I just noticed that today's date is 3/2/1. Funny. Or, in the more intuitive European protocol, it's 2/3/1. And that's not funny at all.
New Found Glory are a reprehensibly catchy emo band — emo crack, as ol' Scoop Casey might say. I've been wearing out my copy of their latest, eponymous album. Plus, they have a bass player named Ian, which is never a bad thing. I predict big things for these boys — big MTV boy-band-size things. Check out their site and click on the Music link at your own risk. You might develop a bad emo habit.
And now, the news.
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Yesterday's News, Today.
<This is Scoop Casey, failing to try something new.>
<And now, a gratuitous reference to The Super.>
<Scoop Casey's Bonus Blog Bandwagon Coverage>
I am so very pleased with myself! This morning I scammed my way on to the Macromedia (y'know, the people who brought us the miracle of Flash) shuttle bus to get to work. It stops at the 19 Polk stop, where I sometimes get the 19 Polk, and I saw a bunch of nondescript white people piling on. I waited and watched for displays of any kind of official documentation. None was forthcoming, so I hopped on. It dropped me about a quarter block from the Kitchen King complex in which I work. Brilliant.
Noise Pop 2001 kicked off with a bang (what kind of metaphor mixing is that??) on Monday with the East Bay's own Beulah, and sources say they rocked.
I had the pleasure of seeing the Creeper Lagoon/Jimmy Eat World show @ Great American last nite. The first band, Skiptrace, were god-awful. They managed to embody the very worst of the bands they're trying to emulate, namely the horrible self-indulgence of Built to Spill and the hippie tendencies of Modest Mouse.
Carlos, playing their eighth consecutive Noise Pop fest, more than made up for the pussy-rock strains of Skiptrace. They're all about that glam-rock-proto-punk-pop thing that always sounds dated but never goes out of style. Think Rock-n'-Roll Over-era Kiss, a healthy serving of T. Rex, and a dash of End of the Century Ramones. Magnifique.
Despite their lame, Flash-intensive website, Creeper Lagoon rocked the whole house. Ian Sefchick acquitted himself much better last night than he did at karaoke at Annie's [See 2/14 blawg], and the crowd was clearly theirs. They played a lot of stuff off their forthcoming major label debut, Take Back the Universe and Give Me Yesterday. Good stuff, yeah, but we all wanted to hear the col' rock stuff off I Become Small and Go. They did not disappoint.
But then Jimmy Eat World came on, and I forgot about everything else. Don't let the mellifluous emo-pop of Clarity fool you — these guys ROCK. Singer/guitarist Jim Adkins commanded the stage and had all the emo kiddies singing along and hanging on his every riff.
Sadly, we only got to hear three or four songs before we had to split to catch the last train back the cultured side of the Bay. What's with that, anyway? I grew up outside of New York, the city that never sleeps, and then moved to New Orleans, the city that wakes up at 11 pm and goes to sleep at 4 in the morning. So why is it that San Francisco essentially shuts down at 10 pm?!?
And one other pet peeve while I'm at it. Band people: Why the fuck does it take you 25 minutes to perform a freaking set change??? I've been in plenty of bands and gone to plenty of shows, and nothing sucks more than waiting around for the next band to come on. I played in a six-piece band that completed entire set changes in less than five minutes. It can be done. Tune up your guitars in the dressing room. Set up the drum kit on the side of the stage. Make friends with the soundpeople and stage managers and just get it done. Jeez. ßßß
OK, just a short little blawgette today, as evil BART delays turned my normally breezy 25-minute train ride into a one-hour-long ordeal. I'll have to wait 'til tomorrow to weigh in on the gigantic blog article in the S.F. Chronicle, Puffy's gospel album, and Chris Isaak's new comedy series for Showtime. So stay tuned.
Out. ßßß
The world has gone mad. That's not news, necessarily; I just felt like I needed to say that.
In music news today:
Snoop Dogg and Larry Flynt, together at last, as nature intended.
Zack de la Rocha, former Rage Against the Machine frontguy, is tracking a new record with DJ Shadow, Roni Size, and ?uestlove of the Roots. Presumably in between visits to Chiapas to get down with Subcommander Marcos.
Li'l Kim appareantly has such an effect on men that they start shooting each other.
From Ye Olde Mailbagge:
To: ian@blawg.com
Subject: from a fan of blawg
Enjoyed the movie reviews. I would love to hear your comments on my preferred media of choice — TV!! In particular, would appreciate your coverage on the more meaningful shows. Sorry, that excludes most of the shows on CBS (background noise for nursing homes) and WB (teenage babysitter substitute), as well as the Alphabet (I had enough of Disney's sugar-coated revisionist history growing up).
— Mike T. Vee
So, that leaves what, NBC? For broadcast channels? And the cable stuff, of course.
Which brings me to my next point: the Sopranos. That's right folks, T minus five days to the third-season premiere of what may be the best show on television. Ever. I defy anyone to name a show that is as consistently incredible as David Chase's masterpiece. And to think, he tried to sell it to all four broadcast networks. Serves 'em right. ßßß
So Tracy and I were out visiting my gorgeous nephew Kai Miller last night, and Tracy's right rear tire got eaten by the biggest, meanest pothole I ever seen. Three feet by three feet if it was an inch, and a good six or eight inches deep. She swerved to avoid it, hit the edge of it, and we were done. Looked like someone just came up and took a bite out of the tire. The spare, of course, was flat.
Luckily there was a gas station nearby, so I set out to fill up the goofy little donut spare. A half hour or so later, we were on our way.
This just in: NASCAR is dangerous. Memo to all rednecks: Quit driving so fast, and mix in a right turn now and then.
And now, a headline that should do ol' Scoop Casey proud: Red Sox loaded with lumber again. Ahhh, baseball. Spring training is now in full swing, and it's time to cultivate relationships with various season ticket holders on both sides of the Bay. Man, I can't wait. I really can't even be bothered with hoops this year. I don't know what it is, but I can barely sit through a half of the NBA on NBC. Football — whatever. But for some reason, baseball never gets old for me. What a beautiful thing.
See you in the stands. ßßß
Don't miss last week's brilliant insight.
