It's been quite awhile since my last update, and hopefully I will do a much better job at keeping this thing up to date in the future. Much has happened since July 28; for instance, I have a serious girlfriend--an artist who likes Os Mutantes. No kidding. My psych-blues band, The Ono's Sextet has recorded a couple of songs, played a couple of incredibly drunk shows, and released our first cd-r. We even have a music video, courtesy of one Jim Dale. You can watch it here.

Since the last update, here is a list of recent favorites:
1. Sunn o)))/Boris - "The Sinking Belle" (Altar)
2. Charalambides - A Vintage Burden
3. Sun Ra - Space is the Place
4. Fennesz - Venice
5. The Carter Family - "Bury Me Under the Weeping Willow"
6. Harry Nilsson - "Without You" (Nilsson Schmilsson)
7. Velvet Underground - "Femme Fatale" (Velvet Underground & Nico)
8. Can - Tago Mago
9. news of a new Thomas Pynchon novel, which will be available November 21
10. Sun City Girls - "Space Prophet Dogon" (Torch of the Mystics)

Oh, Jandek

I have been floored. This isn't something that happens often when it comes to art, especially upon first consumption. This isn't the kind of "What the fuck was that?" kind of floored that I was a few weeks ago when Ultra Pulverizer ultra pulverized Mice Pace; this is the kind of floored one becomes when he or she experiences utter beauty. In this case, the composition in question is Jandek's Glasgow Monday, a live recording from the mysterious avant-garde musician's May 23, 2005 set at the Center for Contemporary Arts in Glasgow, Scotland. Divided into a prelude and nine subsequent parts, the set is one masterpiece of a song: "The Cell." Throughout the set, Jandek repeatedly whispers, "What do I have?" over a softly-played melancholy piano and haunting swells of chimes and bass. A piece of yearning, searching, and self-examination, Glasgow Monday/"The Cell" induced in me tears of joy--nothing this stunningly honest and beautiful has crossed my ears in a damn long time. I hope Jandek finds the answer to his question.

6/6/06: Unholy Fest at Mice Pace

Surely I'll be dead by the time the next 6/6/06 rolls around, but I was very much alive for this one. We had our biggest, most badass show to date at Mice Pace, mostly thanks to an invasion of hip bands from Knoxville and Will Fist's Whisk-Hutzel record label. Fissure, a band comprised of Anthony, Mikey, and myself, opened the evening with a plodding, Corrupted-jocking picking sequence before launching into a massive wall of distorted doom. From there, we let our shit feed back through lots of fuzz, delay, and reverb for a rather terrifying drone for a few minutes until we realized the PA was fucked up, so we faded out to inspect. Turns out it was only a speaker cable. Oh well. We received numerous compliments, which was nice considering it was only our third live performance (and the first one to more than three people). Up next was Big Bad Oven, one of two of Will Fist's bands to grace Mice Pace that evening. Big Bad Oven probably had the most unique setup of the evening: a homemade lap steel (or something similar to it) and Will Fist's trademark turntable-turned-amplifier-with-big-muff-attached-run-through-giant-kustom-cab. The music was just as interesting--catchy garage-ish rock; normally that's not very exciting, but played through their setup, it was goddamn captivating. And they played "California Sun." The evening's third performance came from Knoxville's the Midnight Bomber What Bombs at Midnight, a superband whose members play in or have played in Tenderhooks, the Royal Bangs, Powersnake, and the Bloodiest Night of My Life. The Midnight Bombers play
a hyper fusion of Naked City and the Melvins. Periods of squawking saxophone, occasional fists-in-the-air-generating riffs, and lots and lots of spastic freakout, the Midnight Bombers torched Mice Pace. I must mention that Ben Euler plays in this band. He's the only person I know with whom I share my six favorite bands/musicians: Tom Waits, Pere Ubu, Bob Dylan, John Coltrane, Sun Ra, Black Flag. Hell of a dude, that guy is. After the Midnight Bombers came the Dirty Knees, featuring members of Goddamn City and Divorce (the Tennessee combination of PiL, Captain Beefheart, and Lydia Lunch, not the Athens thrash band) and Laura of I've Had a Picture of My House on the Cover of Maximum Rock 'n Roll fame. The Dirty Knees play extraordinarily catchy garage rock. "We are Dirty Knees if you please...We are Dirty Knees if you don't please!" is their anthem and catchphrase, and it's been stuck in my head since Tuesday. And to answer any questions regarding the badass-ness of the Dirty Knees, they covered a Venom song. The last Knoxville band of the evening was Goddamn City, led by Will Fist on bass and anchored by Matt Silvey and Elizabeth of Dirty Knees...both on bass. Lots of low end and lots of riffs were the story for Goddamn City. The sound was somewhat reminiscent of Queens of the Stone Age--that is, if Queens of the Stone Age were amped on Red Bull (cocaine?) with a beautiful girl riffin' instead of the not-so-beautiful Mark Lanegan. The evening's final performance came from
Sadville, and it marked the end of my tenure with the band, during which we went from being an obscure mediocre hardcore band to a well-known, signed sludge metal band. I split the set with Blan; I played "All Hands Away," "Black Flag's Animated TV Special," and "Ascending the Golden Escalator to Sludge Metal Heaven," and Blan played "Your Zao Sticker Won't Get You Into Heaven Anymore," "Babylon University," and a new song. The new song was really heavy on the low end throughout, and it was closed with a slow, straightforward doom part with Blan playing 80s-style, tremolo-heavy leads. 'Twas pretty damn good, but the old songs on which I didn't play weren't as badass, but that was in large part because Blan hasn't learned lead parts yet. Sadville will be back to full form soon. We closed with "the Forbidden Dance of Decay," the song which has pretty much defined our existence since 2004. I shared vocals with Travis while Blan played guitar, and I had a damn good time doing it. I'm going to miss playing in Sadville, but I think I'll be happier now that I'm no longer in the band.

6/6/06 has come and gone. I'll never forget it.

6/2/06: Datura/the Ono's Sextet

Friday, June 2, 2006 at Mice Pace meant only one thing: the arrival of Datura in Cookeville. We weren't sure what to expect at first, as the dudes don't have any music on their Myspace page, but Datura rocked pretty hard. The obvious influence was Pantera, but there was lots of Black Sabbath to be found in their sound. The guitarist was an outright badass. Lots of shredding. The bass was primarily chromatic stuff, and the drums were a little weak, but the dude is only 16, so we'll cut him some slack. Datura has tons of potential. Once they hear Dopesmoker, I can see them becoming all kinds of awesome. They're already awesome dudes.
The other band was the Ono's Sextet, a wankfest we had concocted the previous night at the end of a City of Traitors practice. Joey plays random-yet-structured beats on drums, Anthony turns up the treble and plays something akin to the guitar on Trout Mask Replica, Witties controls the PA and blasts on his Hot Lixx, and I emit awful shit through the microphone. We played for about fifteen minutes. Sped up, slowed down, bowed guitar, bowed beard, bowed Hot Lixx, and did as much ridiculous shit as possible in a fifteen minute set. I spent the first half of the set trying to fit my head into the hole on the bass drum; I spent the last half laying face down on the floor. Shit was filthy. My vocals consisted entirely of: "I don't understand what is going on. I must be stuck in some kind of dream. Can someone explain to me what is going on? I believe I must be stuck in some kind of dream." The dudes in Datura (and much praise to them for this) stuck around and watched us, and they actually liked it. "How much acid do you guys take?" "I've never done acid." "YOU ARE ACID!!!!" Look for more Ono's Sextet shows in the future.

Recently Consumed (6/8/06)

I recently finished reading Psychotic Reactions and Carburetor Dung, the Greil Marcus-edited collection of the writings of Lester Bangs. Lester Bangs was an absolute madman. The dude consumed massive amounts of drugs and alcohol and still managed to be perhaps the greatest rock critic in the history of the shit. His best writing, at least in my book, is when he accounts for every New Year's Eve he has experienced since the age of partyin' and drugs set in; the years he can't remember? he makes up absurd-yet-believable stories about getting way too fucked up, hitching a ride out to a party at a country club, and blasting his Stooges lps all night to the shock, dismay, and/or pleasure of his fellow attendees. And then there's "Maggie May," Bangs' fictionalized account of the love story that spawned Rod Stewart's mega-hit of the same name. Young man meets older woman, the two fall in love. Older woman realizes she isn't really in love and fucks young man's world up. Young man writes song about experience and becomes a superstar. That's the plot; the writing, on the other hand, is absolutely beautiful. After 350 pages of balls-to-the-wall rambling about Lou Reed, Tangerine Dream, and the Clash (et al.), I was floored by Bangs' ability to write a love story...and to do it so well. In the book's introduction, Greil Marcus notes Bangs' claim that he was "the Best Writer in America (Who [is] better? Bukowski? Burroughs? Hunter Thompson? Gimme a break." [Note: the parenthetical statement was never closed!]. Marcus then questions Bangs' assertion with the fact that he never wrote anything besides record reviews. "Maggie May" debunks Marcus' attempted debunking. [Note: Greil Marcus is an awesome guy; read Lipstick Traces, you'll understand]. I'm not saying that Lester Bangs is/was the Best Writer in America, but rarely do I have as much fun reading a book as I did with Psychotic Reactions. On a related note, I need to read a lot more books on music. Shit's awesome.
Next up on the list was Fyodor Dostoevsky's epic The Brothers Karamazov. I'm reading this with Joey (although I believe he finished it--in remarkably quick fashion, I must add). 1050 pages thick, this will be the longest book I've read since I trudged through Atlas Shrugged back in 10th grade--Ayn Rand's bullshit philosophy went completely over my head at the time. I'm about 300 pages in at this point, and things are already so crazy...and so Russian. The chapter on Reeking/Stinking Lizaveta is one of the most foul yet intriguing passages I've ever read, and it makes the Philadelphia band of the same name all the more badass now that I know more than "Oh, they got their name from a character from the Brothers Karamazov." So far, it has been a much quicker read than I originally thought it would be, and it would be an even quicker read if Dostoevsky didn't step away from the plot every time he wanted to discuss philosophy. One thing I've noticed this time around that I didn't pick up on in Crime and Punishment is Dostoevsky's astute attention to detail. Every time a new character is introduced, he spends a page describing their physical appearance. Sure, Dostoevsky rambles, but this really caught my attention--in a good way! Impressions so far: 1)Fyodor and Dmitry Karamazov are damn fools. Fyodor, however, is smarter than the narrator seems to give him credit for. 2)Dostoevsky's hero is Alyosha. He mentions this in the book's introduction, but it is evident in the first 300 pages. 3)The climax of this book is going to be bonerific. I can't wait to get there. I'm going to try to have this finished by June 15.
I have listened to Corrupted's El Mundo Frio numerous times in the past couple of weeks. The album is one track, 71 minutes in length, and it out-badasses Sleep's Dopesmoker as the best extended stoner/sludge jam I've encountered. Corrupted is a Japanese sludge/doom/whatever (I still am not quite sure where the lines are drawn)...but the vocals are in Spanish. Brutally growled vocals in Spanish. Sparse instrumentation spread throughout the piece is separated by mind-obliteratingly heavy, distorted segments. The quiet parts are anchored by meandering picked guitar and occasional piano/keyboard, but Corrupted gives fair warning before entering the gut-crushing--the bass hits and lets ring the open low note, signifying that the end of the peaceful and the beginning of the destructive. And I wasn't lying when I said loud parts are mind-obliteratingly heavy. Damn. I see a whiskey-drinkin', Corrupted-listenin' party in the near future.
I haven't watched any movies lately. I really should change that. Haven't sent my Netflix back in a long time. I'm stupid. I have, however, thanks to Mikey, been feasting upon the Wonder Showzen Season 1 DVDs. The minds behind this show unquestionably have been affected by various drugs, and they cram as many hilarious, fucked up, offensive, and bizarre bits into a 23 minute episode as they can. The show's lead puppet's name is Chauncey. Serious lols. Other hilarious bits include D.O.G.O.B.G.Y.N., a canine superhero who helps deliver babies by pulling them out with his teeth; "Taco, Nachos, Chimichanga!;" Chewties; Funny/Not Funny; Letters to Jesus; and finally, Beat Kids, a segment where kids with senses of humor walk around and ask random people funny and offensive questions. I've seen every episode several times now, and they aren't anywhere close to getting old. More Wonder Showzen it is, then.

5/29/06: Hi-Red Center/Maps and Atlases/Witties/Mewl

Last night's show was the best one to date at Mice Pace; it rivaled the Battle Royale/El Minotaur/Sadville show as the best show I've ever booked in Cookeville. A decent turnout and four sets ranging from badass to unholy-ly badass made the night memorable. Witties opened the evening with his usual drone/psych/Hot Lixx set. Admittedly (on Witties' behalf) a little rusty, to those of us who hold Witties' tunes close to our hearts, he was a little rough around the edges. To those getting their Witties' cherry popped last night, it was a goddamn treat. He opened his set with the bowed drone-with-pickin' over it song and followed it with a sweet improvised guitar-based, knob-twistin' jam that surely melted a few minds. Next up was his show-stopper--the Hot Lixx doomy drone epic, complete with "shredding" and sickeningly grim melodies. Witties closed his set with a Hot Lixx-based psychedelic improv that finally melted all minds that had not yet received the melting. Witties says he's going to practice more and write some new stuff. Sweet.

Maps and Atlases played next. Hailing from Chicago and having recently played the post-rock monolith Russian Circles' album release party, Maps and Atlases absolutely brought it to Cookeville. Their set of finger-tappin' frolics above maximized drumming floored the crowd. While Maps and Atlases run the risk of overkill with the noodling and the continuous maximum, these dudes offer their technicality to an unconventional framework: the pop song. Oh, and the noodling is fucking catchy as hell. It's not often that a band like Don Caballero gets stuck in my head, but Maps and Atlases got me mouth-riffin' several of their parts over the course of the rest of the evening. And the crowd loved it.

The third performance of the evening came from Brooklyn's Hi-Red Center. The quartet entertained the audience with a set of catchy yet bizarre pop songs. Big vibes, Beefheartian guitar, and loose, jazz-based instrumentation set Hi-Red Center apart from most other pop bands I've encountered (live or on record). In comparison, Xiu Xiu comes to mind, but still, Hi-Red Center is traveling down a different sonic boulevard than Jamie Stewart's bizarro pop outfit. I found out that a couple of the dudes frequent the Brooklyn Academy of Music (where my good friend Franklin is employed) and are into experimental musicians such as Steve Reich, Alvin Lucier, and Karlheinz Stockhausen. And this was evident by the way they approached their instruments and the pop song.

My band Mewl played last. Our first performance was on Mice Pace's opening night: walls of shrieking, harsh noise with blaring horns over it--the few people who didn't get chased out by the awful screeching ran around in circles and did their best attempt to conjure up all that is unholy. And one person spraypainted "It will never be ok" on the wall...over a Sunn amp head. This time around was different. And a lot more pleasing to the senses. I started off with a quiet, Metal Zone-based drone, Anthony crescendoed on some tremolo and fuzz, and Mikey laid down some sweet swells on his cymbal and floor tom. We (predictably) built up to a rather psychedelic drone--the peace fingers were a-swirlin' in my mind throughout the set--and Mikey laid down some cool licks on the trombone. For our second show, we did quite well. We sold a few of our cd-rs, and several people complimented us on the set. It's always good to hear praise, especially when we are so young as a band. Hopefully we can continue the positive momentum into this beer-filled, psychedelia-drenched summer.

Best show at Mice Pace? Definitely.

the humble beginning

Summer is here, and with it is the always sweet four-month reprieve from classes, which allows us plenty of time to drink way too much beer, work a shitty retail job, consume unholy amounts of media, and create unholy amounts of music. Such has been the case so far, save working a shitty retail job (although I start tomorrow at Kroger).

Mikey and I are living in decadence in an apartment that we have affectionately dubbed the Falls City Fortress. For those of you who haven't experienced the thrifty jouissance that Falls City Beer unleashes upon one's world, you haven't lived. Also regarding nomenclature, in hopes of foreshadowing a lot of drunken nights and stoner metal, we decided that the summer of 2006 is officially the Summer of Sabbath. Seriously, when is the next opportunity to celebrate a 6/6/06? June 6, 2106. We'll be circle-pitting in Hell.

The music part of the summer has been sweet. The shows at our venue have been lacking, but the shows we have seen or played elsewhere have more than made up for the shows in Cookeville. Growing and Thrones at the Pilot Light was the best show I've seen this year; I'm sure there are heavier live bands, but Joe Preston crushed my heart and my gut with his heavy riffs. Unfortunately, he played the all-things-weed-related demand curve with his lp: $18.

The record label that Anthony and I drunkenly hashed out one evening several months ago is finally coming to fruition. Our first release, the Mewl fuckingoscillator cd-r, is available as of today. We only made 25 of them. Hopefully, Fish and Bird Records will put out many more things this summer, and hopefully we will unload all of them. Expect releases from Witties, Sack Blabbath, Siamese Goats, Joey and Mikey's Ambient Excursion, Luke Skypuncher, City of Traitors, and more before the end of the summer.

We have an awesome show at Mice Pace tonight. Hi-Red Center (Brooklyn) play quirky, experimental pop. Maps and Atlases are a rather intense pop band who explore the maximum within the framework of a pop song. Lots of noodling and drums, lots of awesome. Witties has a huge beard, enough said. Mewl is mewl. Might be the best show we've ever had at the place. Hopefully the turnout is stellar. Pictures and sounds in the next update.