Sunday, March 30, 2008

Baptism By Bruce In The Northwest: Is There Anybody Alive Out There?

As anybody who reads my articles here with any sort of regularity already knows, I'm just a little bit of a Bruce Springsteen fan.

It's a funny thing when you try to explain this to the uninitiated too. You know that line from the Lovin' Spoonful song about "trying to tell a stranger about rock and roll?" Well that's how it is with Bruce.

Counting last night's amazing show at Key Arena in Seattle, I've seen Springsteen 34 times now. But for me, the night where I made the transition from casual fan to the raving lunatic I am today came at my fourth show, which took place on a cold December night in 1978 at the Seattle Center Arena.

In a show that resembled a tent revival meeting as much as it did the most out of control house party you could ever imagine, Bruce and the E Street Band gave five hours plus worth of everything they had that night. They basically just tore the house down. The capper came just before 2 AM when about 100 or so of us hardcores refused to leave the building, and Bruce came out and did a surprise "Twist & Shout" with the house lights up, and half of the equipment torn down.

It was a night forever burned into my memory, and one that I will never forget.

So here we are, thirty some odd shows and more than a few trips criss-crossing the country later, for yet another Bruce weekend. Like the man says, "Are you ready to ride"?

The weekend began with the trip from Seattle to Portland down I-5's infamous "slog". This is never a fun trip, although I always get a big kick out of reading the hardcore conservative messages on the giant Uncle Sam sign in Chehalis. This time out it read "Mars Has Global Warming. Can We Send Al Gore To Investigate?" Priceless.

So, after our sloggy and snowy drive down I-5, we arrived in Portland and headed to the Rose Garden to get our numbers for the GA lottery. And damn if we didn't luck out, drawing a sweet number that got us into the pit.

It's probably been about two decades since I've seen Bruce and the E Street Band up this close and personal, and man there is just nothing like it. Despite what the reports at Backstreets say, the energy level was also off the hook from the get-go, as Bruce launched into a rip-roaring sequeway of "Night" into "Radio Nowhere" into "Lonesome Day."

The Portland crowd -- which on past tours has been somewhat notorious for sitting on their hands -- was also absolutely amped on this night. There were signs everywhere for requests, and Bruce was all too willing to accomodate, calling audibles for "For You," "Lost In The Flood" and a letter perfect "Jungleland" in the encore. When Nils Lofgren completely shredded Bruce's usual guitar solo spot during "Prove It All Night," the roof was just about blown off of the building.

My only real complaint about Portland is that trying to find an aftershow burger and beer was nearly impossible, as the town seems to pretty much shut down at about 11:00, even on a Friday night (at least in the Rose Garden neighborhood). I eventually fell asleep watching the movie Borat courtesy of free hotel HBO.

The next night in Seattle began with an attempt to upgrade our reserved seats to another shot at the pit with GA tickets. This proved to be a hopeless task as even the scalpers were having a tough go of it finding buyers.

We did see numerous folks from Portland though, who recognized me as "Sopranos guy" in the pit (I wore the hard to miss Sopranos jacket I got as a former Comcast employee both nights). Anyway, my partner was pretty bummed at our failure to secure GA tickets. I did my best to console him by telling him I had a feeling we would be getting an even better show in Seattle, than we did the previous night in Portland.

And damn if Bruce didn't prove me right. From the opening notes of the tour premiere "Trapped", it was immediately clear this night would be special. This great begining continued with a flawless seque into "Radio Nowhere," "Gypsy Biker" and a particularly high energy version of "No Surrender."

The Seattle crowd wasn't quite as up as Portland was, but the E Street Band was absolutely on fire -- particularly Nils Lofgren and the Mighty Max on drums. Speaking of Nils, he continued the previous nights trend of taking Bruce's solos with a blistering guitar break during "Because The Night."

From there, the surprises just kept coming -- none more so than on a stunning tour premiere of "Point Blank," that was another song requested by crowd sign. The encores would bring "10th Avenue Freeze Out" and the always welcome sight of "Rosie" coming out tonight. Pit or no pit, my friend and I left that night with absolutely no complaints.

After the show, we hit the Backstreets post-concert party at McMennamins, where it seemed like I managed to run into everybody I have ever met going to so many Bruce shows over the years.

It was particularly fun seeing Kathy, who I first met at the backstage door in Vancouver during the Devils & Dust tour. We both met Bruce that night, and asked him to play some of our favorite songs. She got her wish for "Sandy" that night. I didn't get mine, which was for "The Price You Pay." Bruce was still nice about it though, telling me "I just don't play that one anymore man." I also met some new friends (who again recognized me as "Sopranos guy" from the Portland pit), one of which gave me a copy of the band's original setlist (they originally had planned for "Glory Days" and "Thunder Road" in the encores, instead of "10th Avenue" and "Rosalita").

I suspect many of these new aquaintances will now become friends for life.

But that's just how it is with Springsteen concerts. For those couple of hours, it's like you become part of this huge extended family. There's nothing quite like partying with about 20,000 of your best friends for a couple of hours.

Of course, if you've never been there, trying to explain that is a little like, well you know, "trying to tell a stranger about rock and roll."

Saturday, March 22, 2008

Countdown To Bruce Weekend: One Week And Counting...



One week to go...

Can you tell I'm just a little excited? And why wouldn't I be? Based on the setlist reports I've been seeing, it looks like Seattle and Portland are going to be seeing Springsteen and the E Street Band at exactly the right time on this incredible tour. Just look at some of the stuff they've been playing these past few weeks: "Backstreets," "Kittys Back," and "Jungleland" alone have been played sometimes on the same freaking night! Rarities like "Loose Ends," "So Young And In Love," and "Janey Don't You Loose Heart" have been showing up with frightening regularity. Just this past week, "Rendevous" made it's tour debut on a night that saw the ailing Danny Federici back onstage for several songs. "Prove It All Night" is back...my God! the list just goes on and on.

You can check out some of these great moments from the tour..."Candys Room," "Darkness" and "Kitty's Back" for starters ... in the video montage above.

"Radio Nowhere" is no longer even the opening song -- it's now in slot #2 as Bruce is revolving his openers nightly now. Hell, they're even taking requests. I may just have to bring a "Price You Pay In Portland" sign with me next Friday. San Jose is even getting a "requests show" where you can vote from a list of rarely played songs on the local rock station.

Yep, I can't help but feel we are going to be seeing this band at exactly the right time on this tour next week. My 33rd and 34th Bruce shows are going to be right up there in the memorable department I think. See ya' in the pit...I Can't Wait!

Saturday, March 15, 2008

The Rockologist: Getting "The Nail" From Glenn Danzig (And Other Random Memories) At Def American

A couple of weeks ago, a friend of mine invited me out to an author reading for a book by a guy named Dan Kennedy called Rock On: An Office Power Ballad.

What appealed to me about this -- aside from an excuse to quaff a few cold ones with a buddy I hadn't hung out with in awhile -- was that the book dealt with the true-life experiences of a guy who stumbled into a "dream-job" in the record industry.

Like my own experiences in the nineties (which we'll get to in a minute), Kennedy arrived just in time to see the "big show" he'd grown up dreaming of being a part of, reduced to a revolving door of corporate buyouts, downsizing, and layoffs. The party of the sixties, seventies, and eighties was just about over, and the hippies had long since left the building.

I haven't read the entire book yet, but what I've glossed over so far rings true in the most hilarious, yet bittersweet sort of way.

Like Kennedy, I too experienced those unbearable corporate boardroom meetings. I didn't ever mistake the manager of Duran Duran for a band member like he did. But I do remember many afternoons spent hiding in a corner of that ominously dark room wishing I was anywhere else, but having to justify why I sent more promo copies of the latest Barkmarket CD to retail, than the band actually sold that week.

Just to be clear on this, if I'd sent just ten promos out, they'd be asking the same questions.

I may or may not review Kennedy's book at some point here. But I will say that I found it pretty damn hilarious, even if my recommendation does come from a unique sort of "been there, done that" perspective.

Anyway, reading Rock On got me to thinking about my own experiences working for a big time record label in the nineties. I haven't talked about my time working at Def American Recordings a whole lot here. But the two and a half years I spent working there in L.A. have yielded a lifetime's worth of memories, and some great stories to match.

A lot of it was really good stuff too.

For example, I met Johnny Cash face to face in my tiny office. After Rick Rubin introduced me to his newest signing, I nearly pissed myself when he extended his hand and said "Hello, I'm Johnny Cash". Later that night, I saw him play accompanied by nothing but his acoustic guitar at the Viper Room.

I also went to the Grammys with Sir Mix-A-Lot when he got nominated for "Baby Got Back." I even attended a celebrity studded party for Mick Jagger at the home of Heidi Fleiss, the infamous Hollywood Madam. So, if I ever should happen to meet that special someone willing to bear my children, at least I've got some great stories to tell.

Aw hell, who am I kidding right?

More often though, I spent my days trying my best to fly under the radar, and dodging the corporate ax that was sure to fall once the folks at Def American realized that the kid from Seattle was pretty much in over his head. One particular boss I had there (who shall remain nameless here), sat directly across from me in the office and would spend entire mornings staring a hole right through me.

Every once in a while though, I would come up with a great marketing idea that would save my ass for that particular week.

Like the time I thought of doing a "concert kit" for the seventies styled "boogie-rock" band Raging Slab, and their album Dynamite Monster Boogie Concert. We had to nix a few items -- like the bong, the bottle of Ripple Wine, and the tube of glue. If we shipped these things together, it would have been prosecutable by law as a bomb. We finally did ship a "concert kit" to retail though. It included the CD, a T-shirt, some rolling papers, and a dime to call a cab. It even made promo item of the week in Radio & Records magazine.

Cool, huh?

So like Dan Kennedy in his book, I arrived for my own dream-shot in the big-time music business of nineties L.A., just in time for the whole corporate shenanigans that had everybody ducking for cover. The firings and layoffs that came in the wake of a downturn in business that hadn't quite yet become the tidal wave it is now still had everybody in full-on "cover your ass" mode. The fact that even at thirty-something years old, I was still a wide-eyed, somewhat green, starstruck kid in the biggest candystore on Earth didn't help matters much either.

But the other -- and probably most curious -- thing to me about my two years in the big-time record biz, was how little so much of what actually went on there had to do with actual music.

One of the things that sticks out to this day in my mind, was this weird trend happening at the time where it seemed the coolest thing in music -- at least at our label -- was self-mutilation. Now, I'm still to this day trying to figure out what sticking things through your skin actually had to do with making records. I just can't seem to make the connection between sticking pins and studs through your face, your tits, and worse and a good guitar solo. Go figure.

But at my label, we were all over it.

For starters, we had the Jim Rose Circus Sideshow signed to a video deal. For those who don't remember, Rose led a traveling sort of freak show during the grunge era, where they would do things like eat glass, hang weights from their nipples, and regurgitate various items through their noses at rock events like Lollapalooza.

Yummy.

We particularly championed this sort of thing at American. One day, Jim Rose himself even showed up at one of our staff meetings to perform something called the "Dick Circus." In this one-man show performed for our staff, Rose pulled down his pants and proceeded to bend and stretch his dick into all these un-godly shapes and things.

Being the squeamish sort of guy I've always been, I felt myself getting sick about a minute in, and had to flee the room. My already mildly "un-cool" image at this point ( I was about ten years older than most of the other staffers there) had now became a curse I would never be able to reverse.

And it would only get worse...

Not long after the "Dick Circus," we were treated to a video from the goth-metal band Danzig at another meeting. Glenn Danzig himself was a pretty creepy character when you met him up close and personal. He was a short, sawed-off sort of guy who dressed all in black, and who pretty much lived his onstage "I 'Yam Evil" sort of image offstage as well. Despite his modest height, Danzig was also a muscle-head built like a brick outhouse, whose silent sort of weirdness made your arm-hairs literally stand on end when in his presence.

I tried to bond with the guy once, figuring the fact that we shared the same first name might help. It didn't.

So Danzig had this video for the song called "Mother," that we were going to use to promote a live EP called Thrall: Demonsweatlive. The video starts with some dungeony black-and-white images that fans of Nine Inch Nails might recognize. So I'm watching this thing thinking to myself "yeah right, I get it...Danzig is one evil sumbitch...yawn!" When all of a sudden, out of nowhere comes this scene where a guy is getting a nail hammered through his penis.

Ouch!

This inspired a quick package check of my own right in the middle of the meeting, followed by an overwhelming urge to puke my guts out.

What is it with these guys I work with and the need to do terrible, un-natural things to a guy's most precious, umm..."thing," I thought to myself. Unfortunately, my fate at the label was now pretty much set. And my days there were likewise numbered.

In fact, the very next day when I showed up to work, I had a present waiting for me at my desk. It was -- you guessed it -- a big, rusty nail. No one ever claimed credit for the gift, but I have my suspicions.

Not long after that, I got the "nail" for good from Def American. But that's another story...

Friday, March 7, 2008

Steven Wilson's Dark And Beautiful Bass Communion

Music Review: Bass Communion - Pacific Codex (Limited Edition of 950 Copies)

The first thing I will say about Bass Communion is that this is somewhat difficult music. It is definitely not going to be everyone's particular cup o' joe -- including fans of its creator's other, better-known band, the great British prog-rock outfit Porcupine Tree.

But that is probably, exactly how Steven Wilson intended it.

Even for those familiar with Wilson's work with Porcupine Tree, or his numerous other "side-projects" like the poppier-sounding Blackfield, Bass Communion is not going to be the easiest pill to swallow. In fact, the more psychedelically, or otherwise adventurously inclined among you might even want to consider a recreational pill of choice before diving in here.

That's not an endorsement for drug-enhanced listening by the way. But rather, the best way I can muster to communicate the fact that this particular Steven Wilson project may just require some attitude adjustment to be best appreciated.

Bass Communion is Steven Wilson's electronic, ambient music project, and has been described by the artist himself as something of a labor of love for him. While the music on this, and other Bass Communion releases such as Loss and Ghosts On Magnetic Tape can't really be compared to anything else out there, the best way to describe the music here would be words like hypnotic, dark, melancholic, and perhaps even disturbing on some sort of subliminal level.

When approached the proper way -- there we go with that "attitude adjustment" again -- it can also be a starkly beautiful experience.

Like other Bass Communion releases, Pacific Codex mainly consists of these gorgeous, haunting soundscapes that are really more about texture, than any sort of structured musical form. The closest point of musical reference would be the ambient electronica of early Tangerine Dream -- though it lacks the rhythm of that particular German brand of layered sound -- or a decidedly darker take on the more atmospheric seventies work of Brian Eno and Robert Fripp on albums like Music For Airports.

Pacific Codex is a beautifully packaged double set that includes both a standard CD and a 5.1 DVD-A disc, which is particularly appropriate considering that the bass tones here are some of the deepest sounding I have ever heard. The 5.1 version comes highly recommended for anyone reading this who has the high-end sort of system to handle it.

If you do decide to check this out on standard equipment, you might wanna consider turning the low end down a bit. As for playing it in your car? Well, even if your speakers don't survive the experience, at least you'll gain the instant respect of every hip-hop head on the block.

Pacific Codex also includes a beautiful 36-page book of photographs (mostly scenes of oceans and waves), and comes in a very limited, numbered run of 950 copies that are housed in a heavy gauge box by Carl Glover/Aleph. Limited copies can be ordered at Headphone Dust.

Again, this is not music for everybody -- including fans of Porcupine Tree. But for those who are willing, Bass Communion provides a dark, but beautiful ride to the edge of the abyss.

Just make sure your system, and your head can handle it.

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

The Stones And The Decadent Summer That Produced Exile

Book Review: Exile on Main St. - A Season in Hell with the Rolling Stones by Robert Greenfield

It really is amazing how age and the passing of time will change your perceptions about certain things. When I was growing up as a teenager who was basically obsessed with rock and roll, I figured that the Rolling Stones had to be just about the five coolest guys on earth (okay six, if you count Mick Taylor and seven with Ron Wood).

I mean these guys were the very definition of bad-ass.

They got all the best looking girls, and they had more money than God. They also always looked cooler than just about anybody else - even (and sometimes especially) when they were wasted out of their skulls (which, by most accounts was a great deal of the time back then). You had Mick in his scarves and sequins, prancing around like some kind of ambi-sexual peacock up on that stage.

And Keith? Well, Keith was just Keith. Back before the wrinkles and the deep lines carved into that face had set in, Keith Richards was the very definition of what a rock star was supposed to look and act like. Keith had the attitude down to a science, thumbing his nose at the authorities on more occasions than you could count, and wearing that well earned outlaw image like a badge of honor.

Yeah, as cool went in the sixties and the seventies, it just didn't get more bad-ass than the Stones. But as I said, time and sometimes experience as well, has a way of changing your perceptions about certain things. Take the whole wasted sort of glamour of the sixties rock and roll drug scene for example. When you are able to watch it from a distance, reading about it in a magazine or watching it on TV, it does indeed look somewhat glamorous.

Having been fortunate enough to land a job in that same music business once I grew up however, I can tell you firsthand that when you see the reality of drug abuse up close and personal, there is nothing "cool" about it. The media doesn't even bother to glamorize it anymore as they did in the sixties and seventies. Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan's recent public excesses -- just to cite two modern day examples -- are rather, reported as the trainwrecks in motion that they actually are.

Yet, as reading through the pages of Robert Greenfield's Exile on Main St.: A Season in Hell with the Rolling Stones reveals, it is clear that Britney, Lindsay and company have nothing on the Stones in their heyday.

What this book describes is a non-stop journey into all manner of decadence imaginable, one that went on for an entire summer in 1971 under the guise of attempting to make the classic Exile On Main Street album at Keith Richards' Villa Nellcote mansion in France (which is also rumored to have housed Nazi stormtroopers at one point in time).

In the midst of this unprecedented summer long orgy of sex and drugs and -- sometimes, anyway -- rock and roll, the album itself soon becomes more of an afterthought. Reading Season in Hell the Stones themselves also don't come off looking nearly as cool anymore. At times, they are not even all that likable here.

The narcissism of the principal players involved -- Jagger and Richards primarily, but no one here is really able to plead innocence -- is simply mind-boggling. Band members like Bill Wyman and to a lesser degree Charlie Watts are at times treated as little more than sidemen, and guitarist and Brian Jones replacement Mick Taylor is treated so badly it drives him to depression and thoughts of suicide.

Meanwhile, girlfriends and wives are sexually traded off in much the same way regular folks like you and me would swap an MP3 file today. Some of the women closest to the Stones -- Anita Pallenberg in particular -- seem to be motivated at times by nothing more than a desire to inflict cruelty. Others like Marianne Faithfull are less fortunate and are eventually forgotten or just discarded altogether.

As the summer-long party escalates, and brings fellow rock stars like Gram Parsons and John Lennon to Villa Nellcote, the descent into drugs also brings a seedier element. Soon enough, various drug dealers with names like the Corsican Brothers and Les Cowboys become a regular part of the mix. At one point, when Richards can't pay a drug bill, the drug dealers simply rip the house off - stealing an invaluable collection of guitars and records. Keith and Anita are meanwhile in and out of rehab with frightening regularity, but always seem to end up back on the junk - sometimes within hours of completing the cure.

With all of the mayhem that went on at Villa Nellcote that particular summer, it is in fact a miracle that Exile On Main Street got made at all.

There have of course been plenty of so-called "tell-all" books written about the Stones during this turbulent period which also happens to coincide with what most agree was the band's creative peak. Unlike some of the other accounts out there, Greenfield for his part seems to have no particular axe to grind. He basically goes at his chosen subject as a journalist, interviewing many of the players who were there, such as Marshall Chess, Tommy Weber, and Rose Taylor (guitarist Mick's wife at the time).

Yet, Greenfield does eventually end up taking sides - identifying with Keith as the Season in Hell's hero as early on as page 13. While he pulls no punches when detailing Keith's excesses, he also paints a picture of Keith as a "lad's lad" who never really abandoned his working class, rock and roll sort of grit. To Greenfield, Richards is a guy who loves rock and roll and loves to get high - but who also places a high premium on family and friendship. Mick Jagger on the other hand is painted as an opportunist with aristocratic pretensions, whose sexual conquests are often predicated as much on ego and cruelty as they are on pleasure.

But then most of us Stones fans already knew that, right?

Exile on Main St.: A Season in Hell with the Rolling Stones is at times a dark and disturbing read, but it is also nearly impossible to put down once you take the plunge. Greenfield recalls the events in a style that puts the reader right there, and even reveals some interesting new details that I won't spoil here. It is a book which effectively peels back the glamour in a way that reveals a darker, uglier side to the Rolling Stones that some fans may have some trouble digesting.

It is also the true story of how one of rock and roll's greatest records got made.

Saturday, March 1, 2008

Porcupine Tree Put Out Yet Another Great Impossible To Find Record

Music Review: Porcupine Tree - We Lost The Skyline

Porcupine Tree is this really great British progressive rock band that practically no one in America has ever heard of. Well, at least outside of the tiny, yet rabidly devoted cult following the members have developed both here and elsewhere over the years anyway.



It is also a band I've grown to like a whole lot, ever since I was introduced to them by my fellow BC music scribes Tom Johnson and Pico last year. This has proven to be an often difficult -- and expensive -- proposition, since these guys put out a buttload of music, a lot of which is often of the difficult to find variety, and has to be tracked down.

The Porcupine Tree catalog stretches back nearly two decades worth now, much of it being out-of-print, multiple CD packages and EP's released on small independent labels. And that's just the Porcupine Tree stuff. There are also all of the side projects by Porcupine Tree's resident creative genius, singer/songwriter/guitarist Steven Wilson to consider. These include the ambient Bass Communion records, as well as side bands like No-Man and Blackfield, his largely acoustic project with Israeli songwriter Aviv Geffen.

It's enough to drive a relatively new fan like myself bonkers -- if not completely broke.

So anyway, in just this past year since Porcupine Tree released their last album, the great Fear Of A Blank Planet, they have released two more EP's. The first of these, a four track "companion" record to FOABP called Nil Recurring came out a few months back.

Now, just this week comes We Lost The Skyline, an eight-track, 33-minute long live "in-store" performance recorded at Park Avenue Records in Orlando last year. What makes this yet another "must-have" is the fact that over half of it features just Wilson himself, performing many rarely played Porcupine Tree songs in an intimate setting on just the guitar.

For instance, there's "The Sky Moves Sideways," which also gives us the title of this CD (it's taken from one of the song lyrics). In its original form, on the double album of the same name, the song stretches out over two sides, with thirty some odd minutes of Pink Floydian atmospherics. Here, the song is stripped to its bare essentials, and comes in at a more economical four minutes. It is however, every bit as gorgeous sounding as the original.

On latter tracks like "Waiting," (another of the more beautiful Porcupine Tree songs, this one from Signify), Wilson is joined by Porcupine Tree guitarist John Wesley.



Wilson prefaces the song "Normal" from the Nil Recurring EP by name-dropping Robert Fripp as he relates the story of how difficult the song actually is to play. He later nails it, but only after warning the crowd that he may "fuck it up." "Normal" is actually somewhat of an extension of "Sentimental," a song from FOABP, that also happens to be my favorite off the album.



If you are already a Porcupine Tree fan, this live EP is a must-have. For those less familiar, it's a great little introduction to Steven Wilson the songwriter, if not the actual sound of Porcupine Tree the band.

However, this won't be easy to find. The good news is that if you are able to locate a copy, you should be able to pick it up for under ten bucks. The best bet here is to go to Porcupine Tree's website, or you can locate a store near you that is part of the Think Indie network of independent record stores.