Thank Fuck It's Friday
Dear Ian: Next time you plan on sleeping, do not drink four cups of Thai tea at dinner. That shit is like free-base methamphetamine spiked with ketamine. I was up and hallucinating until the wee hours of the morning. Well, by "up" I mean a delusional state resembling wakefulness, punctuated by periods of something like sleep only a lot less restful. By my calculations, I think I netted out with about two hours of sleep. Really, people. This is no way for a 33-year-old man to behave. No way at all.
The upcoming weekend, in brief.
Tonight: haircut! Thank God Almighty. The wig is reaching heretofore unknown levels of mulletude.
Tomorra: Go see a movie, prolly. Damn you, Touchstone Pictures, for your New York and L.A. only release of the Royal Tenenbaums. Damn you straight to hell. Then Wish rehearsal. Then sleep, I would guess.
Sunday: Work out maybe, then nothing 'til The Hills Have Eyes rehearsal at 6. Somehow we need to write and learn an entire set of music for our show on the 28th. Piece o' cake. Ha.
Now, for your edification, blawg.com's patented search string results!
Below are actual searches conducted by actual people in which blawg.com came up as a result. My personal favorites are in bold. Instant comedy, I say.
Didn't make up even a single one of those. Amazing. ßßß
Musings on music and other nonsense.
So I took Tuesday off work to run a bunch of errands in the lovely South Bay. This required me to spend an extended period of time driving around in the Family Truckster: my fabulous '87 Maxima wagon. Yep, straight chickmobile. Sadly, it is not equipped with anything but an ol' skool AM/FM radio, so I was forced to listen to the myriad "modern rock" stations during my travels.
Ladies and gentleman, I have seen the future of music, and it is horrifying.
Now as bad as most nü metal music is, what I found the most disturbing were the lyrics. Not the content, mind you, but the lack of same. Take, for instance, Puddle of Mudd's Blurry. Even the dungeons and dragons lyrics I wrote at age 12 for my first-ever band — we were called Gremlin, and we totally rocked Stratford, Connecticut and surrounding areas — were better than this. And the Alien Ant Farms and System of a Downs of the world fared only slightly better.
So I'm not expecting Sam Coleridge or Robert fucking Frost, but at least make an effort. Maybe it's because I've recently started writing lyrics again after a long lyrical hiatus that I'm so critical, but the lyrics still count for half the publishing rights. But I don't think anyone deserves a dime for rubbish like "Everything's so blurry and everyone's so fake/and everybody's so empty and everything is so messed up." Knawmean?
MoreMusic
Music News: You hear it first.
Cue the bass intro from Peace Sells, but Who's Buying ...
So the hell with discretion. There have been a number of developments in my recently revived music career that are too exciting to keep to myself. So sit down and pay attention. It's kinda complicated, and there will be a quiz later. Here we go.
A. Band the first, The Hills Have Eyes, recently solidified its lineup (that is to say, we kicked out our slacker guitarist) and recorded a four-song demo. Early reviews from friends, family, and strangers have been overwhelming. For some reason, people seem to really like the stuff. So cool. Then we have our first gig in a coupla weeks. Next stop: Noise Pop 2002. I hope.
2. Band the second, tentatively entitled Wish. This band rose out of the ashes San Geronimo, who were a damn good outfit unto themselves. But Peter Martin (ex-Lifetime and Jets to Brazil guitarist) and Todd Tomlinson (ex-Drowningman drummer) recently disbanded S.G. to veer off in an entirely new — and entirely bad ass — direction. While San Geronimo were solidly within the indie-pop-melodic-emo-punk schema, Wish (or whatever it ends up being called) is waaaay more rock, in the very best sense of the word. At times Cave In-ish, Clutch-y, and Rival Schools-esque, this stuff is just pure uncut rock. So fun to play, so good to listen to, and just amazing to be a part of. Both Todd and Peter are phenomenal players, easily the most talented musicians I've played with in ages. Set phasers for superstardom.
iii. Band the third, Common Rider. Now to say that I'm officially in this band would be premature, but yesterday I met with Jesse Michaels, former singer of Operation Ivy, to talk about taking over bass duties in Common Rider. Now this is incredible to me not only because the material he played for me yesterday was so goddamned good, but also because Operation Ivy is right up there with the Clash, the Stooges, Bob Marley, Billy Bragg, Led Zeppelin, et al, in my musical pantheon. I mean, OPIV and the scene that sprung up around them in the late '90s was why I moved to the East Bay. So to have Jesse call me and ask me to play bass is one of the most flattering and amazing things ever to happen to me. I only hope I don't jinx it or fuck it up somehow. Anyhoo, we're supposed to get together in a week or two to jam and see how things feel. Wish me luck.
That's all for now. I'm Adam Curry, and check back at 10 to the hour for more updates. Peace out. Or peace sells. Or something. ßßß
Hell yeah.
Taking a random day off in the middle of the week — from commuting, from working, from weblogging — kicks ass. You should try it. ßßß
Odds, Ends
Don't miss last week's brilliant insight.
