Suuuunday Morning: why I like The Pixies; The Microphones; The Fourth Dimension

Lately I've been looking through the old issues of Hook and Line, from back when we used to print zines and e-zines. I truly miss that format. I miss holding this damn blog in my hands, or at the very least, seeing a cyber replica of something that looks like the thing that you can hold in your hands. Maybe I will make a small run of a zine type thing to accompany this blog in the near future.
In the same spirit of looking back, I've also been revisiting bands that I was obsessed with throughout high school, particularly ages 13-16; Namely, The Pixies, Radiohead, Jane's Addiction, Laura Viers, Modest Mouse, The Silversun Pickups and The Pixies, again.  The Pixies were so unreal the first time I heard them.  It was a very memorable musical epiphany, one of those feelings when you get super excited thinking, "This exists in the universe?!" It was this little tune,this exact video, in fact.

After years have passed, I think I am now able to understand why I loved The Pixies so much.  It's the crude and spontaneous, angry, crusty, hurting, "i'm-losing-my-breath-but-i'm-still-gonna-finish-this-line" sound.  
I read a piece of philosophy when I was a senior in high school.  I think it was by Plato because it was about why the arts are not good for society.   It was aligning the artist, the performer in particular, with the fits that people have when they are possessed by the devil or when they are insane.  And now that I'm thinking about it, that's exactly why I like my favorite bands! I like the bands who seem insane, like they have to do this.  Like when Frank Black makes that weird "Oouhg" sound before he sings "Said the man to the lady", I love that!  There is no formula that tells you when or how to do that. You can't learn how to do that in music theory, that comes from somewhere else.  If it seems too contained, too constant - i'm not a fan. But if it feels like the shriek at the end of the sentence found its source in some unknown reservoir in your mind then I'm totally digging it.

****

I have recently been introduced to The Microphones. Good fall/winter music.

****

I saw The Fourth Dimension.  Released on YouTube on Friday through Vice Magazine and Grolsch Film Works, The Fourth Dimension is a collection of three 30 minute films made by Harmony Korine, Alexsei Fedorchenko and Jan Kwiecinski. You can watch it below.


~Keba

Eternal Life in a Song - Jeff Buckley Tribute

Some days, life is not easy.  On those days, I usually, listen to early Metallica or Guns n’ Roses and stare at the ceiling.  But one day, I chose a change of tune.  As I was gearing up for a bike ride one sunny afternoon I intended to head bang to Ace of Spades (Motorhead), but an old favorite called my name from my CD shelf.  

     As I descended the driveway, the opening song on Jeff Buckley’s Grace swept over me with the feeling of its namesake.  I coasted at an easy pace and as I rounded each curve, the shimmering, melancholy guitar would ring.  The ebb and flow of the dreamy arrangement was perfectly in tune with dips and curves of the pavement.  Then, as I peddled up a steep hill with the determination of an infant climbing a flight of stairs, the unexpected, tense build-up of the song began. 

     To me, and many others, Jeff Buckley’s music feels like an old friend.  The warmth and vulnerability is comforting, soothing to the listener.  You feel the music relate to you like a kindred soul.  Many remember the very moment that his music touched their life unlike anything they’d heard before.  My love for his music began one winter evening beneath a brilliant sunset.  After learning of his death, I composed a poem about his 30 year old soul’s untimely release from this world.

     During Jeff Buckley’s short life, he recorded only one album, but left a wealth of material behind.  Buckley experimented with many genres of music (rock, jazz, blues, and sounds seemingly from a different century.)  Just a few of his notable songs are the uplifting “Grace,” the loud and wild “Eternal Life,” and the reach-out-and-grab-you feeling of “Woke Up in a Strange Place.”  Buckley’s musical range also extended to covers of Edith Piaf songs from the 1930s, and the haunting, yearning soul of an old church bell that is “Corpus Christi Carol” Benjamin Britten.

    Jeff will be remembered as a friend and fellow musician to some.  But to all, he was beautifully gifted creature who manipulated the intangible mystery of sound with brilliance.-Jocelyn 

Breaking Up Sucks

It all started with Scorpions. I remember where I was when I heard the news. In the car, on the radio it was announced: Scorpions had called it quits. "NO!" I wailed in disbelief. Over the past year, I’d become a connoisseur of the finest cheezy hair metal. "Rock You like a Hurricane" was my favorite song. It was perfect for jumping on the sofa in my pajamas on a Saturday morning (or evening. Lame, I know.) For a while, I had the channel VH1 Classic. Often, I indulged in rockumetaries (rock music documentaries), and films that were quintessential to the music of the past. At first, I laughed at the 80's video marathons. Months later, I would find myself still sitting in front of the TV after an hour had passed still watching. Overtime, Motley Crue, Warlock and Whitesnake videos became familiar, even the power ballads. I was hooked. Although Scorpions calling it quits was saddening, break up’s of younger bands are far harder to swallow.

Just last winter, a very, very young, yet mature sounding band called Thieves was featured in Hook and Line. After becoming addicted to their myspace months earlier, I rejoiced upon hearing their first EP, Divider. The interview questions were very fun to think about because their music is intellectual. Asking them what their favorite ice cream flavor was wouldn’t cut it. Thieves managed to convey depth and, perhaps, melancholy without suffocating the listener in darkness. In my article, I now realize that I praised front man Ryan Hiser’s voice without clarity. To me, there is some kind of struggle, or past struggle that I feel beneath his voice, that is what I find so compelling.

Overtime, Thieves became rather quiet. There were no more online updates. Fear of the worst arose: a break up. The thought that no more new Thieves material would reach my ears was pushed away, just beneath consciousness. Yet, the omen didn’t spare me from some sadness when the group disbanded. When I was young, extremely shy, and alone, I forged a strong tie to music. My hunger for music is one that most don’t understand. Though, my life has become more positive, emotional ties are still often made to laser discs, cassettes, pancake shaped vinyl, and now MP3's.

Just earlier this month, it was announced on Thieves’ facebook that it was over. I will miss the fruit of their combined efforts, but, alas, everything has a season. I am looking forward to any projects that the former members. And I’d like it if Chet Kueffer could help me sharpen my bass skills sometime. *cough cough* -Jocelyn

Record Store Mausoleum

I STRETCHED MY IMAGINATION, and found it strange to contemplate what it would be like if I was not able to walk into a record store and physically buy music anymore; if our record stores were replaced by mere digital cafes, for us to sit and stare at snow white computer screens lacking in character and for us to click our way to musical satisfaction - no frustrating plastic packaging to brawl with and no tangible cover booklets to peruse. It isn’t incredulous to say that record stores could die and find their remnants tumble weeding through a record store mausoleum of memories in the very near future. 

 By the same token, shouldn’t music’s significance be the same regardless of the vehicle that it uses to travel to your ear drum? Many consider the accompaniment of album artwork and the full track listing (in the order that the album was meant to be played) to be crucial aspects of the music listening experience. But is that just stubborn nostalgia?  A music addict’s reluctance to rid themselves of sentiment? An unwillingness to move into the future? The answers to these questions are convoluted and highly subjective – so I decided to give Mark Weinstein, the co-founder of California’s Amoeba Records (the biggest independent record stores in the world and a mecca for any music collector), a call to see what he thinks. 

 KEBA: Do you think that records are important to the process of listening to music?

MARK WEINSTEIN: Well, it’s different for everybody so it’s hard to make a broad statement like that. But certainly for people who really care about an artist, it’s the best way to experience their music for sure because it’s sort of like the best hard copy or master copy you can have of a musician’s art.  So, you know, it kind of represents a real commitment to the artist to have the LP. And to experience the art of the music that way is the biggest commitment you can make to the artist compared to, obviously, MP3’s.

 K: How do you feel about downloading music? Do you download at all?

MW: I don’t at all, personally. Never have. It’s not really a stance that I’m taking it’s just that I like, you know, I’ve got enough CDs and records to keep me busy for the rest of my life. And the convenience factor is not such a big issue for me. It’s really a convenience thing why people download files.  I can see, on a convenience level why it’s a good thing to have. But it’s not the way I like to experience it myself.

K: So, since the internet has become so popular and downloading music have sales at Amoeba gone down at all?

MW: Um…especially in this Berkeley store, they have gone down some.  But in San Francisco and especially in LA, they haven’t gone down at all really. Like in LA, where whole families come into the store and spread out and shop in our store, but this [Berkeley]  is a very student oriented area and students either want MP3s or they want vinyl.  They don’t even want CDs anymore.

K: Do you think that record shops will ever go away? Kind of like how books now – like, have you heard of the Kindle?

MW: Yeah I know about it, it’s like the iPod for books.

K: Yeah, do you think record shops will ever totally disappear?

MW: Well, I think most of them already have. I don’t think it’ll get any worse than it is now.  But, in that respect, I think that there is always going to be a market for record stores.  Not only for, cool collectable things, but, you know, just a place to go hang out where people are into music.  You know, hard copies will always be desired by people who are into an artist.  So you know, I don’t think that – I mean, I’m sure we’ll be some of the last one’s standing.  There just aren’t that many left. I think 75% of all the record stores in the US are gone.

K: Yeah, I know of two around were I live that have closed…

MW: Where are you calling from?

K: Philadelphia.

MW: Yeah, I know, I noticed, I heard about stores that closed recently in Philly.  Yeah it’s really sad, especially when the combination of a community not supporting a store and the store itself being in a rut or falling into holes financially, all those things can close a store. One of the iconic cultural resources that they grew up with. And that’s brutal.  But you know, it’ll somewhat continue to happen and I think, unfortunately, bookstores will go the same way as record stores.  What’ll be left are a few good ones.  That’ll be it.

K: Especially independent ones.

MW: Yeah, oh, we’re finding online – we’re building a website ourselves.  It has been interesting to find out that the cost of building a significant digital downloading site is so vast that no independent store could even have a chance at it on their own; and that’s really sad. It’s all centralized, all the power, with the big corporations as usual. That’s what’s happening.  It’s pathetic.

K: So why did you start Amoeba in the first place?

MW: Well, a lot of reasons. But mainly, I got a record store job when I was in high school and it’s all I’ve ever done my whole life.  The kind of passion that people have for their music and—I just felt like, you’re going to have to live in society and sell something for a living. You know, that’s something that you can really believe in. It’s art and it’s also affordable. It’s not like working in an art gallery, you know. It’s beautiful art and you can have it for ten bucks, and it’s a great thing. I just love being in a place where people are getting stuff that’s going to make them happy. ◊

Seventeen Things I Love About Shows

--Photo and list by Keba

1.Getting there early, waiting in line, and listening to people’s conversations

2. Jumping

3.Forgetting about life
4.  Singing with everyone

4. Closing your eyes and feeling it

5.   Being right up front near the speakers and having tinnitus for the next two days

6.Meeting stinky drunk folks is funny

7.Feeling the ground vibrate

8.Knowing all the words

9.Not caring about personal space

10.The few days before the show when you’re completely daydreaming, 24/7, about what it will be like

11. Not listening to the band on purpose because you want the songs to feel new

12. When they’re under $lO.OO, or free, or unexpected…unexpected is the best

13. Everyone is on the same page

14. When the band/artist plays the one song that everybody knows - including the new fans - and then there’s sort of an instant surge of energy - like someone turned on a switch

15. When they play your favorite song

16. When you spend 15 minutes yelling for an encore, think they’re not coming back out, but they do

17. Feeling like everyone else in the city is obviously having a night that is 15% amazing while yours is 170% amazing

Mixing Memory and Desire?

What is it about a song? Upon the opening notes we can recall a season, an hour, a place in time past. Is it because what is exceptional lives on, or is it that the tie to a memory remains special because of its musical backdrop? I remember learning to play the guitar to Nirvana, skateboarding to Sum 41, and lonely afternoons spent listening to the masterful Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars. In burgeoning youth, I’d spent my last hours of the evening with Chester Bennington (Linkin Park) singing me to sleep. I feel it tug on my heart, like an invisible thread, when I hear a song from my memories. But does the music make the moment, or does the moment make the music?

At times, I’ve wondered if my obsession with a cd comes at a time when my emotional state is fit. For instance, I loved Thursday’s War All the Time album in 2004. I was in an awkward, isolated place in time. I neglected the rest of my record collection for nearly five months. It was in my walkman on the morning drive to school. When I came home I’d take it to my room to listen again while I painted. Then, on winter nights, I’d sit on my front porch bundled up in a coat, and stare at the peaceful, frozen scenery. I memorized all of the lyrics and spent time journaling about my analysis of their meanings (my English teacher would have been proud.) Despite this love, their next album couldn‘t keep the flame kindled. A City by the Light Divided (2006) was pretty good to me, but it didn’t catch the attention of my mysterious obsession. I probably listened to War All the Time a thousand fold more. The same goes for the Raveonettes (I listened to Pretty in Black[2005] much, much more than Lust, Lust, Lust [2007],) The Used (I never got past they‘re debut self-titled release) and the Von Bondies (Pawn Shoppe Heart [2004].) Perhaps my insistence that Isn’t Anything is a better My Blood Valentine album than Loveless can be attributed to one of the perfect-album-at-the-perfect-time phases in my life.

As someone who is practically devoted to music, I recently found that the sentimental attachment to a song can evolve. Just last week, I was listening to WMMR, a radio station that has played practically the same music since I was a kid. In middle school, I kept a stereo under my bed. Every night, I’d listen to Linkin Park before falling asleep. I spent many hours listening to the inscription on that shiny piece of plastic while I painted seemingly in a trance. Years later, when my music obsession shifted, that beloved cd was unfortunately lost in a car accident (my brother’s friend, not me) as it was playing. Though the car wall full of passengers, the cd, along with said friend’s very first car, were the only things damaged (destroyed, actually.) Recently, I heard one of the singles from that album on WMMR. It was as painful and passionate as I’d remembered it, but I began to see encouragement in the pain. Lyrics about deep loneliness and displacement were beginning to sound like a rallying call to move forward, rather than stay lost.

Despite these two arguments, I haven’t come to a conclusion. I believe the power of the intangible will always be a mystery. Maybe my relationship with albums is all about the right place in my life, but I believe that any profound connection to music is of high value, nonetheless. – Words by Jocelyn Illustration by keba

More Than Hair

– Words and Illustration by Jocelyn

Spandex, make-up and hair that rebelled against gravity with the assistance of crimping irons and hair spray is how many people define hair metal.  The idea that it constitutes of much more is merely a notion to them.  Upon closer examination, it has qualities to admire.  After reading this, you’ll see the neon stage light.

During the 80’s, hair metal was about enjoying life beyond the extent of fullness, it was a celebration of over-indulgence. The larger than life stage shows and tight bright clothing was meant to exhilarate the audience. Hair was about having a good time.  The stage show was a way for the musicians and the audience to forget about the troubles or boredom of life. For many listeners, hair was an escape.

Hair metal wasn’t just junk food. There is technique to be admired. With fast and heavy guitars and drums like rolling thunder, men who wore spandex and eye shadow made music with more testosterone than the a-symmetrical hair cut kids of today. Though the lyrical content can be similar (desperation to get laid) there’s a major gap as far as how they handle an instrument. Quite a few hair metal bands retained sonic aggression while creating something catchy. Many of today’s young “rock” bands have given themselves over to pop far too much. Motley Crue are a wildly successful example of a cross dressing, heavy rocking group. Guitarist Mick Mars didn’t play the guitar sweetly or politely. The band as a whole rocked just as hard as any true rock guys, except they had make up on.

Some scoff at hair metal because of their black mood, claiming that they’re lifestyle is far too serious for that type of music.  Contrary to their belief, hair wasn’t the product of shallow minds across the board.  Reading any hair metal veteran’s auto-biography is no walk in the park.  Nikki Sixx, Steven Adler and Tommy Lee’s books offer readers tales of hardship.  Nikki Sixx died and came back to life, and Steven Adler was repressing secrets about sexual abuse since childhood.  For many listeners with darkness in their lives, spandex clad men were the keepers of their musical happiness. 

Hair metal hit some serious notes too. Under the foundation and crimped hair, hair metal bands penned lyrics on serious subject matter, as well as light hearted party anthems. While Lion wrote about the emotional effects on divorce in “Broken Home,” and, like U2, covered political issue of Apartheid (“Cry for Freedom.”) Skid Row created an anthem for illustrating a youth’s spiral down the wrong path (“18 and Life.”) Motley Crue shows a serious side in tunes such as “Too Young to Fall in Love” that are in contrast to their living for the night anthems.

The bright lights, tight clothes and cosmetics can prove distracting, but hair metal was just as multi-dimensional as any other form of music.  Almost.