This one's for Vinz Klorthos.

Last weekend, I went to the bar to pick up a friend who had one too many to drink. I really don't mind, as i'd rather be sure they get home safe than they risk it. But that's beside the point.

At this bar, there was a band setting up. Being a sometimes musician, I gave their gear a once over: decent drums, guitar, bass, a line six amp (Ewww..). Overall, not bad. There was a guy on stage with his back towards the crowd, but he had something strapped to him. I assumed it was another guitarist. Until he turned around. It was a keytar.

Now, there's a certain stigma associated with the keytar. It's often viewed as a slightly cheesy throwback to the eighties, and with good reason i suppose. However, the fault lay not in the instrument, but the wielder.

There are generally two types of people who use keytars. What it comes down to is how the person approaches the keytar.

One of them fully embrace and propagate that stigma. To them, they keytar is a cute, ironic little gimmick. These people are more often than not scene kids who arent' even old enough to remember -or to have even been alive during- the keytar's heyday. These people are less than men. They are unable to please their lovers, so they often stealth their way into petting zoos with a jar of Vaseline and a handful of peanut butter.

The other type of keytarist views the stigma as somethign to be overcome, something to be conquered. They realize the deck is stacked against them, and yet they bravely take the stage, prepared to give it their all. To them, they keytar is like a crysknife: once it is drawn, blood must be shed. These men, upon the shedding of their mortal coil, will be carried to Valhalla by the Valkyrie to the soothing sounds of Herbie Handcock and Jan Hammer.

My Brushes with Celebrity

Over the weekend, I was in the grocery store - the produce aisle to be precise - when this guy comes up to me.

"Hey man, aren't you the singer from Shotgun Sodomy?"

Yes. Yes I am.

We go through the usual question/answer routine: Yes, we broke up. No, i'm not doing anything right now. yes, i'm looking, etc...

The guy then turns to his girlfriend and tells her we were his first live show when he was seventeen, we're brutal, etc...

All the while, i was there tapping tomatoes for ripeness.

Looking back on it, I can't help but laugh.


However, this was not the strangest place I've ever run into a fan. There are two others - one was simply akward, the other just weird - that really stick out in my mind.

This summer, I was at the drive in with a bunch of friends. The drive inn we go to shows double features, so there's an intermission. During the first feature, i'd sucked down a large soda, and as a result I really had to piss.

As usual, there was a line at the men's room. No big deal. But while i'm waiting in line, these two kids walk up to me, looking like they're scared. They were seriously shaking in their boots. The leader of the two clears his throat and says "Are...are you the uh, singer from Shotgun Sodomy?"

Yes. Yes I am. I put on a friendly face, because I really do get a kick out of meeting fans outside of a show/club/bar setting. I try to be approachable, because I'm no rock star. I'm just some asshole who's been playing in the local scene longer than anybody of sound mind ever should.

The kid asks me for some advice, so I give him some; don't play a battles of the bands, you don't need promoters, Your word is the only thing you have...a few other things too, but those were the big ones.

The line starts moving, and we get closer to the porcelain beauty of the thrones. We start talking about influences and music in general. (Taco can attest that once i start talking about my influences, I'll go on forever.)

Closer now. The urinals are in sight. Glory be!

Finally, my turn comes up. I bolt to the urinal and unleash the fury...and the kid keeps talking to me.

He's telling me about his band and how he does vocals and guitar and he's waiting for his friend to move back to play bass and a guy from his class playing drums and how they mess around in the garage playing Lamb of God covers and how his dad taught him to play guitar

Flag on the field. Breach of urinal etiquette. Five yard penalty. There I am, junk in hand trying to do the business, and this kid is telling me his life story. I'm standing there, praying things wrap up soon so I can be on my way out the door and lose the guy.

Long story short, I finished up and bolted out the door, ducking between a pair of SUVs. I am the drive-in ninja.

Again, this was not the oddest place i've run into a fan. The oddest place was in a twenty-four hour porno shop.

There's a little setup for this one, so bear with me: A friend and I were going a club to see another friend's band play. On the way to this club, there's a 24 hour porn shop. We've gone to this club several times over the years, and we always joked about stopping in the porno shop on the way back. So, this night we actually did.

It should be noted that my friend was wearing his Shotgun Sodomy t shirt.

I had no money, so I was just sort of idly walking through and giggling at the movie titles (Sold my Hole for Rock N' Roll still makes me laugh) when my friend calls me over. I go to the counter, where the cashier is staring at me.

He points to the shirt. "Is that your band?"

I nod. "yeah"

"Dude! You guys are fucking awesome!"

I blush. "Thanks!"

"Seriously! I saw you guys at Annabell's with Drogheda! I'm a big fan!"

I blush more. "Thanks."

"Can I have your autograph?"

"Uh..sure."

He hands me a piece of paper (with the porno shop's logo as a letterhead), and I stare at it for a moment. I've never had to sign an autograph before. What the fuck do I write? I was confounded, so I wrote something generic. "Thanks for listening" or somesuch, then signed it and handed it back.

Awkwardness over, right? Nay, sir.

"Can you do one for my wife, too? She loves you guys!"

Blink. "Ok"

So I sign it the same way as I did the other and hand it over.

Man, that was kind of awkward.

Awkward?

This! Is! PORN SHOP!

"Now, can you sign one for my wife's friend?"

Stare.

"Uh...sure." Another letterheaded paper, signed the same and handed over.

Then I'm standing there, staring at the clerk, waiting for him to ask me to sign another. Instead, he smiles and give me a heart felt "Thank you!". We shake hands, and he turns to help the person who was (so very patiently) waiting in line behind us.

I take that as my cue to get gone, so we get out back into my car and laugh about it the whole ride home.

Race is a non issue, but...

Somewhere, there's a family of racists crying into their morning cheerios.

It kind of makes me feel all warm and fuzzy.

Pester me enough, and I post. :)

I assure you, i'm still alive. Just very, very busy.

Helping a friend prepare for a wedding next week, in which i'm a groomsman. I'm going to be wearing a tux, which i'm really not crazy about as i find them uncomfortable as hell. I'm fairly certain the only reason they went with tuxes was because of all the shit we (the groomsmen) have given the groom over the years. :)

My birthday is next week. I've grown to face the day with a kind of grudging acceptance. It's a step up from the way I used to outright dread it, so yay!

The band situation is kind of blah. I've got people interested in getting together, but they seem incapable or unwilling to return phone calls/email. If I didn't love it so much, i'd probably throw my hands in the air and give up at this point.

Speaking of bands, the Shotgun show was last week two weeks ago. The crowd was decent, but a little smallr than i'd have liked, but it was a 21 and over show, so it really wasn't unexpected.

It was a little sobering afterwards, since our drummer - a longtime friend of mine - is moving out of state, but spirits were high through the duration of the show.

Here, have some pictures.

Late night, mildly drunken tomfoolery.

God of Thunder: Best song written by Kiss?

Discuss.

Hey guys?

My eldest nephew, who is all of thirteen, has told me that he and a friend are starting a band. They said they want to play something "loud and rocking" at their school's talent show next year. He has confided in me that he hopes "to freak some people out".

This sensation down in my stomach..is this what pride feels like?

Rants in the Pants

In this month's issue of Rolling Stone, they made their list of "100 Greatest Guitar Songs of All Time". Of course, with their list, Rolling Stone once again proves they know sweet fuck all about music.

How in the blue hell could Born to Run (or anything by Springstein, for that matter) place better than Freebird, Maggotbrain, Crazy Train, Little Wing, or Born Under a Bad Sign, on a list of guitar songs?

Also, the song Black Sabbath (which Springstein also placed higer than) was the only Sabbath on the entire list. No Paranoid? No Iron Man?

Smoke on the Water wasn't on the list at all, which irritates me in ways I can't even put to words right now.

At least Rolling Stone had a brief moment of clarity, and put some Link Wray on the list.

Horny Old Woman Night; or How to Survive a Cougar Attack.

The past couple of months. i've been spending my Friday nights doing karaoke at a local place. Yes, there is a difference between screaming in a death metal band, and belting out some Danzig (which people tell me i do well), but anything to keep my voice from falling into disrepair.

This one night, there was a woman there. An older woman. Ordinarily, that would be like kryptonite, as i have a thing for older women. Just something about them that just...just...damn, but I digress. In this case the term "woman" is used in a strictly academic sense. She was human, and female. If you've spent any amount of time in bars, chances are you've seen one of them. The kind of woman who looks like a gnarled and worn leather handbag, wrapped around a human skeleton and shoved it into a mini skirt. A very mini skirt.

As the night goes on, my friends and I are having a grand old time. I get done with a song, and head towards the bar, as it was my turn to put down for a pitcher. Out of nowhere, comes the Leather Woman. Honest to god, she ambushed my ass.

She looked me in the eyes, her raspy breath reeking of menthols and bourbon, she asks me: "Where's your girlfriend?"

"I don't have one."

"Are you sure?"

Hmm, I must ponder this. "Yes."

"Are you really sure?"

At this point, i'm starting to feel uncomfortable. There was something in her eyes. I started to feel like she was sizing me up and getting ready to pounce. However, gentleman I am, i answer: "Yes."

"Do you want to dance?"

"I..." Enter the fight or flight response. Panic. "I..have to piss."

That answer seemed to have stunned her, for she paused, and I took full advantage of the situation. I ran. I ran so far away.

A few days later, I was regaling some friends with the story. As I started to talk the crazy look in her eyes, one of said friends pointed out. "Dude, she probably just wanted to rock your world."

Perhaps. But you know what? Those eyes were fucking predatory, man. And I'm the slow guy with the gimpy ankle. If anyone is getting culled from the herd, it's probably going to be me. So, the survival instinct kicked in, and I fled from her presence the way a gazelle would flee from a hunting lioness. Just without the speed and grace. More of with a lurching, slightly drunk stagger.

Regardless, I live to frolic upon the savannah once again.

From the spam folder files.

I was emptying my spam folder, when i saw a mail with the title: "Penis theft panic hits city."

Mental image: A dastardly looking fellow, with curly mustache, cape and tophat, leaping over a fence and absconding into the darkness with a large sack full of dongs slung over his shoulder.

Sometimes, it's way too easy to entertain me.

I cut down trees, i wear high heels, suspenders and a bra...

The other day, I realized that despite being rather young, i've led an interesting life. This sudden realization was based solely on the fact that I could say "It was four in the morning, and I was eating pancakes in a diner full of transvestites" and be telling the truth.

I've shared this epiphany with Taco, and he decreed that the story must be told. So, I share.

It was after Shotgun Sodomy had played a show. Our bass player and drummer split early, so it was up to our guitarist, a roadie, and myself to bring the gear back from the club to the practice pad. By the time we got done with that, it was almost four in the morning. The three of us were tired as hell, and just as hungry. So, we decided to go to a nearby diner which was open twenty four hours. This diner was near an area where there are a good deal of bars and clubs that cater to homosexuals and transvestites, so seeing a tranny or two there in the wee hours wasn't unheard of.This time was different. The place was packed with trannies. Transvestites as far as the eye could see. We had to give pause, because face it; it isn't every day you walk into a diner full of transvestites. Apparently, one of the bars had some sort of exhibitionist ball or some-such, and this was the after crowd.Ultimately, it was no big deal, so the three of us got a table. Roadie and guitarist got omelettes and I got a plate of pancakes. Over the course of the meal, a tranny came to our table and asksed if she could sit with us. Being the genial folk we are, and really too tired to care either way, we said sure. She said we looked like interesting people.Now, this is where the story goes from interesting to borderline surreal. We have a conversation with her, and we tell her we're in a band and all that jazz. She asks us the usual questions, "What's it like being in a band?", "Do you have a lot of fun?" etc, and we answer. She then tells us she's a performer, who does sex shows. She then went on to tell us that her performance at the show earlier that evening involved dildos and anal play. Roadie is giggling like a schoolboy, because he's the type who can't help but laugh at dick and fart jokes. Guitarist is just giving me a "please, not while i'm eating" look. I, however am absolutely enthralled by this transvestite exhibitionist's story, and tell her to continue. I'm chowing down on my pancakes all the while, and her story of assplay isn't phasing me for a few reasons.

1. I'm not easy to gross out.
2. The story is absolutely interesting.
3. I love pancakes.

I don't think i've ever publicly expressed my love for them, but if ever there were a food to take the brunt of this fat guy's wrath, it is pancakes. If you have a plate of pancakes, and I have a plate of pancakes, and I have a fork that reaches all the way across the room to your plate, I begin to eat your pancakes. I. Eat. Your. Pancakes. NOM NOM NOM. I eat them up! But, I digress.

And so it went. We finished our meals, said goodbye to this really interesting person -Cindy, was her name-, and we all went home.

Some things:

1. Throughout the world, struggling musicians who possess genuine talent wake up in a cold sweat, gibbering madness.

2. I think I'll see *ACTUAL* Chinese democracy before I see a free can of Dr. Pepper.

3. I try to avoid large chain music stores as much as possible. Why, you ask? Because those people are either idiots, soulless, or soulless idiots. I don't expect the people selling the music to know everything about music, but some degree of knowledge is nice. And also, good taste in music (the definition of which is up to my discretion). The last thing I want is music recommendations from some jackoff who thinks Avril Lavigne is like totally the best thing to happen to punk rock, like ever. May you die choking on petulant donkey dong, in the back of your beloved Hot Topic.

4. Bands I've been listening to a lot lately:
Give up the Ghost
Some Girls
Dax Riggs
Agoraphobic Nosebleed

That is all.

Wherein I try (and fail) to not talk about the Gene Simmons sex tape.

So, Gene Simmons has a sex tape. Just let that sink in for a moment. Gene Simmons. Sex tape.

Is your brain hurting? Good.

People have been sending me links to sites where I can watch it. I don't want to watch it. I don't even want to fully acknowledge it exists, for thinking of it is to let it in.

I have only the most vague concept of the thing. Much like a young child has only a very vague understanding of death. I know it's out there. I know it's waiting for me to slip up.

I must remain resolute, my friends. For The Video Which Shall Not Be Named is hovering over my head, trying to work it's way in. It's like a mixture of the Sword of Damocles and creeping Lovecraftian madness. If I let it in, i'll never be able to listen to Destroyer again.

And you! Don't you go watching it either. I enjoy the products of all of you peoples' brainmeats, and would hate to see them forever soiled by images of Gene Simmons fucking.

Remember: JUST SAY NO.

Now, a Shannon Tweed sex tape....i'd be all over that. Rawr.

Sheva spare me, for I am a simple beast.

Good news on the band front!

Jay, the guitarist from Shotgun Sodomy, has a recording project going he wants me to lay some vocals for. He's emailed me two tracks, and I dig them. Ideally, i'd like to find a live band as well, since the gig is what it's all about for me. However, this should at least keep me busy and not allow my writing abilities to atrophy.

As for the live band, I found a guitarist, and possibly a drummer. That's all you need to start jamming. More info as it becomes available.

The Short List: My Favorite Albums of 2007

You know i'm a music junkie. This should come as no surprise. Though this list in no way represents all the things i listened to in the past year, it is just a quick and dirty list of some of the releases that have stuck with me the most.

First off, the good:

Yakuza - Transmutations:

I first saw these guys about a year ago when they opened for Misery Index, and I've been a fan ever since. It's really hard to describe these guys. I could tell you they sound like a deranged beast-offspring of Jane's Addiction, Napalm Death and John Zorn, but that wouldn't do them justice at all.

It's psychedelic, ambient and moody while at the same time being pretty damn heavy and vicious. It has blast beats, jazz horns and occasional Tuvan throat singing. It really has to be heard.


Ministry, The Last Sucker

I'll be honest. I didn't even know Ministry was still around when I first heard of this one. I've always been a bit of a fan, so when I heard this was going to be their last album, I felt obligated to give it a shot. I'm sure glad I did.

Musically, it's a very solid album and a bit of a return to form to the older days of more thrash oriented writing (think Psalm 69), as opposed to the more experimental and sludgy sound of the Filthpig era.

Thematically, the album is a giant fuck you aimed at the Bush administration. As somebody who isn't particularly fond of W and his boys, I find no small bit of amusement in the fact that Ministry, as a band, have been around long enough to such musical middle fingers not only to Dubya, but his daddy during his administration as well.

Obituary, Xecutioner's Return

Allow me to start off by saying something. I have no small love for Obituary. They're easily one of my favorite bands. When I was a teenage lad, taking those first few cautious steps into my own musical preferences, Obituary was there. The dude who was my parter in chemistry lab lent me a copy of Back from the Dead, and that was all she wrote.

Obituary is almost like the AC/DC of the heavy metal world. They haven't really changed their sound in twenty odd years. Between John Tardy's screeching vocals, and Allen West's signature style of simple, yet unbelievably catchy guitar riffs, once you hear an Obituary song, you'll be able to recognize them forever more.

Obituary is one of the granddaddies of death metal, and this album is very much an old school disc, hearkening back to the days when death metal still very much influenced by punk and thrash. There's use of monkey beats, pinch harmonics, shredding solos, and near excessive use of the whammy bar. I love it so.

Cephalic Carnage, Xenosapien

Up until this album, I'd always been of two minds when it came to Cephalic Carnage: that of a musician, and that of a listener.

The muscian side of me always appreciated them. There's a hell of a lot of creativity and skill that goes into making the very intricate, jazz-oriented grindcore these guys put out.

The part of me that just enjoys listening to music, though, was never crazy about them. While the individual parts of songs were awesome, it seemed like all the awesome parts were just kind of haphazardly thrown together into one big mush of a song. There was no flow, for lack of a better term, from one part of a song to the next.

But this album, this one fucking nails it. It goes from a full bore, blasting grind, to a very sludgy almost crowbar vibe in a heartbeat, and you notice nothing aside from how awesome that last transition was.

And now, the bad. The two biggest musical disappointments for me last year:


Leng T'che, Marasmus

I hate to sound like one of those guys who goes around saying "I listened to this band before they were cool", but it's true in this case.

Once upon a time, Leng T'che was a very intense band. Musically, it was some grade-A, rip-off-your-face-and-shit-down-your-neck grind, combined with some rather tongue in cheek lyrics. For example, they wrote a song about Wes Craven called "I know What you Shit Last Summer"

Their first three albums were as such, and were good. They even started gaining some well deserved praise with their third album. Then, they released Marasmus. It's just another overproduced, breakdown oriented shitbird for the MySpace scene.

I hear they're working on another album. It's going to have to be something really good to bring me back into the fold.


Dying Fetus, War of Attrition

The good news about this album, is that it's everything you'd expect from a Dying Fetus album. The bad news, is that it's everything you would expect from a Dying Fetus album.

If you're remotely familiar with anything Fetus has done after Killing on Adrenaline, you've heard this album. I suppose if you're a die hard fan, then you'd be happy with it. Or, i suppose if you've never heard Dying Fetus before, this would be a decent starter album. After all, if they're entirely new to you, how are you supposed to know this one sounds exactly like the three previous albums?

If you want this album, fine by me. I'll be over in the corner listening to and Grotesque Impalement and Killing on Adrenaline.

And now, looking to the future, here are some musical things I'm looking forward to in 2008:

NEW BRUTAL TRUTH ALBUM. Yes, it deserves all caps.

When I first heard Brutal Truth reunited last year to play the Maryland Deathfest, I almost dropped everything I was doing and started hitchhiking.

If I had to name a band as the single most influential on me as a musician, Brutal Truth would be it. Keven Sharp's vocals are what made me pick up a mic.

The new album's tenetive release date is February, 2008.

Also coming out in February, is the debut of KINGDOM OF SORROW, which consists of members of Hatebreed and Crowbar. The teaser songs they've released are enough to make a man salivate.