles of the birds. Now imagine yourself spying on that lady, realizing that her garden is not located in a particular place or, what is the same, is locater in every place at the same time. Imagine that for a strange spell of Molina’s music, the compasses have gone mad, and that, for the same cause, you are now capable of being present at the same time in every country of the world. Imaging having no age, not being subject to the laws of time: you can be a child, an adolescent, and an adult all at once. Imagine that her garden is located in the countryside or in the busiest city, it doesn’t really matter. Imagine anything you want, but always with you remaining calm and peaceful, breathing deeply and relaxing under the charm of music, as in profound meditation.

After all these steps, you will be in a state of lethargy, drowsiness, and spiritual elevation. Only then you will understand the general sense of Molina’s work: music that is like the air that carries the essences of the lands it has crossed. It retains floating scents and sounds from the whole planet with its culture, its people and their traditions: the ports of Uruguay, especially Montevideo, the beaches of Brazil, the sands of any desert, the rains of Buenos Aires, the mornings in the markets of Cairo or Marrakech, the Paraná, the Ganges, the River Plate. In her songs, a woman sings her melancholy with childish voice, sitting on the bank of a river or in a field in the interior of any country. She is sad but with a tenacious desire of being happy. And it doesn’t matter whether she is from Orient or Occident, north or south: pain and hopes feel the same in every point of Earth.

With Son, this Argentine breaks with subtlety our rational laws. While we are either children or adults, she is a kid that toys with the sounds of the garden, with birds, with the wind; and at the same time she is an adult that composes, performs and carries out her work with precision. While we belong to a particular country, she is a musical citizen of the whole world. All the continents can be heard singing through the album, while the cardinal points lose all their sense. In the crucible of her creativity, Molina blends all the latitudes and the races. Sounds of the forest with solitary nights in the room of a big city, oriental mornings with South American dusks: urban melancholy of Buenos Aires in a musical syncretism that has no latitude or altitude, but a universal language.

The musical work of Molina – daughter of tango musician Horacio Molina– began discographically with Rara (1996), with the 41

support and production of Gustavo Santaolalla. In 1998 she moved to Los Angeles, where in an improvised recording studio she began to shape what would become her following album, Segundo (2000). This time she worked alone and with a personal computer as the only technological resource, mixing acoustic guitars, keyboards, ambient sounds and her voice. In 2004 she released Tres Cosas following the same solitary and experimental path. This album went unnoticed in her homeland, but not in the United States: at the end of 2004, the New York Times placed it among the Top Ten Records of the year, together with Björk, U2, Brian Wilson, and Green Day. In 2006 she recorded her most recent album, Son, in which she returns to play between acoustic simplicity and psychedelic complexity.

Most of the songs that make up Son show similarities of structure and performance. The most prominent instrument leading the tracks is an acoustic guitar accompanied, among other elements, by samples, keyboard sounds, and diverse voices that were recorded by the artist to create an atmosphere of dreamlike astonishment. Incidental sounds taken from nature officiate as choirs. The birds’ singing in “La verdad”, third track of the album, is a remarkable example. The general ambiance of Son is one of introspection. This feeling is highlighted by the sound effects that, together with the strange choirs recorded by Molina, add an air of melodic dissonance. The formula seems to be the following: the acoustic guitar maintains a harmonically simple base structure that allows the recording of voices, percussions, and sounds of greater complexity on top of it. Over these repeating chords, the artist sings melodies, verses, and choruses. Molina uses this simplicity as a skeleton over which she can add more complex sound textures. The voices that she records –besides the leading voice– sound like those of a tribal rite, as the notes seem to be on the edge of dissonance, of being out of tune. But only seem to be, because in Son everything is right and every little note and sound is where it should be. Thus, the fact that the songs present a limited variety of chords doesn’t imply musical poverty; instead, it’s a tool that was perfectly chosen by the composer: maintaining her songs in two or three chords allows Juana to keep them as light trips, making possible for the listener to retain the sounds, aromas, and atmospheres found during the voyage. This is a characteristic of all the music styles that cause a sensation of spiritual journey and psychedelia. If we listen to Hindu music, we will notice that it presents different melodies composed over a single chord; a resource that was taken by The Beatles for the song “Tomorrow Never Knows” (Revolver), which only has a single C chord.

Son takes us to a quest of psychedelic sounds from the second half of the sixties, where at times we will seem to hear the soul of George Harrison bringing oriental elements to pop music, or recall Their Satanic Majesties Request of The Rolling Stones. Nonetheless, the elements that feed Molina’s music are not the psychedelic experiences of British rock bands, but sounds of Rioplatense music, particularly the works of Uruguayan composer and guitarist Eduardo Mateo. Molina also plays with electronic music, adding a contemporary air to her songs and separating them from traditional psychedelic pop. It’s a new kind of psychedelic sound: ambient music made with such calmness that it’s capable of transporting the soul of the listener and relaxing his body in a bright acoustic trip.

The songs’ lyrics seem to fulfill an esthetic requirement mostly. Voice is used as another instrument and the words are chosen more for their sound than for their meaning. They also show an oriental air of haiku poetry that combines very well with the sounds of rainwater, cascades, birds, and leaves on the air.

The 55 minutes of Son are absolutely recommendable. People always change after a journey through an unknown place, and the same will happen with Molina’s album.

Son is not commercial or easy music, but profound and made with dedication. The freedom with which Juana creates her music should be useful as a guide for everyone: to integrate the different voices of the world into a single global chant, discovering the true voice of our planet. But in peace, of course.

- Federico Di Pasquale.

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Robert “R.” Kelly is an interesting dude. He has been at the top of the Billboard charts (“I Believe I Can Fly) and at the bottom of the barrel (He still has a 3 year old child pornography charge hanging over his head which includes an infamous golden shower). He has been on tour with and publicly feuded with Entertainer/Media Mogul Jay-Z, been lambasted on new sketch comedy classic “Chapelle’s Show” and is also the top selling male R&B singer of all time. However all of these accomplishments dwarf when compared to his true masterwork, “Trapped in the Closet”.

“Trapped in the Closet” is the most ridiculous thing I have ever had the privilege of bearing witness to, with the 2004 presidential election coming in a close second. It is a song/video/soap opera/comedy/social commentary that more than likely was brought about with the aid of heavy marijuana smoking. It would be unfair of me to give away too many of the actual details or storylines because doing that would only detract

from the viewing experience.

In short, the story is divided into “chapters”, with each one telling a small part of the tale and leading a progression into the following “chapter”. (Notice I didn’t say logical progression.) All of the dialogue in the movie is provided in song format, with Kelly giving voice to all of the characters in the movie, enthusiastically emulating their various dialects and emotions. The story focuses around the main character Sylvester (Kelly) and the way that his day progresses after he wakes up in bed with a woman that is not his wife and her husband comes home, forcing him to hide, you guessed it, in the closet.

There are lots of twists and turns in the plot and not many of them make all that much sense or are even vaguely realistic. However the comedy (intentional or not) of the story and the sheer fact that such an absurdity even exists make “Trapped in the Closet” nearly impossible to turn away from. It is a tongue in cheek epic, and luckily for Kelly the cast appears to be over the age of eighteen. I wait for Chapter 13 with bated breath.

Without giving any o f t h e p l o t l i n e s a w a y, h e r e i s a brief list of my favorite things about “Trapped in the Closet”. I swear this is only a brief list.

1 ) R . K e l l y ’ s vocal performance as an overweight, pregnant, southern, white woman.

2) The way that the police officer in the movie talks out of the side of his mouth.

3) How in every scene, despite that he was recently released from prison,

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“Twan” wants to shoot anyone possible even if there is no reason for it.

4) That in the commentary R. Kelly says he is going to create a 3 act play based on “Trapped in the Closet,” with a straight face.

5) That Fox is negotiating with R. Kelly for a TV series. OJ Who? 6) That the two gay men in the movie are said to have met each other while watching a midget at a male strip club.

7) The midget’s name, even in the credits, is “Big Man”. He claims to be blessed.

8) “Sylvester’s” elderly, spatula wielding next door neighbor can sniff out infidelity.

9) Twan” gets shot and instead of going to a hospital or requesting a doctor, only needs some water and a gauze pad to recover. Bullets don’t hurt true gangsters.

10) Instead of hiding in the closet, the midget hides under the sink, fitting cozily.

11) Almost all of the characters have access to and are proficient and experienced in casually using firearms to handle their disputes.

12) R. Kelly is part of a sex scandal with little people.

- Evan Bleier

Whatever happened to ‘Saying No to Drugs?’ I miss, ‘saying no to drugs.’

Growing up, I couldn’t watch five minutes of Bugs Bunny without hearing that there were these things called ‘drugs,’ and that we should say, ‘no,’ to them.

Today, there are more ads for drugs than against them. I wonder what in the world kids think when they see an ad for some random drug that has a name like Zamderal. What do they possibly think it is? For all they know Zamderal is like the mother of all Flintstone vitamins that causes you to watch sunsets and play with puppies.

‘Saying No to Drugs,’ is not being ingrained into television viewers heads as it once were. What is being ingrained?

That if you take a drug for E.D. you may get a semi-permanent erection, or go blind. What drug has mankind created that causes urban legends to become legitimate side effects?

Where are my, ‘Say No to Drugs,’ campaigns? I can’t think of one that’s running right now. Remember back in the day, the oldies but goodies, the egg in the frying pan, “This is your brain on drugs?” Or my all time favorite with the parent asking his kid where he learned to do drugs, ‘from you, alright!?! I learned it by watching you!’ Classic.

Now I’m lucky if I can get some ‘C’ level actor, like the guy who played the

gardener on one episode of “Joey,” to tell kids that, “Unlike photosynthesis, smoking won’t help you grow.” Right before that psychedelic ‘more you know’ star rainbow goes careening across the screen followed by the longest tracer in the history of network television. Then leading into prime time programming consisting of the act of doing cocaine being completely glorified on an episode of “Las Vegas.”

In fact, where are any of our PSA’s? When’s the last time McGruff told kids to ‘take a bite out of crime?’ I remember seeing the ads for that so often that I began to hate McGruff. But as the result it was ingrained in my head what I should do if in my neighborhood I ever saw a strange van driven by a guy with a shady mustache.

It’s been too long since Smoky the Bear informed me that I, Nick Vatterott and only I could prevent forest fires.

As pro-PSA as I am, I always found the anti-forest fire campaign to be an odd one. Why of all the terrible things going on in the 80’s and 90’s, was network television so adamant on stopping forest fires of all things?

No, not guns in our children’s schools, or STD’s, forest fires were the monsters attempted to be slain. I agree that forest fires are a terrible thing sometimes ignited carelessly by man, but they are also a natural process of life. I would have like to see other ad campaigns against other natural proc-

esses of life:

Say No to Volcano’s.

Take a bite out of Flash Flooding.

Remember kids, only you can prevent sleet…

Let’s bring back, “saying no to drugs.” In fact, new rule: if you run a pro-drug commercial, you have to pay for an anti-drug commercial. Don’t let PSA’s drown in a sea of fictional reality television and re-casted classic sit-com scenarios. I don’t ever want to be watching VH1’s “Remember the Decades” and have Public Service Announcements be waxed upon as complete nostalgia.

“Remember when television wasn’t completely filled with acts that desensitized the public mentality towards violence and perpetuate ideas of superficially,” says the guy who plays the gardener on “Joey.”

Because maintaining the few positive messages on today’s airwaves, if you don’t mind, is a terrible thing to waste.

- Nick Vatterott

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EXTREME SPORTS: Pillow Fight League

by Dutch and Denny

A pillow fight league? What am I to expect. Dutch and I were at a football party, manly sports, bad for you food and beverages and discussions of the important things in life, sports, sports and extreme sports. Our editor has assigned us the task of covering the newly formed Pillow Fight League. After all the strange looks from everyone there, learning that the league was for women only elicited a bit of excitement from the male population. We decided to grit our teeth and take our assignment with enthusiasm and open minds.

The thought of two people hitting each other with pillows brings all types of things to mind. What would it look like, how do they do it, does it hurt, is it like mud-wrestling? So there we were on a Friday night getting a few drinks before we hit the train to Williamsburg, Brooklyn. We were warned that traveling to Williamsburg required watching out for men in sideburns, wanna be hipsters. We also had to deal with the highly NYPD patrolled streets of Williamsburg. Do they know something about extreme sports that we don’t? Is this more dangerous than we originally thought? We kept our eyes open as we prepared our minds for this potentially dangerous assignment.

As we entered the venue there was a long line of folks ready to get a taste of the PFL. There was a buzz of excitement that turned to angst as we casually used our editorial authority and walked in front of them all to enter this den of mystery. WE flashed our editorial credentials and were pulled into the arena, unknown to us at the time, by the reigning champ Champain.

Our first impressions were piqued by the blue mats stretched on the floor, a square rings of chairs, lights, and cameras. Our level of curiosity kept rising, imaging what excitement was about to occur, as we were met by the judges and promoters and quickly chose a few chairs right on the edge of the ring. A few cold ones were procured and were we ready to rumble.

The doors opened and the crowd rushed in. The night was a sellout. The emcee grabbed our attention and announced all the rules of the match. The crowd was brought to their feet as the first introductions were announced. It was the beginning of a night of professional pillow fighting. The competitions began. The first match started off gracefully with pillow swings back and forth and then suddenly the smack down began. Hard hits, pushing and shoving, grabbing each other in all parts of the body.

This graceful art form quickly turned into a Roman Greco wrestling match putting WWE to shame. Bodies dropping on top of each other and the eternal effort to pin the other’s shoulders to the mat, with a pillow between your arms and the other body at all times. We now finally knew what professional pillow fighting was all about – and we were pleased!

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Each match was distinctly different and it was great to see how the fighters actually assumed a new identity and used it in the aspects of their pillow fight. The competitors had style and flair, each with individual pillow fighting techniques and each playing to their strengths. The crowd loved it. Each match was competitive and some even controversial. The basic rule was a pin to the floor wins. When there was no pin the celebrity judging panel, (consisting of Stacey Case, Commissioner, edie, editor-in-chief of Dig This Real and Neil Janowitz from Newsweek) would have to decide the winner and a 2-1 vote

takes the prize. Most judging decisions were 3-0 but when there were wins by a split decision in votes, every person in the crowd had an opinion and wasn’t afraid to voice it.

One of the things that amazed us is that you could pretty much do anything you want in the ring as long as the pillow was in between. We saw sharp blows to the back and face but the competitor would keep all hits into the pillow and whatever happened to the person on the other side was just too bad. The competitors knew the risks and knew what they were getting in to when they entered the ring! However our open jaws could not truly describe the shock as the raw display of power and violence in each match was evident.

As if all of this wasn’t enough, after the early matches and before the championship match, the league officials invited women from the audience to compete. Now it really got frightening. These women were anxious to get in there and demonstrate their prowess. Even though they had smiles and respect for their opponent you could feel the animosity and desire to win in the air. The commissioner had to intervene before the second match as one Brooklyn competitor started to strip and evidently wanted to assume the role of the Nude Lady (maybe she was a big mud wrestler fan/competitor or maybe, and most likely, she was tanked). While the frenzied fans approved more entertainment this women was whipped into shape by her match opponent who promptly kicked her fully clothed butt. It doesn’t matter what you wear or don’t wear, it’s how you pummel your opponent. Truly inspiring competition just inches away from us. It was ok watching this amateur play but just as we think we are back to professional play, the league decides to have a three-some of audience players. While everyone was amused at how the competitors worked independent and then ganged up to get a one on one we were somehow not amused by this gimmick. Show me a good one on one match. This is a professional league you know. While audience participation may be a good recruiting technique, we are here to see the real deal professionals. Maybe we need to do a follow-up to find out if any of these women pursue a career in pillow fighting. Maybe this is the start of new franchises and pillow fighting clubs forming. Maybe these are just angry women with too much pent up energy.

After the amateurs completed their time, it was back to the professional matches. We could see as the night progressed that the match competitors were getting better and better with more brutal hits and more advanced play. The seasoned veterans on stage in the latter matches showed us why this is a professional league.

Here is a quick recap of the matches: Lady Die v Trashley – Trashley reminded me of the lifestyle that all Americans long for, trailer parks, cold beer and plastic pink flamingos and gnomes on the lawn. Too bad she was crushed by Lady Die. Laura Tunderin-Geezus v Carmen Monoxide – a good early match; lots of hitting and again some nice outfits; spinning moves were spectacular.

Eiffel Power v Vic Payback - Vic Payback displayed a nice costume that immediately came off assaulting our sensitive eyes; Eiffel is French (Canadian) and truly a spectacle of height as she crushed Vic Payback; this pummeling did solicit sympathy from the crowd but it was not enough as Eiffel made this a quick match.

Roxxy Balboa v Ursula Anvil - Roxxy living up to the Balboa name punishing Anvil with blow after blow.

Lynn Somnia v Sailor Gerri – a controversial – many thought that Sailor Gerri won this one including the writers of this article but it was a 2-1.

Boozy Suzy v Kilkelly – maybe a prelude to future fights (Boozy is now the reigning champion), Boozy smacked Kilkelly all over the place. Irish eyes were crying not smiling.

Jane Doe v Polly Esther - Esther an early competitor in the league put up a good close match but this was a strong finish for Jane Doe. Scrapula v Sister Resistor – a very close match which many thought Sister Resistor won. Both competitors were ones that elicited fear in the crowd as they clearly had the fighter energy in them. Scrapula was slow in the early part of the match, getting hit hard but rose from the dead to make enough of a presence to get the win.

Lynn Somnia v Sarah Bellum v Scrapula - the $100 Challenge – a little over the top with the man’s fantasy of three women at once. Would have preferred a regular match. Was a bit disappointed that two of them couldn’t agree to take the weakest one down quickly and turn it into a two way match. Lynn Somnia was definitely a big surprise of the night as her persona made her seem not to care but when it mattered she went in for the killer blow.

Champain (Champion) v Betty Clocker (#1 Contender) – bit of a disappointment as the title bout but nonetheless very entertaining and professional. Betty just couldn’t get enough against Champain and the Champ clearly won this bout with style and presence deserving of a league champion.

Overall we were pleased with the results of the night. And of course we were caught on the clips shown on “Good Morning America” the next day! Learn more about the PFL at http://www.gopfl.com.

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Dear Cthulhu,

I’ve been dating “Bill” for almost two years. He’s been a minor league pitcher for years and wasn’t going anywhere. He was marriage material, but he’d be even more impressive if he was a better ballplayer so I took matters into my own hands and started feeding him oral steroids. I work in a pharmacy and had no problems getting a hold of them. I put them in his evening beer and he was none the wiser.

Within six months he was pitching no-hitters and batting 266.

Then he was moved up to the majors and while not a superstar, got local endorsements and an increase in pay. We got married.

Things went bad with the new league policy on steroids. Bill got picked for a random screening. Since he didn’t know about it, he filled the cup with his own urine instead of buying clean pee like the rest of his teammates who use performance enhancers.

When the positive result came back, Bill got a ten day suspension. He hit the roof and starting demanding a re-test. I talked him out of it, but he’s bound to be re-tested so I stopped his roid cocktails. His game’s suffered and he’s gone from first string to second.

I’m torn about what to do.

Should I wait until after the next test and restart the steroids? How long do these things stay in someone’s system? Should I tell him what I did? If I can’t get his game back up, should I leave him? One of his teammates has been hitting on me. I’ve said no so far, but he’s gets a higher salary than Bill.

-Ballplayer’s Steroid Dealing Wife

Dear Dealing,

What you did was done for your benefit and, to a lesser degree, Bill’s.

However, many humans would want to punish you for your self serving actions, as justifiable as they may be. Your husband may be one of them, so I recommend silence.

As for how long the steroids stay in the human bloodstream, Cthulhu would like to state he is not a doctor. Which, Cthulhu would like to state, a pointless profession. If a human dies, others will just procreate and make more, so why waste time and effort to save something that is so easily replaceable? However, it is my understanding that it is at least 60 days.

As for when to restart, how about just encouraging him to work harder? Or investing some of his endorsement deals into steroids that won’t show up on the testing? Or convincing him that his urine has a rare component that shows a false positive and convincing him to use someone else’s liquid waste the next time he has to fill a testing cup.

Finally, I would advise keeping your vows. The odds of the teammate wanting you for more than a few procreative encounters is slim. Right now you are forbidden fruit and therefore exciting. If suddenly you leave your spouse for him, he will bolt and I doubt Bill would take you back.

Dear Cthulhu,

I have a problem at work. My network administrator “Gill” recently began using my login and password to order things from the company’s warehouse. Apparently they have nothing at all to do with work, but are for his personal use. He’s been taking them home, assuming I will get the blame. Apparently Gill’s holding a grudge because I’ve been sleeping with his wife. I wouldn’t even know if she didn’t tell me. Ap-

parently, he’s been hording the stuff in his garage.

I checked my account logs and the supplies have added up.

There have been several computers, scanners, office furniture, office supplies, and several dinners from the executive dining room. I’m not even an executive.

I’m worried that when the higher-ups in the company find out, they’ll fire me. I don’t want to be fired and I want Gill to get in trouble for this.

How can I do it?

-Nervous in Nevada Dear Nervous,

First off, is there anything from the company that you would like? If so, wait until Gill goes home. Because of your liaisons with his wife, I’m sure you already have his comings and goings memorized.

Go to his computer and log in as yourself and order away. The network will register the transaction as having occurred at his station. Undoubtedly, he’s been using your computer while you have been using his wife.

Next, hide your ill gotten gain in a storage rental facility. Pay with cash and use a phony name if possible. Rub off any serial numbers.

Once that’s taken care of, take your concerns directly to the executives.

Lie and tell them you saw him taking the stuff to his garage. That should get them to investigate. Hopefully, your company uses time clocks and you were not clocked in went he did the other orders.

Clock out before you place your order. It should be enough to back up your story and probably get a search warrant, which will get Gill fired and incarcerated. And you will have new stuff, his wife, and the satisfaction of beating him at his own game.

Have A Dark Day.

Dear Cthulhu welcomes letters and questions at DearCthulhu@ yahoo.com or visit www.dearcthulhu.com. All letters become the property of Dear Cthulhu and may be used in future columns.

Dear Cthulhu a work of fiction and satire and is © and ™ Patrick Thomas. All rights reserved.

Any one foolish enough to follow the advice does so at their own peril.

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Take a stroll across Queen Street in downtown Toronto and a few things will quickly become apparent. Canadians love their hot dogs and support that passion with a plethora of condiment serving, veggie-dog having, hot dog stands that grill their extra large hot dogs instead of boiling them in New York City style “mystery” water. Secondhand stores are mixed in with coffee shops, bars and upscale jewelry and clothing stores creating an area where you can check out the latest fashions or go perform “Rock You Like a Hurricane” with a bunch of drunken sorority girls at a karaoke bar. The choices are endless. Tourists, artists, locals and homeless people create an organic mass that is constantly shuffling up and down the block from early in the morning to late at night. All of that people traffic leads to a lot of hot dog sales and to a lot of stories, some of which are probably about the hot dogs. (I’m telling you….

They are quite good.) Luckily during my time there I was fortunate enough to meet one of the storytellers.

At first glance Mike Parsons has somewhat of an Oreo cookie thing going on. Every time I saw him he was dressed in all black and surrounded by all white.

Parsons is a former studio artist turned street artist who makes a full time job with just those two colors. He draws scenes both big and small chronicling the city of Toronto and the many heroes, enemies, players and workers who are the cogs that keep the complex human machine that is the city keep running. It is easy to look for yourself somewhere in the tangled, circular mass of alleyways, buildings and faces that stand out so smoothly on their artist imposed white backdrop. The characters in his drawing are both everyone and no one at the same time and they all seem somewhat familiar. Parsons sits out on the street selling his art to the very people he is creating his art from and is constantly collecting more material for future works. It hasn’t always been this way. Parsons graduated from Ottawa College with a degree in drawing and

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began to try and support himself with his art. Drawing on inspiration provided by non-traditional artists like Ralph Steadman, Robert Crumb, Frank Zappa and John Coltrane, Parsons developed his own characters and his own style. “Hey Apathy” was born. In the early days things sometimes got a little hairy. On more than one occasion Parsons threw his own particular brand of “rent party”. Instead of the traditional practice of having music

and charging at the door, he would take out selections from all of his old sketchbooks, put them on display and then invite people over to purchase them for 10 dollars a pop. He was getting by, but not until success and sales at a few major Toronto art shows did Parsons really start to see things turn. The art shows and the move to the street (four years ago) seem to be two of the major events that got Parsons to where he is today. When he first started, his cartoons the characters didn’t have faces. Now after soaking up so much of the essence of the city and it’s people from constantly being around

them both all of his black and white creations have a face and a personality all their own. Some appear to be sinister or mischievous. Others are going through changes that viewers can only begin to surmise and make guesses about. Take for example the businessman who is literally losing his head frame by frame. According to Parsons, he is going through an epiphany or moment of clarity which apparently was not so good. Is this a subtle comment on those in the business world or just a cool drawing? The storyteller gives his audience a chance to make up their own mind. People losing their heads aside, most of the drawings seem pretty happy. There is no doubt that a lot of that optimism comes both from Mike and from the overall Queen Street scene. With all of the art and music around it would be pretty difficult to make everything dark and dreary, even using just black paint.

Parsons refers to sometimes feeling the “Group Smile” and using that in his work.

There are problems in the area just like anywhere else, but there is also a lot of hope in the air, more than in most places.

So next time you are in Toronto, grab yourself a hot dog, load it up with some hot relish, tomatoes, jalapeños or whatever else your heart desires and take a stroll down Queen Street. Parsons will be there drawing (don’t drip your dog on his stuff), and telling his stories. Take a moment to look at his characters. You might see someone you know or someone you wish you knew. You might even see a story that reminds you of yourself. For more art check out www.heyapathy.com.

Side Note: Parsons has a bunch of video-art clips ranging from 30 seconds to a few minutes. He is looking for musicians to compose music to go along with his art. No specific styles or genres are necessary and there are a number of clips to choose from. If this interests you log onto www.heyapathy.com or send an email to heyapathy@hotmail.com. – Evan Bleier

Ouija Interviews edie

I love magazines. Next to magazines, I truly love independently published zines (almost as much as a freshly minted demo). I buy zines by the bucketful, never seeming to get enough.

And now, with the help of Sarah Becan, an artist, illustrator and zinester based out of Chicago, I can now add comic books to this growing list of obsessions.

I was first introduced to Becan’s work through a comic series she produces called Ouija Interviews. Written, ‘conducted’ (with the help from two other planchette-experienced folks as well as Becan’s brothers) and illustrated by her, these tiny zines are fascinating, a bit bewitching and downright creepy. The imperceptible concept that these zines are documentation of dead ghosts, show only half of Becan’s true brilliance as she uses art and her craft to guide these souls onto the pages of her comics. The other half of her brilliance completes the comic as she breaths such life into these ghosts, that the reader forgets that they are partaking in something paranormal or supernatural. And sometimes Becan even just helps them into the light/or to get to the other side. Flipping through the pages of Ouija Interviews (there are 4 of this series, despite that Becan has stated that she may pick it up again in a Mid-West location), the reader gets up close and personal with these floating, eyeless and dare I say, lovable characters no matter how bloody their murders where or how painfully confusing the secrets that envelope them while dead play out in the afterlife. The most uncanny of this all is that while reading these comics, one can easily learn a thing or two about life itself.

Becan herself is a busy girl. She runs Shortpants Press (www.shortpantspress.com) which distributes comics, in-

cluding her own. Here you can score copies of Sucker Punch by Jason Robards, Milk Teeth by Kelly Robards (this zine is more of a perzine instead of a comic, mixing collage, artwork and words) as well as others. Becan’s line includes Shuteye, Why We Call Them Robots, Bucket & Dog as well as Ouija Interviews. You can also visit her other sites at www.jakze.com and myspace.com/shortpantspress. She is an established designer as well, weaving her many distinct styles on everything from menus to barbeque sauce bottles to real estate cheat sheets. I never bore looking at her stuff because it pops. And it pops like the familiar sound of a friend’s voice. Her style(s) offer a slightly different angle to each other while conjugating words and colors.

Dig This Real had a chance to chat with Becan. Here’s what she had to say:

Dig This Real: How did you fall into comics and zines?

Sarah Becan: I think my first published comic strip was a four-panel thing I submitted to the children’s magazine Cricket. I was probably 9 or 10. My grandparents had a large collection of Walt Kelly’s Pogo Possum books and some Crockett Johnson books, and of course I read the Sunday funnies in the paper; I was attracted to the medium from a really early age. I did some political cartooning in high school and college, just for school papers. And then one year in college my older brother gave me a copy of Art Spiegelman’s Maus and it was like this epiphany. I didn’t know you were allowed to use comics as a form of legitimate self-expression. I think a lot of people still don’t know that.

How did Ouija Interviews happen and how did you set out to storyboard this?

My older brother Jeff was the manager of the Star of the Sea youth hostel on Nantucket Island for three years in a row. It’s an amazing old building, on a 50

fairly remote part of the island that used to be a lifesaving station. The first summer he was there, my younger brother and I went out to visit him for a week.

One night, there were a bunch of us having drinks in Jeff’s cabin and he pulled out a cheap Ouija board. The creepy old building, the darkness, the thick fog and a little intoxication made for some wildly fun Ouija conversations. They were so entertaining; halfway through the first conversation I was thinking, we have to share this, this would make an excellent comic book.

Ever gotten spooked by some of the communication you have had with your Ouija ghosts? Have you ever had to take a step back in order to realize what is happening? Or do you not (nor try not to) take it seriously?

I was raised Catholic. Really unusually rigidly Catholic, actually. That first trip to Nantucket was the first time I had ever touched a Ouija board. I’d been told so many terrifying stories as a kid about how it led to devil worship, possession, things like that. Even long after I left the church, Ouija boards still creeped 51

me out on some level. When Jeff first pulled out the board I caught myself thinking, oh no, this is a bad idea. Then I laughed at myself, because here I was, grown up, and still spooked by ghost stories. Of course then, for the Naomi story, I was on the board with Dave, my younger brother.

He asked to talk to this little girl ghost Naomi who’d been, ‘hanging around,’ the board all summer and one of the first things she said was, “why isn’t David dead?” My stomach turned immediately. It was very spooky and it could have been much worse, but Jeff had made rule about never talking to spirits that are unpleasant, so he immediately jumped in, and said, “that’s a terrible thing to say,” and threatened to stop talking to her and the tone of the conversation changed immediately, for the better. You know, I had never really thought about it, but in a way the Ouija Interviews were probably a pretty important exercise for me. I took something that I found utterly terrifying as a kid, pulled it out of the darkness and held it up to the light and said, ‘you don’t scare me.’ And turned it into a cute and harmless comic book series. I think maybe the entire series was a way for me to step back and stop taking it seriously.

Was it easy for you to draw up what these ghosts would look like? How did their images come to you?

It was really, really easy. I feel bad admitting that. These are the easiest and most fluid comics I’ve ever made.

I’ve always been a fan of people like Edward Gorey, Roman Dirge, Tim Burton.

I love the creepy-cute aesthetic, so the ghosts’ “look” was almost instinctive.

Conveying their emotions and attitudes through a relatively simplistic design motif was a little more challenging, but I don’t think I ever really thought about how to draw them, I just automatically knew what they should look like.

I have a question about one of your illustrations – the

“red” one of the woman standing in what appears to be a forest (found on your website; www.jakze.com) – I was fascinated by this image.

What can you tell me about her/it?

When my grandfather on my mom’s side passed away, my grandmother gave me all of his early photo albums.

Volumes and volumes of old photographs that he took as a young man in high school, in college, in the army. That illustration was based on one of the photos I found in there, of this girl standing in a forest, staring off into space. She looked so melancholy and it’s such a haunting shot; I took it around to all my relatives and no one seemed to know who she was, or how my grandfather would have known her. It’s the only photo of her in any of the books, too. So the already haunting image took on this added level of mystery. I couldn’t get it out of my head, so I painted a picture of her.

Your design eye is extremely strong - was design something you set out to do?

Not really. I was a studio art major and just happened into design jobs because I could draw and I knew my way around a computer. I started out drawing technical patterns for a third-rate shoe company and ended up doing some marketing for them, which led to a print design job and then another and now I’m suddenly a creative director for a small

advertising studio (fathead design).

When I look back, I realize how much being a designer has informed making comics. In college I never imagined that I’d end up a designer, but it’s so much a part of me as an artist now that I find myself subconsciously designing the artwork in every panel and designing how the panels sit on the page, how the lines interact with each other, how they lead the eye from one picture to the next. I know how to lay out a book in printers’ spreads, I know how to select paper, how to scan inked pages and clean them up for printing. Not to mention typography and image composition and page layout.

What interested you most about the medium of comics and zines?

Comics are really their own animal. It’s a wildly versatile medium, you get to make use of the two primary forms of visual communication, images and words and that has the benefit of establishing a sense of time and progression. It’s more like cinema than anything else, I think. Comics are like a movie that you can read, and produce for much less money. And since most of us read at least the funny pages when we were kids, it’s this amazingly approachable medium for everyone, this very primal touchstone.

I love everything about the genre and I don’t feel nearly as comfortable in other media.

What motivated you to start Shortpants Press?

At the beginning, it was just a name, an excuse for me and my friend Jason Robards to do conventions together without having a banner that said “the Jason and Sarah Show”. The first convention we did was more successful than either of us anticipated and pretty soon we were talking about printing more books and then printing other people’s books.

It was pretty gradual, maybe over three years or so,that we were just playing it by ear. It’s only in the last year or so that we forced ourselves to stop and look at everything and say, this is what we want Shortpants Press to be about, this is the mission we want to have. We want to be an artist-run small press that prints really interesting and unique comics and zines. We want to help other artists get their work out there and we want to help readers find books that sort of push the boundaries of comics as a genre. We want our books to be curious little art objects, where everything about them – the size, the printing method, the paper texture and color - everything contributes to the story the comic is trying to tell.

Tell me a little about the other comics/zines you distribute like Milk Teeth or Suckerpunch?

We have all sorts of things in the catalog right now. Suckerpunch, Jason’s comic, is an Archie-inspired, Dan Clowes-esque story about a group of twenty-somethings and their relationships and their post-modernist angst, that somehow manages to be really slapstick and funny. One of our newest publications, Robert Stevenson’s “The Bone Closet,” is a ridiculously good collection of spooky ghost and zombie stories, told in a very tween-slumber-party voice.

Bernie McGovern’s “An Army of Lovers Will be Beaten,” is the beginning of a sprawling, almost magical-realist epic punctuated with incredible full color paintings.

Grant Reynolds’ “To the Mouth of the Source,” is a series of obsessively inked vignettes inspired by Joanna Newsom lyrics. And then the Shuteye series, another one of mine, is a series of short stories in comic book form, all about the concept of dreams and the nature of dreaming. We even have a few educational comics in the catalog! We’re always on the lookout for anything new and different, anything that makes people think about comics in a different way, anything that challenges the old stereotypes set by superheroes and newspaper funnies.

How many zine conventions do you hit a year?

The last few years we’ve had a booth at APE (Alternative Press Expo in San Francisco), at SPX (Small Press Expo in Bethesda, MD. Naomi was actually nominated for an Ignatz award there) and in the Artists’ Alley section of Wizard World Chicago. We’re thinking of adding MoCCA to the list for next year and would love to do San Diego and TCAF (in Toronto) some day.

- edie 52

Special literary feature: Two of DTR’s favorite scribes get together to discuss zines, indie bands and everything learned when it comes to the art of writing…

Leopold McGinnis: A friend of mine says that he knows he’s read a good book when he wants to call up the author and talk to him about it right after he’s finished reading it. Hobbling around the outsider writing scene as I do, I often know the authors of the books I read (tangentially, at least).

The risk, though, in agreeing to review their books, is that you might not like their shtick.

But I was very pleased, after finally putting down Wred Fright’s The Pornographic Flabbergasted Emus, that I want to and could call up (ok, email…) the author to talk about it! Wred’s got the boisterous life most indie authors would be jealous of. He’s a professor in an all-girl catholic school, does readings in a Mexican wrestler’s mask, has been in more bands than you’ve had girlfriends/boyfriends, has been active in the zine-scene, is a member of the controversial lit group, the Underground Literary Alliance, and is now a published author. Please take a moment to hate him jealously. He also has the distinction of being the very first person to buy my very first novella when I was a total nobody – at least, more totally than I am now – and generously interviewed me about my own novel, last year. Wred first came to fame 53

in the outsider writing scene serializing his book about a bunch of band-cum-roomates in 7 zine issues. That successful series is now together at last in one big fat book – The Pornographic Flabbergasted Emus. Despite Wred’s reservations (I only hope I’m not too boring! Us scribblers have wild ideas but the snapshot of us at work is tap tap tapping at a keyboard or scratching our heads and then our pads I’m afraid.) I present to you the interview:

The Pornographic Flabbergasted Emus is a book about a band. One could argue that this has been done before. A LOT. So why write this book?

Wred Fright: I like to read rock music books, including novels about fictional musicians (Great Jones Street by DeLillo, for example). I noticed that almost all of the novels (and other media such as movies) involved successful bands, or at least bands who almost became successful. There even seemed to be a stock rock story plot where the fictional band overcame obstacles to eventually become rock stars. But when I looked around at all the musicians I knew, very few ever came close to signing a record

deal or becoming rock stars. So I thought it would be interesting to tell the B-side of the rock band story: the local band who never makes it big. Plus after years playing in bands, I had lots of funny stories that I wanted to share. And at the time I started Emus, I wasn’t playing in a band and was pretty isolated in general so working on the book was a good substitution for playing in a real band. I missed my friends so I made them up in my head! Don’t tell the authorities that I still have imaginary friends at this age please!

According to the notes in the back of the book, you wrote PFE in one month!! Between May and August 2002. That’s insanely fast! Did you have a plan before you started? Did you mean to write it in one night?

I had a job teaching at a college where I was done working in May but they paid me through August. My plans for the next year had fallen through since I had broken up with my girlfriend (I had planned on moving to Wisconsin where she lived). The town, New Concord, Ohio (astronaut John Glenn’s hometown), I was in was probably fun for the college kids who could get drunk

in their frathouses on the weekend and was probably a nice place to raise a family for a married couple, but for a single guy above traditional college age it was too small to be very exciting. My weekends usually consisted of renting movies from the video store, or reading in my log cabin by myself. Not a bad life all in all but not what I wanted at the time. Since I figured I’d throw myself on the train tracks that ran behind my cabin if I stayed there any longer, I didn’t sign up for a second year. My friend Bob in Cleveland needed a roommate and city life sounded good to me after my stint in the village of New Concord so I agreed to move up there. The one catch was that Bob’s lease didn’t run out until the fall and I wanted to get out of the village as soon as possible so I moved back in with my folks in Pennsylvania.

They’d been begging me to move home for ages so I said, ‘what the hey? I’ll grant the folks their wish and then move to Cleveland in the fall.’ Well, New Castle, where my parents live, isn’t much of an improvement on New Concord, aside from my parents being there, so I needed something to do. I had money coming in from the last job, and I always wanted to write a novel, so I pretended I was paying myself to write a novel and wrote it M-F 9-6 with an hour off for lunch. So writing the Emus was my job. It was fun, but like any job there were days I didn’t want to be there. Nevertheless, I

kept at it in my sweaty old bedroom. I had started planning the novel in late May in New Concord, then started in earnest once I was unpacked in New Castle in June. I finished in mid-August. I took some time off for road trips but for the most part it took about three months of fulltime work to finish. I even published the first issue of the zine version in June before the novel was done to ensure I would finish it. Since zines move so slowly, I published the rest of the issues on a quarterly basis in 2002-2003, which still was a blistering pace by zine standards where a new issue a year is timely it seems. By the time the second issue of the zine came out the whole novel was done. I’ve been meaning to write another one (pitch line--two zine publishers fall in love as the world falls apart) ever since but something always gets in the way, so honestly I doubt I ever will. It’s very difficult to write a long work such as a novel without immersing myself in it, and I don’t know when circumstances will ever permit me another such opportunity. The piecemeal approach doesn’t seem to work for me.

Wow. 9-5 writing! That’s the most hilarious thing I’ve ever heard. I especially like how you gave yourself an hour off for lunch. But it’s true, the author needs focus. I have a personal theory that if you aren’t enjoying writing the book, it shows up in the writing.

Unhappy writer = unhappy book. But Emus reads like the author was drinking and farting and yucking it up with friends while typing it up! Seems very much at odds with you punching the clock to write it! I really like novels that ‘tell it like it is’ or reveal the untold/underdog stories. The Pornographic Flabbergasted Emus does not disappoint.

However, I know from first hand experience that writing a novel that doesn’t go anywhere is hard, because plots are contrivances that help keep things interesting. Emus manages to keep interest all the way through, but did you worry or have trouble with the nomadic nature of the book? What, if anything, hung you up most about writing this book?

Emus was pretty fun to write so there weren’t any difficulties really. The

biggest challenge was occasionally worrying if I could actually write a novel, but I was usually too busy writing to sweat that thought much. Since so much on Emus draws on my experiences playing in local bands, I was able to just jot down memorable aspects and events and then see if I could find ways to convincingly tie them together. Once the characters emerged, they carried the story forward. It helped that I knew the basic plot: that Ted would move into a bandhouse, eventually join the band, and then the band would break up, and he would move out--which is pretty much the story of most college garage bands I think. I also added structural elements into the storytelling that helped me make sure the characters didn’t take over the story too much. I originally wanted to have forty chapters with each chapter a week along, but I decided early on that might be too large a novel.

Since I didn’t want to write the garage band equivalent of War and Peace or something, I scaled it back to twenty chapters, with each chapter covering a couple of weeks or so.

Since there were four major band members, each of them tells the majority of the story of five chapters, with the other band members telling bits of the chapter (the verse and chorus arrangement of the chapters). And since the story begins and ends with Ted, he tells the first and last chapter. The structure helped me hold things together even when the content got increasingly nutty. The fact that it’s tied into an academic year also helped moved things along by suggesting various factors such as holidays and changing weather.

The book feels very ‘real’ (though bordering on the edge of insane), which keeps it very accessible – even for people who aren’t into the ‘scene’ (or insane). How much of this book is made up and how much is based on real events?

A lot of the book is based on real events. I really did live with a housemate who thought she was a witch and wouldn’t pay rent. I really did push a refrigerator across town. Some of the book is just imagination though. I never knew a rock band who were mobsters like The Our Things are.

I just thought The Godfather meets garage band would be a fun idea.

Most of the characters and stuff that happens to them are supposed to be representative of the typical local band experiences. So to arrive at the major characters, I thought of all the --musicians I played in bands with and tried to boil them down into one person.

George Jah comes from trying to combine 54

all the bass players I’ve played with over the years into one person. Usually when I did that, one personality would come to the forefront like my friend Mike Dee’s did with George Jah. So a lot of people who know Mike will read the book, and go “George Jah is Mike Dee.” I was trying to tap into rock and roll archetypes with the amalgams that way. Ted is basically me because I played the role he does in most of my bands. He was an easy character to boil down!

The refrigerator part is hilarious. One of my favourite bits. I thought Ted might be you, but then I wondered if you might be a little bit Funnybear too. Emus comes across as a really entertaining and satisfying novel. I think the first goal of a book is to be entertaining. But there is a lot of serious stuff to be pulled from this book too, particularly random thoughts and observations on everything from Porn to Ayn Rand to Wicca to stuffy academics.

It’s refreshingly progressive and nonuptight. Thematically, besides telling the B-side band story, did you have any goals you were trying to accomplish, things you wanted to say?

Glad you liked it! I enjoyed writing it, so I’m happy others can enjoy it too.

I can’t think of any explicit theme or message I intended on including in the book except for the local band story, but there was an implicit theme of tolerance that runs through the novel from the beginning with the band living in a family neighbourhood to the end with the gay housemate. Beyond that, I enjoyed the sprawling nature of the novel as an art form, and liked cramming in lots of cranky opinions and interesting ideas.

Most people wouldn’t guess from reading this that you’re an academic. There’s a lot of grumbling amongst independent writers about the death knell that academia and institutionalized art have rung for literature, particularly in how writing programs produce massive crops of adequate but uninspired writers, and a system wherein who-you-know and whereyou’ve-been-published count much more towards publication than talent, heart or something to say. What’s your take on the role the Industrial-MilitaryAcademic complex now plays in literature and do you think there’s a place for academics in literature?

Yes, I think that I and some others like Crazy Carl occupy an odd place, caught between academic writing and underground writing. Obviously I agree with a lot of the 55

criticisms that the Underground Literary Alliance makes about university creative writing programs and the current state of North American literature, but I’m in a better position than most to appreciate some of the aspects of higher education’s involvement with literature. I like the fact that there is a place for creative writing at all in the academy, in that people can be somewhat free of the marketplace and have time to write, without being commercially pressured to crank out a mystery or romance novel (genre fiction of some sort seems to be the only kind of fiction that a writer can depend upon to make enough money to eat nowadays). However, once the commercial pressure is removed, a lot of writers lose their way. Writers work on things for years, and even if they finish them at all, the works are often irrelevant to the experiences of the rest of the planet and focus too much on stylistic experimentation, so much that the work becomes solipsistic.

Also, writers often seem to run out of things to write about, so the main character often is a writer or professor, which probably isn’t too terribly interesting to anyone who’s not a professor or writer (of course, since so many avid readers work in education or in writing somehow, setting the work in those areas might not be a bad idea for commercial appeal). Still, I’d love to see more novels about plumbers or something, and I have a naive faith that plumbers would as well. There also is the issue of political control. We have had movements such as Poets Against the War, but one has to wonder how radical someone is going to make their art when they are trying to get tenure or something. And I’ve never liked the art-by-committee aspect of writer workshops. Having been in a few creative writing classes, I know that I got some good comments, but the good comments were typically outweighed by inane comments wherein someone tried to make my writing like theirs for no particularly good reason. And there is a scary aspect of creative writing programs as they proliferate and produce ever more graduates, most of whom can’t get employment anywhere else but teaching creative writing in another creative writing program--the whole affair becomes like a pyramid scheme. And, I don’t like the notion that the person who wants to be a writer is more or less forced nowadays to go thousands of dollars in debt to get a Fine Arts Creative Writing Masters degree to make the connections to even embark upon a career as a writer. Still, that being said, even if the batting average of creative writing programs isn’t that great, they have produced or provided employment for some of

my favorite writers such as Kurt Vonnegut, Flannery O’Connor, Raymond Carver, and Mark Winegardner. And, of course, I love more traditional English programs that do a lot to preserve past literature, and that’s where I work, researching and teaching everything from World Mythology to Zines.

There’s some cluelessness among academia, but for the most part, it’s very bright people granted opportunities to help others learn, and they’re far more open to underground literature than typically understood.

Most of the hostility I think comes from the creative writing types who view the ULA as a rival or threat (after all, why spend thousands of dollars and years of one’s life, attempting to learn to write, when one could just write and publish oneself?). However, in some underground lit critiques, academia often gets simplistically presented as a monolithic structure, when it’s actually composed of many diverse interests and people, who often are in conflict with one another. I like the ULA because from studying underground literature and zines, I know there’s a lot of good work not getting noticed and I think the ULA is helping to direct people to that work. So I like both sides and I find good work in mainstream and Underground Literature.

Emus was originally published as 7 zines. Can you talk a bit about that experience? Did you always plan on PFE emerge in book form? If so, how has having it in the zine form (and then on the internet) helped and hindered you with promotions?

I originally published a zine called SMASH! in 1992 which was a front and back one page broadsheet. It had reviews of local bands, cartoons, poems, and all sorts of silly stuff. Although I had seen some zines before that, I wasn’t really tied into the whole zine network. I just published it and gave it out to friends and others in the local music scene in my small Western Pennsylvania town. I went to graduate school and didn’t have time to do the zine anymore. One of the classes I took was on psychoanalysis and culture, and the professor wanted us to take psychoanalytic theory and apply it to various cultural activities, like for example why on earth would people paint themselves up a sports team’s colors and then go to the game and get crazy? So I chose to take a look at zines, why people such as myself did them, why people read them, their cultural effects, etc.

The paper soon grew into a master’s thesis and in the course of studying zines I had discovered Factsheet Five and the wider world of zines. Eventually I published the thesis

in zine form as a thank you for various zine publishers that I had interviewed during the study. Being zine publishers, they of course reviewed the thesis in their zines, and before I knew it I started getting orders and zine trades for a copy of my thesis. It was such fun corresponding and trading with zine publishers that to continue doing it, I started publishing a zine again, drinkdrankdrunk, filled with short stories by myself and others, including Crazy Carl Robinson (the first time he had been published anywhere I think). I also started reviewing zines for Zine World, a byproduct of corresponding with Doug Holland, its founder. A few years later, when it came time to do a doctoral dissertation, I managed to persuade my committee to let me study zines again, this time in the context of studying electronic publishing. Once again, I read scores of zines and this time ezines as well, and the result was From Zines To Ezines: Electronic Publishing and The Literary Underground. It was while doing this I met King Wenclas and the Underground Literary Alliance. By this point, the dissertation had pretty much consumed most of my energy and drinkdrankdrunk ran to an end

with a final online issue. I graduated and got my first full-time teaching job. Once again, I was too busy to do a zine, but the hankering to do a zine and participate in the zine community was still there so I had a lot of energy built up by that summer when I started Emus, which I published once again to trade and have fun in the zine community. It was fun. I traded zines with a lot of cool people, and went to a few zine conventions like the Underground Press Conference in Bowling Green, Ohio. I capped it all off with a tour on the Perpetual Motion Roadshow for the final issue, and even got in the New York Post Page Six gossip column. Looking back though, for all the work I did and money I spent pumping out seven issues of a zine, I probably should have just published it as a book. But then, I probably wouldn’t have had as much fun that way. If I ever write another novel, I would probably just publish it as a book (though I’m also thinking of experimenting with serializing a novel as a blog or otherwise online). I kept the zine form of Emus in print for a year or so, but by the end of 2003, I was pretty tired of holding my finger on the printer. And what I mean by that is that after the first printing was gone of a zine issue (anywhere from 100-300 copies), I would just use my computer printer to print out an issue.

But my computer would sometime stick and print on the wrong piece of paper, which when I was just printing out an article or something isn’t a problem, but when I was printing a zine on both sides and all the pages front and back had to be in exact order, this became a pain in the arse.

So rather than do the rational thing and just get a new printer (I was a bit broke at the time too so I think that was also a factor) I would stand by the printer and keep my finger on the

piece of paper under the one being printed so the printer wouldn’t pick it up by mistake.

I think you could imagine that doing that for about ten minutes or so every time someone ordered a copy of a zine could deaden the thrill of getting a zine order, so at the end of 2003 I stopped reprinting the zine and posted Emus online on Wredfright.Com, where it sat until Jeff Potter asked to publish it as a book.

I had hoped to see Emus in book form (when I was unemployed I even tried to whore it to a couple literary agents. Then when I got a job I stopped doing that and had vague plans of publishing it as a book myself someday), but after publishing it as a zine and online, I figured I’d save the book plans for the next novel if I ever wrote it.

So I was thrilled to have Emus in book form without having to do it myself. Having it out there as a zine and online I think helped get the book some attention, but I’m sure some people who read it in either of those forms and liked it probably hoped I’d spend my time writing a new novel rather than flogging this one as a book. Ah, well . . . unless we turn it into a Broadway play, I will have to move onto the next project.

You’ve been in a lot of indie/ garage bands. Now you’re an indie/ underground author of sorts. What are the differences/similarities? Do you think indie authors are the garage rockers of literature, and do they face the same problems bands like The Pornographic Flabbergasted Emus face?

One thing that’s similar to both is that I don’t make any money doing it, and another is that both activities are quite fun. I like meeting other creative types and having a good time. The bands are more group-oriented obviously, whereas writing is a bit more solitary (though readings and performances bring me into contact with people). One difference is that while indie rock is held in self esteem (indeed sometimes more than corporate rock) indie literature still gets slagged as vanity press. Even people who love independent music don’t seem to understand that the same forces they detest in corporate rock or whatnot are also behind their favorite books typically. Even quite a few independent bookstores seem hesitant to try anything that’s not from a major publisher. Some of that is no doubt pragmatic, but I think that judging books by how much of an advertising budget they have is quite foolish. A good book is a good book, regardless of who publishes it. It is a bit depressing to read the book review section in the local paper and see review after review of books from huge 56

publishers and nothing from a small press, not even a university press. Whereas the bands have built up a do it yourself network, indie literature hasn’t developed to that extent yet, though there have been promising signs such as the ULA, the Perpetual Motion Roadshow, and Joe Meno selling 65,000 copies or whatever of Hairstyles of the Damned.

For the most part though, indie authors get ignored. Our day will come though. Probably when we’re dead, and the last remaining major publisher after decades of mergers offers a good deal to our heirs.

Do you think Indie publishers could strive to be more like indie bands? Should they? And what could they do to help change the scene from one full of codgy old bastards to one where cool, fun, funky people on the streets get into it?

Yes, I do think that by working together a bit and building up a network of bookstores, readers, and whatnot, indie authors can dispel the myth that self-published authors only selfpublish because no one else will publish them. For me, self-publishing is about control. And though with the book version of Emus I’m not officially self-publishing, I’m still very hands-on in the marketing and other aspects. Obviously creative control is nonnegotiable. So the main point of indie literature is putting the writer’s vision in the writer’s control, rather than in the control of the marketing department or the stockholders’ demands or whatever other forces in major, corporate publishing that usually lead. Of course, getting so many headstrong individuals to work together is very difficult.

We are both in groups of literary activist groups. Can writers collectives work, and what do you think of the idea of the writer/activist?

The ULA is a good example of how hard it can be to get so many strong personalities to coordinate efforts. There are probably more internal squabbles than external protests of corruption in the publishing industry and literary culture. Still, how could it be any other way? If we didn’t have strong opinions and convictions, we probably wouldn’t have the need to write in the first place! So yes I think writer collectives can work, but they’re always going to be slightly unstable, being composed of strong-minded individuals. And that’s for the best, as groupthink really wouldn’t produce much good writing. I believe all writers are activists in 57

their way. Some are just activists for the status quo whether they realize it or not. After all, not making a choice is making a choice.

Activism has always been accompanied by writing, and writing has often been inspired by activism so they go together well. I don’t know that I stand for any political movement at the moment but I believe in freedom of speech, that torturing people (even terrorists) is wrong, that

wars are usually a scam to loot the public treasury, and that people should be kind to one another. I could go on but you get the idea. I also like good books, and every time needs their own, and if we don’t do it, the corporations will supply them, and I don’t think they have a fantastic track record in that regard. People such as James Joyce, Henry Miller, Kathy Acker, Charles Bukowski, the Beats, zinesters, bloggers, the ULA, and others, the outsiders and nutjobs in short, have a better tradition of producing interesting books.

Following your first remark, how is it that the indie music scene can stay coordinated, promote itself well, get people to come out to shows, and writers collectives have so much trouble. Aren’t punk-rawk garage bands full of strong personalities too?

Undoubtedly they are, and that’s why so many bands break up. But when the band breaks up, the members usually just form new bands with other people. Some music scenes are like square dances as people switch partners every so often. As for why writers don’t stick together, I think it just has something to do with musicians being more inclined to work collectively, whereas writers tend to be more solitary in nature. It’s hard to keep a group of loners together working as a group.

Following your first remark, how is it that the indie music scene can stay coordinated, promote itself well, get people to come out to shows, and writers collectives have so much trouble. Aren’t punk-rawk garage bands full of strong personalities too?

Undoubtedly they are, and that’s why so many bands break up.

But when the band breaks up, the members usually just form new bands with other people. Some music scenes are like square dances as people switch partners every so often. As for why writers don’t stick together, I think it just has something to do with musicians being more inclined to work collectively, whereas writers tend to be more solitary in nature.

It’s hard to keep a group of loners together working as a group.

As a way to get people more interested in indie books, are there any indie (or mostly indie, like yours is) books you’d recommend people check out?

Sure! I like your Game Quest and I’m looking forward to Bad Attitude. Similarly, I like most of the work by various members of the Underground Literary Alliance.

James Nowlan’s book Security has just come out, and shortly after that will be the book publication of Crazy Carl’s Fat On The Vine, which is a great novel. Outside the ULA, I like work by a variety of underground writers such as Ron Androla, Cheryl Townsend, Joe Meno, Sean Carswell, Aaron Cometbus, Moe Bowstern, Eddie Willson, and the list goes on.

You mentioned you probably will not write another novel. And then you said, ‘if I ever write another novel.’

So the question is, will there be any other writing (zines or otherwise) or music by Wred Fright in the future?

How do you feel about the fact that your social obligations (work, family) are totally trumping your artistic callings? Are you a metaphor for why work and art can’t co-exist?

Well, art usually has a cost. If it comes above all else, it usually takes a toll on everything else, whether that’s work or family or other responsibilities. I don’t think it has to be that way, but you either have to make it pay for itself (in other words, your writing is your work--though to be honest most people still have to do hackwork

when they take this approach, look at Mark Winegardner cranking out Godfather novels instead of his own stuff, so there isn’t too much difference between that and having any other job, though I suppose one is writing at least, though some would say that’s worse because one is in a sense prostituting one’s talent), cut yourself off from everything else and focus on your writing, or accept that writing is going to be a hobby done when you have time for it, and I’ve definitely chosen the third option because although I have no objection to hackwork, I have no interest in it either and would rather write what I want whether anyone else is interested in it or not, and I don’t think my writing outweighs the rest of my life in importance. It is frustrating though.

The inclination to create is always there but the opportunities to do so are few. Maybe in another stage of my life I can devote more time to it. I have plans for a novel about two zine publishers who fall in love, and I’ve tried for two summers straight to crank it out the way I cranked out Emus, but each summer something has emerged

that’s forced me to put those plans aside.

I’ve tried the piecemeal approach such as writing an hour a day or on weekends but it hasn’t worked. I’ve found that approach well-suited for poetry and songwriting, but I’ve found it difficult to churn out a novel that way. Maybe one of these days I’ll get to write it. If not, I’m sure the world will continue to turn. Ironically, promoting Emus is the major obstacle at the moment. As much as I like self-publishing and being involved with the business side of literature, I can definitely understand why someone would rather concentrate on writing, and leave the business matters to others just to have more time to write. I do have the hankering to play some more music soon. 2006 was the first year since sometime in the 1980s I think that I didn’t write a song (though I did write a number of poems) so I’d like to change that in 2007!

So do I. It’s kind of a tease when an author writes only one really good book. I hope you do more in the future. In the meantime I guess we’ll just have to do with the diver-

sity of music, poetry and prose you’ve already writing. For those of you who want more information on how to get Wred’s book (not sold at a bookstore near you!), or to sample more from Wred’s diverse variety of music and writing, visit www.wredfright.com.

Leopold McGinnis is the author of three independent novels/novellas – The Red Fez, Game Quest and Bad Attitude.

When he’s not busy writing or working, he’s actively trying to strengthen the outsider writer scene. These ventures include founding and running the literary ezine www.redfez.net and working as a founding member of OutsiderWriters.org.

More information that you could possible care about is available at www. leopoldmcginnis.com.

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59

MANIFESTO

published by dedrabbit International Artist Collective - www.dedrabbit.com

Manifesto’s review deadline, fueled by Red Bull and Starbucks, ignited a fire under my ass. I have been blank since my last writing assignment. I suffered greatly through the holidays and was haunted by this book my editor slipped me in a hurried exchange in a hallway. She said “try this”. Little did I know it would start the spiral of my creative genius going down the toilet like a large wad of used toilet paper. I hit the wall, survived and sharing once more.

“The scenes of my life were garbage. The last rays of sun were orange. My life lacked a dream. I was normal.

People thought me a failure; teachers shook their heads. I had potential.” In a line stolen from the handout of this solid white colored covered 200 page first person novel, Manifesto is an anonymous novel published by dedrabbit International Artist Collective. Again I quote, “Manifesto is about: punks, delinquents, drug-culture, growing up, dreaming, jazz…strung out, sick, fed up, misunderstood, not fitting in. You get the point by now without the rest of the descriptive. An unknown narrator of his depressed life in the 21st year of his despondent life is the culmination of all the feelings, senses and experiences of a drug and alcohol fueled day to day existence (if you can call it that).

The travels and encounters of this poor soulless individual is indicative of the thousands of lost youth struggling at this corner of their lives to come to terms with their why question. “I hated school. I hated work. I hated boredom. I had no interests. I had a happy childhood. There was school, adolescence, growing up, questions about the future.” As I went deeper in the book, following the world exploits of this man-child with a tortured twisted mind, I came to the conclusion that all these observations were valid, mind numbing, narcissistic, self destructive and rage inducing. He had a family torn by death and mired in boring normalcy. “When I closed my eyes I believed I had a grand future” He has a sister he cannot bear to let down but by his inaction and lack of motivation has betrayed the sibling code of honor. He yearns for the past. His memories are colored and fading by his abuse of drugs and excessive drinking. He is spiraling into a self induced dementia intended for those who have lived for decades. “I sat outside in the night and smoked. All the stuff I was missing, life passing me by. I complained an endless whine. I didn’t know what I was missing. I didn’t know what I meant. I was sick and tired of being sick and tired.” There will be questions the reader will ask him or herself as you follow the journey. Manifesto will shake your emotions, test your optimism, and leave you exhausted or in despair. I was depressed, empty and angry. Twenty-One was neither a bad year nor a particularly deeply moving year in my life. I asked only a tenth of the questions and melded in the masses. I’d rather be a Shepard than a sheep in a post 911 world. This book is a worthwhile read but not for suicidal manic depressives ingesting anti depressants. You have been warned.

- MIKE STONE 60

…I’m saving what they giving ‘cause I’m working for a livin’.

Saving starts now

by Dowel Jones

It may be hard to consider the future but it is coming. There are many things to think about every day but most of us do not think of saving for anything, including retirement. We feel that is something we can think about in the future as we have to get though today first.

So why am I trying to get you to think about tomorrow? Well, time can be your friend when you have lots of it and your enemy when you don’t.

Retirement income or just plain savings only comes from following a disciplined plan. Get it down on paper first.

You do not need a slick Excel spreadsheet. Remember a plan for savings can be anything important to you. Maybe you are saving for a tour van, studio time, a city condo or car. And you may feel completely overwhelmed with the little money you have. You must remember that in order to move towards your financial goals you must take the first step. We all have responsibilities and obligations that have to be met such as rent, utilities and food.

Often when we receive a paycheck from a gig or a “joe” job your first thought is how much is left after paying your bills for you to use for fun? However, you should be adding one more bill to your monthly list. In my opinion this should be the first bill you pay. You need to put yourself as the first person you pay. You should force yourself to put some funds aside for your future (or for a special savings) the same way you force yourself to put funds aside for rent and other bills. Take control of your situation and start adjusting your financial attitude to take care of yourself.

Here’s how you can do it. You need to set up an account at a bank or a

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brokerage firm. As you will probably start off small you want to make sure you pick a bank that will not charge you fees for keeping a small balance. It is advised that you set up an account that is a savings account and one that will not come with an ATM card. One of the secrets is to make it easy to put money in but hard to take it out. It will certainly make you think twice about taking it out. There are many online bank options that meet these criteria. You can try some of these:

Capital One Rewards Money Market account www. capitalone.com

Emigrant Direct www.emigrantdirect.com Or you can choose one you find. You can check sites like http://savings-accounts. com/ for info on low minimum savings accounts.

One of the things you may want to consider is an auto debit setup. What this does is - it automatically takes money from your checking account or wherever your paycheck goes and moves it automatically each month to your new savings account. Many of these accounts also allow online transfers that you need to set up.

If your employer offers any 401(K) plan you should definitely take advantage of using this as a means of saving. The money you put in this account will not be taxed now but gets taxed when you take it out after retirement. The beauty of this is that if you want to save $100 per month it will cost you less than $100 to save. Assuming your federal income tax rate is 20% you only will see $80 less in your paycheck but $100 in your savings. The tax man is kicking in the other $20 today knowing

that you will have to pay it in the future.

It is a great deal as you feel less of a hit to your budget and you still meet your goal of saving. More information can be found online at sites like www.money. howstuffworks.com/401k.htm.

There are many things that you will need to learn as your savings grow that I am not going to cover here. These include investing a portion of your savings in stocks, treasury bills and certificates of deposits. You always want to try to earn as much as you can on your savings but you always need to remember to protect what you have saved. Only risk what you can afford to lose. Anything that sounds too good to be true usually is not true.

You work hard so make sure your savings grow safe and sound.

The last thing you will need is patience. It may be hard to feel you are accomplishing anything when your balances are small. But remember that you can’t get there, wherever there is, until you start saving today.

Face it – you’ve eaten ‘em. Whether it was in a college dorm or in between sets of your band’s performance, Ramen Noodles have always been the champion of meals. Next to mac & cheese (or as our friends in Canada call it, ‘Kraft Dinner’), Ramen Noodles have always been the staple of the starving artist, so when news hit that inventor, Momofuku Ando passed away this year, I partook in my own moment of silence.

The ramen noodles we all have come to love (the instant variety that come in the crinkly packaging) made their debut in 1958. Ando went on to become founder and chairman of Nissin Foods as well as being named the greatest Japanese Inventor of the 20th century and despite that there are dozens of ways to serve ramen noodles, it was the instant kind that became an iconic gastronomy of a dish.

Trolling around the web one day, I came to www.mattfischer.com/ramen. This site is clean and streamlined, offering tons of dishes and menus on how to serve up your noodle. The following is from that site.

Site Master Matt Fischer: “This is the first trucker recipe ever. This recipe comes from Lance and I think he’s a truck driver. It’s odd however that his email address has the word ‘day trader’ in it. I hope he’s not stock picking on the interstate.”

Trucker’s Ramen Chili Meal:

1 can of store brand chili 2 packs of ramen — (I like hot and spicy or beef) 4 pieces of bread some butter 4 slices of processed cheese Accent food seasoning. (THIS IS A MUST) chopped onion

Make the ramen like normal and drain off water. Add flavor packet to the noodles and begin heating the chili. Make two regular grilled cheese sandwiches.

Grab two bowls, put one grilled cheese in the bottom of each bowl. Dish noodles into each bowl on top of grilled cheese and top with chili. Sprinkle with ACCENT food flavor enhancer and sprinkle the chopped onion on top. Eat one bowl now and put the other in the fridge. When you get hungry again later, microwave the second bowl for about a minute and eat it. IT TASTES MUCH BETTER once it has been cooled then reheated.

And what else could jazz up a steaming bowl of ramen and maybe impress a date? I recently took a trip to my local spirits shop and spoke to Jerry at Queen Anne Wine & Spirit Emporium in Teaneck, New Jersey (www.queenannewine.com) because Queen Anne has one of the best selections of Argentine wines this side of the Hudson. Jerry informed me that a successful paring due to the salty flavor ramen noodles are known to carry, any summer dry rosé would do. One that would work well is Les Jamelles Cinsault Rosé 2005 and at $9.99 a bottle – what a steal! Other strong contenders, Sauvignon Blanc from Moon Mountain, California, as well as most Riesling wines (but the sweet variations as opposed to the dry) are favored. When choosing a wine, Jerry informed me that it’s the fruity-ness that you should go after.

As far as serving beer with ramen, he suggested an East Indian Pale Ale or malt due to the hops level (which makes the ale have more of a citrus kick) or Amberale by Flying Fish.

will result in retained water thus making you feel bloated. Consuming too much of this is unadvisable.” Demian also advised to keep your intake to once a week minimum, if any. According to Fischer, “Nissin Foods is releasing (or has released) “Choice Ramen”, a lower fat, lower sodium ramen. The noodles are not fried, which is the reason they have 80% less fat.” The following recipe is a healthier version from Julie Dauber:

Bok Choy Boogie

1 32 oz. package of Ramen noodles 6 c. shredded bok choy (or cabbage) 2 c. cherry tomatoes 1/2 c. sliced almonds 1/2 c. sesame seeds Dressing: 3 T. olive oil 3 T. balsamic vinegar 2 T. sugar 1/2 t. salt 1/2 t. pepper 1/2 t. ground ginger

Break apart the uncooked noodles and crush into small chunks. Halve the cherry tomatoes. In a large bowl, mix together the crushed noodles, bok choy, tomatoes, almonds, and sesame seeds. In a separate bowl, whisk together the oil, vinegar, sugar, salt, pepper, and ginger. Pour dressing over salad and toss.

Serve chilled. Also delicious with grilled chicken or shrimp. - edie

I spoke to William Demian, a fitness expert in the Metropolitan area and he wasn’t all that crazy with the thought of a ramen diet. “Ramen noodles are high in sodium, carry a lot of starch and contain sugar due to its carbohydrate percentage. This combination

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Manage Work and Motherhood An Artist’s Perspective

A full-time job, a husband, a twoyear old and my own art business. Have I lost my mind? Who do I think I am, Superwoman? As a matter of fact, yes. Just about two years ago, I gave birth to the most beautiful little girl in the world. And when I say ‘gave birth’, I mean really gave birth- 26 hours of back labor, a useless epidural, even a broken tailbone. When it was all over, though, I had never felt so empowered in my entire life. It was almost as if I was reborn myself. I was overcome with my awesomeness. I had done it, all on my own and I didn’t die in the process!

After three months of speaking baby talk, I was headed back to work.

While on maternity leave, I resurrected my old paintbrushes and started creating again. I had been an artist in my pre-married life and wanted to do something to remind me of who I was. I made myself a website and much to my surprise, people loved my artwork! I received messages from collectors all around the world. I even sold some things, but not enough to say sayonara to my full time job. And I tore myself apart the first week my daughter went to daycare. What will they do with her all day? Will they pick her up and hold her when she cries? How could I just leave her with these strangers? I don’t think I could even tell you what I did my first week back.

Now, my days are nonstop from the time I wake up until I hit the sheets.

My body’s hours of operation are usually 5am to 1am every day. There are no days off in this business and I have to admit, it takes a huge toll on the much-needed mommy and daddy time. We never used to fight; we had nothing to argue about before. Now? LOOK the “F” OUT! Mommy’s pissed and she’s not gonna take it anymore! Help me, damn it! Give me a hand! Help me and don’t you dare sigh when I ask you to do me a favor! Oh, and honey? No, we’re not having sex tonight.

God! Is he out of his mind!?! I sometimes feel like I have two children to take care

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of. I understand the role of a woman in a traditional family situation, but June Cleaver I am not and the days of being able to be a stay at home mom (and still feel like you’re worth something) for my generation, seem to be long gone. Thank goodness I have my creative outlet! My muse strives during these times…

Even with all this new-found strength and attitude, I find myself sitting here in my dark living room with my trusty Mac Book on my lap trying to not make a peep. I don’t have one second of precious daylight that belongs to me and only me.

I have become a mistress of the night of sorts and the more I think about it, it’s really kind of cool. During the day, I find myself creeping around my office hoping no one will notice that I fell behind on my work. But at night, that’s when the fun starts. I check my email, draw up some new designs, watch TV, whatever I want, without interruption. This seems to draw up my creative juices, this quiet me time.

Sometimes I’ll even go food shopping at my trusty 24-hour A&P. I may have a mild case of reflux from all of the coffee I ingest, but it’s worth every acidic burp for this time of day that I savor the most, counting the minutes until my little one surrenders to sleep and praying that the sound of my fingers tapping on the keys doesn’t wake her up!

Why do I do it? Because getting through each day is another reminder that I can really do anything. The fact that I can have my own life at work, have a happy home (90%, ok, 85% of the time) and do something for me, even if it has to be at midnight, is an accomplishment in itself.

Having a baby was the biggest life-change I have ever gone through. I knew sacrifices would have to be made, but never in my wildest dreams could realize how really good things were before she came along, and how much better I’ve become since she’s come along. I can’t say that I would change a thing. And all of this inspired me to paint again.

One of my newest crafting-at-

midnight projects is my handmade greeting cards. They are so easy and inexpensive to put together, especially when you’re short on time. You can work with pre-folded cards and scraps of paper from magazines, old graphic art images, scrapbook supplies. Most craft stores, like Michaels, the Rag Shop or Pearl Paint offer tons of supplies for these kinds of crafts but feel free to use whatever you have knocking around the house as well. Got cute infant or baby pj’s that you are too embarrassed to send to Goodwill due to – you know – baby spew? Cut out the cute patterns that most of these offer and adhere to card stock. Before you know it, with a little imagination, you could grow a rather large collection of fabric swatches so when the time comes to create, you won’t need to order online or go to an art supply store (which, in my eyes, is a luxury, like going to a day spa!).

My studio is part dining room, part living room floor (and in front of the television). Once that witching hour comes along, I habitually spread out between these two spaces and do my crafts only to make my clean-up swift and similar to Cinderella’s exit at the Ball, once Baby time swings around in the morning.

What works for me is to do my projects in stages by taking the day to come up with designs, a day to cut out my background papers and a day to assemble and package. The same goes for my paintings, a day to think, a day to prep and a day to complete. I’m the 3-day finisher-upper and it keeps me much more organized than if I tried to do it all in one shot. Plus, when I look back at my day, I am thinking creatively throughout!

Having this system and actually using this time for myself, I am very pleased of how inspired I have become and even more thrilled with the actual success of my after-hours business.

See some of my work in my online store: www.ajkartistry.etsy.com.

- Alison Kooney

I was first introduced to Peripheral Media (www.peripheralmediaprojects.com) during a summer concert festival held on Governor’s Island in NYC. Peripheral Media was part of an art installation that was taking place inside St. Cornelius Chapel while Richie Havens performed during the Folks on the Island series. Inside, I found this group silk-screening the most beautiful t-shirts I had ever seen. Most of the images they were working with that day had to do with rebirth, so bold, strong images of skulls and cicada graced the T’s in shades of minty greens, white and black. I vowed to come back and purchase the lot but when I returned to the installation, every single artist was gone, artwork and mediums in tow. PMP (as they are known), formed in 2004, as a collective group of artists, designers, printers, street artists and activists. Committing themselves to promoting awareness and social transformation through the creation of art and clothing, both within and outside the gallery and fashion systems, one of their apparel lines called Plan D Clothing is printed on the highest quality, American made, sweatshop-free clothing. Everything is extremely affordable and that’s amazing, considering this is art in motion. PMP donates 10% of their profits to humanitarian, environmental, independent media and anti-corporate causes and they do this all in the belief that it is time for the “system to change...” - edie

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by edie

One night I was invited to dine with a colleague. We chose a favorite spot in New York City located on the corner of Avenue A and 6th Street called SideWalk Café. SideWalk (as it’s known to the locals) offers weekly showcases, food and drink – the perfect place to catch up with a friend.

Once settled inside and after dinner, my colleague proceeded to inform me that she was arrested (again) for dui and needed $7,000 dollars to secure a lawyer who promised he would most definitely keep her out of the slammer – for now. An instant migraine settled into my frontal lobe and that wonderful dinner I had just ingested was about to make another appearance.

But this time (yes, this was her second arrest), I decided to take matters into my own hands. I stood up from the table, walked to the back room of SideWalk and tried to get lost in the entertainment the evening had to offer. I figured, at this dark hour, I needed a Doctor Feelgood and I got exactly what the doctor ordered.

On stage I found poet Belowksy.

Bobbing back and forth, he effortlessly streamed the words of his poetry at lightening speed, coupled with his delivery, short of a frantic man completing his chaotic prose. He is captivating as well as strangely embracing. Anger, frustration and truth filled the back room of SideWalk as Belowsky continued on with his show, to much audience applause, bursts of giggles and the quick, fleeting exit of my colleague.

Did I mention that Belowsky is not for everyone?

With Belowsky on stage, it was apparent that he was completely lost in his performing element but when chatting up the audience, he appeared down to earth, very approachable and maybe even a bit warm. This poet knows how to throw that shadow, boy.

Hailing from Manchester, England, Belowsky is most prolific and can be found doing residency’s at the Standard Hotel on Sunset Strip in West Hollywood. Or you could be lucky like me and catch him at SideWalk in NYC. Maybe you’ll catch him in London?

Like his poetry deliveries, I had a hot second to chat with him. Read on.

Dig This Real: Have you always been drawn to performing on stage/doing “slams?” How did this come about? What inspired you to poetry?

Belowsky: Always got up but not into slams too much. Not my thing but I have won a few. For me, a slam is bullshit and I have no need for them. As far as poetry is concerned, I don’t think there is much else I can do or thing – it’s a feeling. I am a poet and that’s that. Sorry! Wish I could say more.

You tend to appear in NYC-LA-London, where are you normally based out of? Describe a little about each audience reception in these difference locations.

My LA stuff at The Standard Hotel is more glam. NYC is nitty-gritty. London – just a bunch of cynics…

It’s obvious your poetry (and delivery of it) is incredibly musical. Was this conscious?

No, I just find that it has more meter. I have worked with a lot of music people. They put music to my words. I also rant between the mix in LA.

Your performances are extremely animated, is this a physical reaction to delivering your poems on a stage or is this your ‘show?’ Do your performances take a lot out of you?

I put my heart and soul into a gig. I’m just so out of it after. I am very hard on myself like that. I had just done DDTV on Sky in London, so I was just so burnt out. I could not party – just had to sit it out.

How often do you sit down to write?

I don’t sit and write. I wait a bit for it to hit me. I just drink a lot of coffee and walk around town until it hits me. Years ago I did sit down and write on napkins – I was always at it. But now, I just wait for the magic to happen.

How do you feel about the reception of your poetry?

Oh, yeah! People are into me and poetry. I have a lot of support. I love the people that are into my work. They mean the world to me – the rest of them can go have a Starbucks and get their head around Dylan, ha!

List some of your favorite poets…

I don’t read much. I do watch a lot of TV. I think my biggest inspiration was the Fonz on Happy Days, ha! I did get into the Beats!

Describe a perfect day for you…

A perfect day for me is when Manchester United wins… www.belowsky.com 66

Poetry by Belowsky

the Best Damn Slice

i have found THE BEST DAMN SLICE OF PIZZA IN NEW YORK TOWN don’t want you around the donald may have millions the beggar has dimes both have common ground cos what they don’t know is CNN breaking news Belowsky says “HEY i’ve found THE BEST DAMN SLICE OF PIZZA IN NEW YORK TOWN

NO! it ain’t none of those heard them say it’s in the water it’s in the dough it’s in the gotham air

HEY i’ve heard these cats talking the same old crap i challenge that

heard them say “YO BELOWSKY is it the east side? is it the west side? is it uptown? is it midtown? don’t want zagat review coming around is it downtown? followed by the daily news is it on second? followed by sarah j. parker is it on third? followed by her adoring or positively fourth?” completely played out matthew carrying his tony paperweight i have it written down followed by his broadway cast and crew in cryptic code followed by paris sitting in and her chihuahua a morgan stanley followed by the knicks safe deposit box followed by the kabbalah not even chase followed by scientology can have a taste followed by jews for jesus followed by bloomberg this pizza place seems so empty followed by hillary seems to close so early followed by bubba the phone is disconnected followed by 50 cent no deliveries are expected followed by a blaze of bullets followed by 2nd rate jersey rockers you may ask the yellow cab followed by howard the shock jock to cruise around followed by late night lap dancers take you to followed by pseudo gangstars THE BEST DAMN SLICE OF PIZZA STAY AWAY, PAPARAZZI IN NEW YORK TOWN THIS IS MY PIZZA PLACE but in garlic i trust that the crust is too thick HEY that the crust is too thin some may say and the cab meter i know the BEST DAMN SLICE is a’tickin in this manhattan place i scorn in your and for me to tell you ignorant pepperoni face that magic location heard them say you will have to gun me down it’s on bleeker i will happily die it’s on spring in a slimy it’s down on houston messy it’s famous ray’s tomato base it’s famous ben’s laid to rest it’s famous joe’s NO! in a giant pizza box NO! with an olive on top 67

maybe it’s a figment of my imagination some kind of crazy mozzerella creation and welcome to my mind cos in that mind is THE BEST DAMN SLICE OF PIZZA IN NEW YORK TOWN PERIOD ---Guru #1 43 21 life of a working class guru has just begun not easy to become guru’d how many hours does a guru work?

5 guru hours = a 40 hour week but does a guru get 8 hours sleep? what wheat does a guru eat? so go find yourself a guru its not cryptic code cuz hey, now you can google your guru or go straight to www.guru.com or wait for that guru to materialize don’t be surprised cuz a guru always comes in disguise there it goes down 5th avenue simon wow, check that smile that ain’t no average smile that’s the smile of a real living, loving guru free and on the loose a london guru a new york guru an LA guru PR guru ad guru media guru finance guru guru at the Chateau cuz a guru ain’t restricted to a himalayan cave the guru has broken free from weird freaky sheets it’s armani suits with a perfect guru fit prada shoes bvlgari jewels

no lama guru no ghandi guru no maharishi guru no hendrix guru no lennon guru no marley guru no dead gurus only living, loving gurus no longer do gurus tell to the time from the sun it’s rolex and every guru has one number plate is simple it’s GURU#1 at the airport you got club lounge exec lounge and of course the guru lounge a place where gurus can connect and subscribe to guru weekly some fly coach some fly first class i fly the only way i know that’s guru class and catch it tonight on CNN as Anderson Cooper investigates the sweet life of the guru and asks the question “is there a hidden guru lying dormant, dormant within you?” is there a guru ready to jump out create meditate speculate negotiate communicate tonight all will be answered as Anderson investigates in a two hour special not to be missed you me and the mysteries

of the contemporary guru and now also available on youtube so find that tag tag goo tag goo goo tag goo goo goo tag goo goo goo goo goo tag goo goo tag goo cuz if there’s a guru online it just could be a true living, loving guru who sees your designs blueprints scripts mega sounds perfect comic timing and he’s ready to meet offline out on main street ready to be your very own living, loving guru and make it happen or get ready to download a guru and stick in on your AMEX stick it on your pod yes, it’s steve jobs the one and only living Guru Guru Guru

of a scent giveaway STAN jumps on to the page her perfect breasts flash in his face “What’s your name?” Victoria asks.

“Stan Smith,” he replies.

“Oh, the tennis player?” asks Victoria.

“No, the plummer,” he replies.

“OH STAN!” “OH STAN!” “WILL YOU FIX MY WASTE DISPOSAL?” “OH YES!” “OH YES!” “VICTORIA! “I’LL FIX YOUR WASTE DISPOSAL!” “YOUR DISHWASHER” “ANYTHING! ANYTHING!” “oh yes, Stan.” “but first make love to me. take off my VICTORIA bra my VICTORIA stockings my VICTORIA panties oh fuck me, Stan. oh fuck me hard.”

“OH VICTORIA!” “OH STAN!” “OH VICTORIA!” “OH STAN!” “OH VICTORIA! LET’S GO ON TO PAGE 2 TOGETHER MAYBE THE WHOLE SUPPLEMENT.”

---

“NO STAN! I HEAR YOUR WIFE! SHE’S OUT OF THE BATHROOM! KISS ME ONE LAST TIME!”

VICTORIA’S SECRET

they kiss

She enters the bathroom to fix her Sunday face

Stan LEAPS off the page

Stan’s left alone off a 9 to 5 week

“STAN?” “STAN?” “STAN?” “WHERE’S MY SUPPLEMENT?”

She’s left her SUPPLEMENT under the classifieds OH Victoria’s Secret one’s own secret Victoria, what’s your secret?

Off lace and neglige pages smell

she snatches the supplement from Stan’s hands and returns to the bathroom with Victoria but Stan knows Victoria’s Secret Stan knows the secret but yes, oh! yes Stan really does know VICTORIA’S SECRET 68

By Samantha “edie” Collins

The flash of color moved across the screen faster than quicksilver. I was not sure what to focus on but I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off this blur of activity. Like a hot bolt of lightening striking the earth, I stopped what I was doing on the treadmill and watched the overhead television monitors. It looked like a flurry of bodies similar to birds swarming together in planned flight pattern, running back and forth across a bright, green field. With not much poetic fanfare, what I was witnessing that day was the 2006 World Cup games at my local gym and quite frankly, I don’t think I have ever stopped to give soccer (or, as they call it everywhere else – fútbol) a minute of my time.

I am a proud, fierce hockey fan and believe that if only every sport were to be played on ice, all would be well in the world.

As the game progressed, I became mesmerized, while that old, familiar feeling or ‘dizzy-ease,’ I so often refer to when becoming hooked on something new, started to slowly suffocate me. When this feeling comes over me (and it’s not too often), I blindly move within stages of mere obsession until the dizzy-ease predicts and maps out my next plan of attack. Similar to a junkie, blinded with her next fix, yet not knowing what vein to tap into, I launched into my new habit, by picking up everything and anything in reference to fútbol and the World Cup. Clearly confused with the overwhelming presence of these World Cup games, my timing couldn’t have been more perfect, for everyone on the local buses into Manhattan chatted amongst each other about which home team they were routing for as well as the unbelievable mention of the games by a couple of DJ’s on WFMU radio. This phenomenon had clearly moved into the lives of millions of Americans and planned on staying for a while. Me, a beginner junkie, couldn’t have been more happy. One morning, I found myself scanning the dailies and like stumbling across the gleaming, Holy Grail, I spied the name – Lionel Messi. Messi was being touted as, ‘the one to watch,’ during these games. Only 19 years of age, his portfolio reeked of magnetic sports-star quality. The brief write up stated things like, “they call him ‘el pulga,’ and when he dribbles, he’s so fast you can’t seem to even see the ball.” That’s all it took, for I hooked on, seemly forever, never to let go. As Messi became my main focus in understanding the games better, I soon found myself so far gone that not even the best intervention or draw could save me. Messi was born on June 24th, 1987 in a place called Rosario, Argentina.

During the madness of the World Cup’s arrival, I found myself aboard a flight to Toronto for a music conference. And why was it that I had gone MIA at all the industry panels? I was sneaking downstairs to the hotel bar, to continue feeding my ever growing addiction and catch a couple of games. How could I miss the Germany versus Costa Rica game (Germany won), or the Poland/Ecuador game (Ecuador won) and the game I held my breath for, in order to see the grand debut of one Lionel Messi, Argentina versus Ivory Coast? And let’s not forget the Mexico versus Iran game (where Iran took a beating). As band members sauntered up to me with press kits in hand, hoping to snag a conversation while plugging their band’s performance/lat-

est cd/showcase, the introductions were the same, as most learned of my favorite team – Argentina.

…“Hey edie, I’m from band so and so. I see you’re watching the World Cup so I’ll be brief. Oh, ya routing for Argentina? Hey, you from Argentina, right? I can tell. Here’s my latest cd. Could you review it in a magazine soon?”

This was said to me all morning and afternoon long, as I clutched a glass of water (some probably thought it was vodka), eyes never leaving the overhead television screens…

My main focus was to actually catch Messi play. It seemed that the team’s coach José Pekerman kept him benched way too much for my liking. While waiting it out and in between games, I devoured everything I could on Messi. I learned his strong points, his weaknesses and watched countless videos of him running like wildfire up and down the field, sometimes resembling a rag doll getting caught in the spokes of a bicycle. This boy bravely took some nasty hits from opposing team players, rarely displaying battlefield scars.

It was at this time that I started to become very curious with this place called Argentina. Argentina? Where is that? No wait - Argentina. That’s the country that has the cool looking flag sporting an alchemical solar image on it. Yeah, now I remember. I used to have one of those flags hanging up as a curtain in one of my apartments so many years ago while living in Spanish Harlem. No wonder all the Latin American men would applaud me when I would emerge from that tenement building. They too, must have thought I was from Argentina.

To the opening ceremony with appearances from the great, Pele to leggy model Claudia Schiffer, Frankfurt, Germany, held all this as rookie Messi did appear to much excitement. Similar to hockey’s great Patrik Elias, where, whenever he is out playing, real magic happens, Messi’s short plays were satisfying enough for me and from there on in, I was obsessed with everything Argentine, allowing whomever to believe that, ‘yes, this is my country, too.’

And what fabulous fodder this Messi boy was conquering! In the stands, watching the games along with the entire world, was one Diego Armando Maradona and everyone, including those not into fútbol, knew a bit about the rock and roll style of hard living done so well by him!

That Argentine flag would come back to taunt me, but this time instead of being utilized as a kitchen curtain, it carried a much different look. To me, it now looked spiritual and maybe full of secrets.

At this point of the games (literally), I could now sing, ‘’Ole, Ole, Ole, Ola, Argentina cada dia te quiero mas,” but who was I kidding? There were a few flaws here, of which the major one, a biggie. The fact that I didn’t speak a stitch of Spanish and was probably the only person in the universe that would continuously hit a brick wall when trying to understand it - this was my own fox trap. The only thing I could do successfully was to order something off of a menu in Spanish, faking an accent by pronouncing the “j” properly. But that was the extent of it. The same way I could measure up my knowledge of the Spanish language was similar to how I would order my tequila - thinking that ordering the most expensive stuff would take me to the head of the class.

This is not the case.

Another major flaw in my master plan to transform myself into an Argentine was the mere fact that I have never been to Argentina and all I could currently do was pull out of my back pocket a handful of known facts about the place: Evita, harsh dictatorship, the Dirty War and the Falkland Islands. Not truly knowing a soul from South of the Equator, most of my Spanish friends were from either Puerto Rico or Mexico. Heck! I didn’t even know anyone Brazilian for that matter!

I was up the Desaguadero River without a paddle.

However, none of this stopped my yearning to learn more about Argentina, while hoping to cash in on some illegal bets I was now placing on the World Cup games. Seemingly out of nowhere, an article jumped out at me, as it appeared in the Sunday New York Times. It was about, ‘the wind-carved land of strong wine and difficult love,’ Salta, Argentina. Situated in the Northern providence, the article offered descriptions of lively cafes. It also depicted a place where conservative barriers were strongly built by the town elders. I found this all too handsome

The beginning of Luis Alberto Spinetta in music: traveling towards poets’ paradise: “I know how you came to me, in a divine ecstasy. You are the brightness on the edge, where the shore kisses the sea. Every paradise disappeared, only you remain, my dear. And on seeing your tears I awoke (I dared) and so I bit the light” - Luis Alberto Spinetta

Although he has spent nearly 40 years constantly growing artistically, in this text we will only talk about the beginning of this enlightened poet’s musical career. We will not do this by giving too many descriptions or biographical facts, since we consider the best way to speak about his mastery is to let ourselves be led through the beauty of his music towards poets’ paradise. For this reason, each word of this text has been written whilst continuously listening to his music for hours on end. Let’s use poetry and music as the vehicle and start this journey.

Luis Alberto Spinetta is one of the greatest and most sublime composers and interpreters of Argentine rock, a style of music that was principally born in Buenos Aires in the mid-1960’s, because the world was far from being a paradise.

Argentine music will always be indebted to this celestial being, given that many of the most beautiful and erudite compositions ever to be written in the whole world belong to him, songs that transcend as much geographical boundaries as rock boundaries and that blend with other genres, although always with the strong personality of their creator.

He started to compose, sharing the ideals and rebelliousness of the brightest youth of his generation, with a feverous desire to invent music capable of making reality more beautiful, fair, humane, more in harmony with his hopes and dreams, a new more complex music with a profound lyricism that does not follow the guidelines of 70

the mediocre successes that the record companies used to impose. The spinettiano style should have been the fruit of creativity and imagination, given that both symbolize freedom, just as The Beatles taught. The message emanating from Liverpool roused the youth not to live a superficial and empty life, but to take stock of their responsibility for the human race and to establish new values in line with the precept of world peace.

The new music had to be in keeping with these new ideals. Moreover, Spinetta discovered that he possessed the richness of castellano in order to realize this proposition, a language that offered countless possibilities to beautifully express his ideas and feelings in harmony with that message of freedom.

For the recording of his first album, as a member of Almendra, in 1969, at only 19 years old, he had already composed music of a quality and creativity unheard of in Argentine music: the Spinetta style was born when he, consistent with his strong musical character and according to his sensibility, reinvented various musical genres, mixing them and giving rise to a very interesting, intense and beautiful personal sound: the porteña melancholy of the tango and more than anything, the revolution of that genre, brought about by the Argentine Astor Piazzolla; the folklore – that reflected the life of people from the various landscapes of Argentina’s interior – in particular the folklore work called, “La misa criolla,” the Brazilian bossa nova, the electric sound and vocal harmonies of The Beatles. This debut record by Spinetta, self-titled Almendra, is considered, even today, to be one of the best works in all the history of national rock. Compositions of unusual beauty like “Muchacha (ojos de papel)”, “Plegaria para un niño dormido”, “Fermín”, “Laura va” or “A estos hombres tristes” make it clear that the young Spinetta was a being blessed by heaven with the gift of brilliance.

Thanks to Spinetta, Buenos Aires became forever the Liverpool of Latin America, without losing its own cultural and musical identity. The rock of Spinetta was also born from the neces71

and proud; even so, when I was sideswiped by something known as zamba, a type of folklore and dance. Not to be confused with another form of dance from Argentina, (Tango; which is also known as a genre of music), zamba can also be considered a style of music. The flutter of those white handkerchiefs, delicately swirling from a flick of the wrist, left me quietly tantalized despite that I was still standing in the novice corner of the dancehall.

Zamba dancing allowed me to instantly fall in love with this romantic vision of such folkloric living. I had never seen anything like it before nor knew of its existence. What appeared to be just two weeks later and in between cups of coffee, another article appeared in the Sunday New York Times about Mendoza, Argentina. I felt I had hit the underground, mother load of insider’s information. In the next months, I kept those articles, neatly clipped and surgically folded, under my pillow and at night, before I went to bed, I would read them. And each of the hundreds of times, over and over again, I would build a makebelieve trip to Argentina in my heart. And each time, Argentina became more and more vivid, painting numerous pictures of how seductive a taste of Mendoza wine would feel or the experience of sharing a home cooked meal consisting of mondongo. Or maybe, one day, an Argentine man would ask me to dance.

As I tripped over the piles of newspaper articles and fútbol glossies that were taking up residency on my office floor, I found myself wondering what other kinds of music could Argentina offer? Wanting to end this madness that had moved in and taken up so much space in my life, I answered my own question to the Argentina/music angle – why, Argentina probably offered the same facetious crap that is peddled through avenues like American Idol. Or maybe the garden variety Spanish chica, feverishly wiggling her hips to bombastic, synthetic back beats, flashing a mother of pearl shine, while shoveling speedy Spanish lyrics to the common listener.

As quick as that thought came to me, it would all vanish into the thin air of my busy and chaotic life. I found myself slightly nudged back into my Argentine fantasy world while hungrily grabbing for my grande cappuccino at a downtown Starbucks, en route to a music assignment one day. A Putumayo Presents cd compilation caught my eye and its title read: Music from the Wine Lands…I snatched it up along with my $6.00 cup of coffee and found tucked within the 13 tracks, the fragmented, intriguing, impulsive world of Daniel Melingo.

-- I must admit that the anticipation of slipping this cd into my player had me bound to two feelings – one of excitement and the other of nervousness. What if this sucked? I purchased this at Starbucks! As the rolling sounds of the guitars streamed through the stereo speakers, it was then that my two articles about Argentina, still nested under my pillow, had color, sound and life. The quivering, too-many-smokedcigarettes-voice of Daniel Melingo kicked around weathered and lazy, lamenting about in Spanish – but lucky for me, the liner notes provided the information of exactly what he was stating in this song, “A night without a moon in the sky/in your arms I felt the solace/it was an eternal moment I will treasure…” (“Sin Luna”). I hit the floor in one swoop. Listening to this track over and over led me to re-vist Tango, while silently wishing that my dizzy-ease would not make an appearance. I figured that tasting the musical world of Tango would help me understand the instrumentation and relationship of rhythms. But just like my fútbol obsession, I soon fell down the deep, rabbit hole where I sat for hours in the dark, listening to the works of Astor Piazzolla. This new adventure with Piazzolla/Melingo in the drivers seat inspired my heart for even more. As I continued to listen to the pulsating, frantic bandoneóns it became apparent to me that Tango was a lot like the Blues. To fully understand it, you must pay your dues - the currency? Tears and blood. And the place for me to start would not be under my pillow or within pages of books and newspaper articles or even in a dance class. It would begin in a place found in my own heart, where mind and soul meet, to ponder heartbreak, failure, unfulfilled desire and loneliness. I started paying my debt while

continuing to shift through tons of information, trying to put this cultural hotbed together, like a puzzle. Thing is, I knew I was missing some pieces. And again, the secrets of Argentina clouded my head and heart…

-- I positioned myself to get comfortable, ready, as I laid on my back, looking up at the blank, white ceiling. I closed my eyes as I felt his hand guide my right leg to be positioned erect and pointing straight up, towards that ceiling. He then grasped my ankle ever so lightly. I soon started to feel a floating sensation. But I am not in the throes of sexual ecstasy nor am I sharing an intimate moment with a lover. I am being stretched out by my personal trainer. And he isn’t happy until he hears the gentle cracking sounds of individual vertebras my back has to offer.

Once this happens, he knows that his job is done. Suddenly, a thought popped into my head, as so many trample about after a great work out. “Gil? Didn’t you tell me once you were Spanish?”

“I’m from Argentina,” came his response.

Wait a darn minute! I could hear the words formulate in my brain: “Mouth, don’t say it. Don’t.”

Guillermo LaCava, or “Gil” is a handsome guy that doesn’t quite fit the picture in my head as an Argentine, but what do I know? In my mind, Argentines are dark and mysterious or super-speedy looking like Lionel Messi. Gil? Well, he looks American. Upon first meeting Gil, I automatically assumed he was Italian.

Maybe it was his last name? Maybe it had to do with the endorphins that were now a true part of my life? Whatever the reason, I was only half-right. Without a trace of a South American accent, Gil does, however, possess a trait I would kill for, or, at least hungrily covet: his posture. He stands so tall, with his back straight up and his chiseled chin out. And he does it all too comfortably that it sometimes hurts to see him walk. Gil has tried to teach me this science of perfect posture but I’m always falling behind, constantly failing at it and as graceful as a hippopotamus on roller-skates.

One thing I have learned when it comes to having a personal trainer is to not cross the line. What I mean by this is, try not to be a parasite of a reporter and pick the last of Gil’s cranium on anything. I have mastered this trait by quietly waiting for when the time is right. When that time arrives, Gil trains and guides me towards almost perfect health. Despite there are times when he barks commands at me as I feel muscle failure creeping up or, his scribbles of diet plans for me are the norm for any conversation, I would always restrain myself in any other form of dialogue with him. For that one perfect hour, it is between us - him coaching me on how to get fit. When Gil talks, he offers tomes of health advice, exercise knowledge and nutritional value like a never ending waterfall, or a one-million page encyclopedia.

And he does it all with a delivery similar to someone reaching for a slice of pizza out of a box. Thing is, Gil would probably frown on the pizza.

“Mouth – don’t do it!”…

“Gil, what kind of music scene does Argentina offer. Do you know?”

Just then, a couple of personal trainers and their clients waltzed into the room we were situated in, interrupting our non-existent conversation. Within minutes of me brazenly crossing the dreaded, question line, everyone in the room started working out while juggling the task of speaking Spanish. As the Spanish funneled up to the ceiling in vein of a swarm of locus’ filling up a clear sky, the music that was being played over the gym pa system blared at a fevered pitch.

The ever-growing sounds of the various gym varieties, the clanking of the free weights, a churning of the treadmill, as well as a couple of huffs and puffs coming from someone trying to perform sit ups also infiltrated the space. “I’m safe,” I said to myself. “He’ll just forget I asked him this question…” I was still on my back as I looked up at Gil, our surroundings getting louder and louder, soon to engulf us. But he did hear me. As he looked straight ahead into the pool area, I could sense him rolling over in his brain, how the person doing laps, was executing the arm movement all wrong. His mouth was moving but everything he was saying was being drowned out and I couldn’t hear him clearly. Oh gosh! What a time to not be getting the facts! This is my one chance! It sounded like he was rattling off numerous names of bands and musicians, all ending in the letter “o” and then it happened. He said three words. I looked up at him perplexed for it seemed he really wanted me

sity to remember that, beyond the historical and geographical surroundings in which we are immersed as physical beings, we are a soul, independent from time and space. To be happy, we have to pursue our soul on its eternal journey. We do not want to say that Spinetta forgets that we are a body anchored to the here and now, with an historical responsibility, but he prioritizes that which is immaterial, intangible, and spiritual, because he knows that it is the social and political world that should imitate the soul and not the other way around. Only the soul is perfectly beautiful and infinitely profound and sensitive. The only possibility of a beautiful world and happiness will be brought upon us, if we accommodate our lives to the requirements of the soul, but never if we accommodate the soul to the superficial requirements of the world; this will only bring sadness and the impoverishment of feelings and experiences. The world of the enlightened is inverted, in the sense that their nature makes them first perceive what is on the inside and then what is on the outside, as opposed to normal, non-enlightened people, who understand only the outside and maybe never become aware that they have a soul, which they waste and silence.

This text stops here. We have seen how the adolescence of Spinetta passed by, while he invented his own music that served as a vehicle to arrive at poets’ paradise. In order to change things and mold a more beautiful world, he had to invent a new vehicle and since that early debut with Almendra, he is, without doubt, the one who most contributed to create rock as the vehicle towards paradise. We must follow those enlightened beings, like Spinetta, who know poets’ paradise; from there Rimbaud, Baudelaire, Lord Byron, Rilke, Blake, Artaud, Lennon and Morrison, admire and wave at him, winged men who, through their out-of-the-ordinary sensibility, looked to recover and share with words a magical and mystical world that normal humans have lost forever.

– Federico Di Pasquale

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to hear these three words. He finally returned a glance my way and said, “Spinetta. His name is Luis Alberto Spinetta. But all you need to know is Spinetta.” There it was - hanging low in the air of this sweaty work-out room. Then something strange happened.

The voices settled down. The thumping music from the other work-out room became a soft buzz and the rattling gym machines all simmered to a slight hum. Gil was now holding his hands up, like he was displaying an imaginary piece of fruit.

“Spinetta is known for his lyrics and songwriting. He wrote a song where the lyrics describe what one would think is a piece of fruit but really, he is singing about a woman…”

As Gil helped me get off my back and as I turned to him, hoping for another load of fabulous information, he started once again to speak. I watched his lips intently, for this time, I wasn’t going to miss a single word. What seemed like hours, the words started to trickle off his lips and he finally spoke: “Ok, Sammy. Back straight, shoulders down, chest up. Give me 15 more reps…” as he pointed to a stability ball on the floor…

Once in the car and driving home from the gym, I remembered what Gil told me. I grabbed a piece of paper out of the glove compartment and scrawled on it: S-p-i-n-y-e-t-t-a. That piece of paper sat, clipped to the board on my windshield for weeks, for I had other things to tend to like, obtaining every soccer channel I could subscribe to, alongside of the lucky fact that I had also scored tickets for the upcoming Red Bulls vs. Barcelona match that was going to be played at the Meadowlands Arena in New Jersey. Sadly, I figured that finding out about Spinetta and finally getting to see Lionel Messi play in person would calm my Argentine obsession down a notch. Little did I know that these elements would only spin my obsession madly out of control…

--Pulling into the gigantic parking lot of Giants Stadium in East Rutherford, New Jersey on this hot summer day went without much fanfare. It is always hard to tell with this parking lot exactly how many people the stadium could hold on any given event day. So when I climbed over the highway ramp along with a family and a couple of small children in tow, I thought that I was either in the wrong place or that this fútbol game I so patiently waited for was cancelled. It’s not new news that fútbol is just not as popular in America as it is in other parts of the world. Despite that Barcelona was fully now embarked on a US tour making stops in Los Angeles, California and Houston, Texas to play matches against Chivas de Guadalajara and Club America (respectively), I had to dig deep for any press, which was sparse. Red Bulls? Isn’t that the Paris Hilton drink? I wasn’t even aware that New York had a professional team. I blamed this lack of knowledge on my dedicated studies of European fútbol (and the numerous soccer channels, now piling up on my cable bill). As I finally climbed down the slope of the overhead ramp and started towards the entrance gates, it happened, or, somewhat of a fútbol experience for me. It first started with the music, mainly salsa, blasting from open car and mini-van windows. The music covered the parking lot and entrances so loudly that I couldn’t help but dance to it! Here I was, at my first ever fútbol game, dancing by myself to the unleveled sounds of the numerous salsa tunes blaring about. “I must surely be going crazy,” I mumbled to myself. Then I was hit with another mega-epiphany with the pertinent odor of barbequing wafting midair. As I edged towards the entrance, more groups of people and families, some tailgating, others sitting on the ground in deep Spanish dialogue, scattered around the place. I spent the time walking around, marveling at the numerous children dressed in different fútbol jerseys, as they anxiously waited to get into the stadium for the game. “Pretty tame,” I said to myself as I finally got the chance to flash my ticket and enter. Still, the place looked empty as I started my ascent into what seems like the heavens, stair after stair, up, up, up. Once at the row of my seat, I surveyed my surroundings for the entire stadium was full, not even offering one spare seat. Where did/how did all these people get here!?! Another mystery of my journey, I suppose. I settled in my seats, behind a couple of gentlemen (later I learned were from Uruguay). Once the game intro started, I found it hard to concentrate due to the cheering, but one thing was for sure - fans who were there to support Red Bulls - 5%. Barcelona? 95%. As the games commencement blared over the pa system both in English and Spanish, I saw him. And it felt like we were the only two people in that stadium. Messi. Running down the field, he seemed bigger to me than the “flea” like characteristics that were placed on him. He seemed thick in body and muscle mass and way faster in person. His charisma was outstanding in the most humble way.

Yet, he carried an ancient confidence despite that he was still in his teenage years. This, my friends, is the only way to experience Messi and fútbol. Live. As the game progressed it felt like all 79,000 of us were one big happy family. Despite that Red Bulls were impressive in the first half (score settled at 1-1), the true stars were clearly Barcelona as they put the match to bed with the final 4-1. Ronaldo de Assís Moreira / or Ronaldinho, another true star, was responsible for two of those goals (one, assisted by Messi).

The other two goals were dream-like, as I witnessed Messi and Barcelona forward, Javier Saviola leave their mark on the game alongside of Ronaldinho. Wow. Live, in person, I witnessed Messi scoring a goal. As I snapped out of this haze, I noticed that excitement of the game picked up a notch, for the two guys from Uruguay magically produced a flask and began passing it around. It landed in front of me. As I pondered the proper gesture, I could smell the faint scent of schnapps. I decided to decline and politely handed the flask back to them. Just then, the police appeared in our row, squinty-eyed and club in hand. A slight scuffle occurred and soon one man was taken away but not after engaging us with a comical game of cat and mouse interrogation:

Police officer: “what’s in the flask?”

Uruguay Man #1: “ what are you speaking me? No habla English…”

Police officer: “again, I will ask you - what is in the flask…?”

Uruguay Man #2: “aqua.”

When the police led him away, my heart sank. We were only having some fun! Uruguay Man #2 returned 5 minutes later to much of our applause but unfortunately the flask was not with him.

This match was brilliant for my first-ever. I even had the chance to experience the most amazing standing ovation as Ronaldinho exited the game in the 76th minute.

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Despite that I wished my writing career would bring in ample amounts of money allowing me the pleasure to really spread out and write all day without a worry in the world only reminds me that it is, indeed, a wish. And it is one wish that brings me to my part time job. But unlike the Joe Job category that I so lump many of my jobs in when telling people what I do for the bulk of my salary, this one gig is amazing. I loved it completely, for three days a week, I assisted a concert program director whose musical vision could run the gamut of either cutting edge performance art or high eyebrow, classical, snoba-toriums. When the call came in for this freelance assignment, I wasn’t sure how it would fit in my ever-so busy schedule, but before I could say, “how much does this pay?” I was fitting myself into business attire and commuting downtown to the financial district of New York City where I began my work as support in writing up pr releases, designing concert programs and booking concerts. My boss, Earl Lawrence Tucker, I had quickly learned, was a pure stage magnet. And She - that stage, is forever calling him to her. Earl grew up on a stage, first as a violinist and then a dancer, where he toured endlessly, knowing nothing so familiar or so normal. I, on the other hand, hate the bright lights the stage offers and prefer to go un-noticed in my own self inflicted solitude. This was the main reason Earl and I fit.

Soon these three days morphed into one hardcore mentoring experience as Earl introduced me to millions of classical compositions (and the occasional performance of an artist doing Piazzolla!). So naturally, when I got the word that he was sick with cancer, I felt like I too, had gotten the grim prognoses. Earl, on the other hand took it like a Muse, climbed up on that stage and played out, yet another great performance of his life. As the weeks went on, our spring/summer concert series wrapped up, while countless performers graced our stages. Earl hung tough, for now he was on ‘the juice,’ (weekly doses of chemo). His humor, slick as ever, gave way, just a tad bit as he prepared to check himself in spiritually and physically with the promise of one month off from work for recuperation. While he patiently waited for the concert season to end, I knew that I would now have to step up to the plate and run the office while he was away. When that day came, I braved it just as Earl braved his last ‘cocktail.’ As he waved his arm, now starting to display burses of purple-ish hue where each needle laid, goodbye, I took it all lightly for I felt I was ready to walk into the office on my own. The first week went by too quickly, full of phone calls, office work and explanations, done so in a nonchalant ‘oh-he’s-just-fine’ kind of way, despite that I was always finding myself having to cut through the almost ridiculous expressions from co-workers as they would push out the words, “how’s Earl doing?” as if, saying it would give them cancer. I figured, that trying to keep a positive vibration high in the office that housed me, the ghost of Beethoven and a harpsichord seemed easy at the time, but when week two came around, I was listless and a little unfocused, despite the work load on my desk. Then one day it hit me, for I was lonely and missed companionship, mainly, my co-worker and boss, Earl.

Day in and day out, I would spend long hours, alone in that office. Phone calls completely died down due to the hazy summer and I was left to mastermind concert program designs. This loneliness became deafening and I found myself not wanting to come into the office anymore. One day I couldn’t take the silence any more. The time was now. This time, time I had squirreled away for the most perfect moment, was ready to be explored as I looked over the one Spinetta cd I finally got my hands on “Peluson of Milk.”

I put this cd in a pile of other cds when I first received it, afraid that I would be disappointed with first listen. Today was the day that this debate would lose it’s painful battle. Sulkily, I laid the cd into the stereo cradle and pressed play. My heart beat was the loudest thing heard in that empty office for all of a second.

The intro of precise, syntactical guitars affixed my ears but only for a flash as opening song, “Seguir Viviendo Sin Tu Amor” began to play and for the first time ever in my career as a music critic, I lost my footing. Normally when I hear a new piece of music, my ears pick up the guitars first. This is where my attention lingers for a while. Then I poke around for the back beat and other interesting instrumentation only to finally settle on the delivery of vocals. Maybe, just maybe, I sometimes pay attention to the lyrics. Here, I found myself going straight for the jugular of vocals-delivery-lyrics. Wait? Wait a minute here! HE IS SINGING IN SPANISH!

But as song after song passed by, I felt this strange sensation that I could feel what this Spinetta person was singing about. Could this be possible? Could one actually sense what one was singing about due to severe language barriers? Could certain musicians, composers actually have this hypnotizing ability to draw someone into a sentiment? As songs like “Bomba Azul,” played on my office stereo system, I was deeply struck with Spinetta’s display of intimacy through his vocals. Despite that the compositions on “Peluson of Milk” sounded too polished, upbeat, perfectly recorded and orchestrated for my taste, I rode on through this release until I found the magic key I was looking for – the same key that would unlock the doors and help me understand exactly what Gil was trying to convey to me in that muggy work-out room that day. It started to fall together for me when I heard the song, “Cielo De Ti.” As the soft guitars gently carried Spinetta’s wooing lyrics, I gained an ability to see the side of this artist that I dreamed could exist, along with all the dreaming I had done with my clipped Argentine articles. As the song built up, a familiar feeling washed over me in the form of hot tears rolling down my cheek.

To be continued…

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