LET'S SPEND THE NIGHT TOGETHER

Let's Spend The Night Together is a new documentary about groupies airing on VH1 featuring the world's most renowned groupie Miss Pamela Des Barres. It follows Pamela around the country as she shares memories with other notable groupies who, after 40 years, still seem to enjoy being famous for fucking people more famous than themselves.


It's impossible to be a classic rock fan and not know these women by name. Pamela Des Barres has made a literary career out of writing five books worth of sexploits involving the likes of Jimmy Page, Mick Jagger, Keith Moon and many more musicians from the 60s and 70s.





Cynthia Plaster Caster is legendary for collecting plaster molds of rock star cocks such as Jimi Hendrix and Wayne Kramer of The MC5. She even inspired one of my favorite KISS songs, "Plaster Caster". Everyone needs an angle in showbiz and Cynthia definitely found hers and has been, uh, milking it for all it's worth.



Sweet Connie Hamzy is immortalized in the Grand Funk Railroad song "We're An American Band" and has seemingly fucked more musicians than Napster. Seriously, my brain was melting after her recent interview on Howard Stern. This woman dropped more names than a crackhead cutting a plea-bargain with a vice cop. Connie is one of those groupies who apparently has no quality control meter in her head, just a lot of rock star/road crew/event staff spunk.



The two surprises in the film were Tura Satana, an old flame of Elvis Presley who went on to cult movie immortality in Faster Pussycat! Kill! Kill! and Cassandra Peterson, who had flings with Tom Jones, Elvis and Jimi Hendrix and then went on to TV immortality as Elvira-Mistress Of The Dark. For some reason, these two women didn't come off quite as desperate for attention to me as the others. Maybe because they were too realistic about their careers and their future endeavors to think that anything serious was to happen between their dalliances. I guess they just chalked it up to being in the right place at the right time and don't try to convince the audience (or themselves) that they were muses involved in some spiritual meeting of divine souls, which, rather pathetically, is something the other girls seem to revel in.

What I came away with from this documentary was sadness for these women more than anything. The majority of the interviewees seem to suffer from delusions of grandeur. They genuinely believe four decades after their affairs in the drug-fueled world of Seventies arena rock that they were important contributing factors to the bands' creativity. Yet, if that were true, why were these relationships so fleeting and seemingly without any lasting commitment from the men? Were any of these women ever invited to the musicians' actual homes and included in their "normal" lives with family and friends? What was the appeal of jumping from one tour bus to another assuming this would lead to stability and yet never realistically pursuing it?

I felt particularly sad for Connie,a woman in her mid-fifties who lives alone in a house cluttered with posters and memorabilia of every musician she has had sex with. Trust me, she has so many souvenirs she could be on a rock and roll episode of "Hoarders". And I get the feeling she is not singular in this aspect. I deeply suspect there are thousands more like her in complete denial or utter disbelief that they will end up like lonely old spinsters from the Free Love generation.

In the interest of full disclosure, I have in-laws and close friends in the music business. A handful of them spend their lives in constant motion encased in a crypt on a tour bus (if they are lucky, a car if they aren't)nearly twenty two hours a day for months at a time. It's not that glamorous.

Neither is hanging out backstage. I've done it a lot. It's fucking boring. You are forced to sit on a smelly couch in a smelly closet next to smelly people with little or no food, drinks or entertainment. Like a road trip with your parents to Walley World in 1981. I swear to God for years I've been plotting a lawsuit against Motley Crue for false advertising in their music videos.

Yet this is the life that was chosen by them and I can say the same for the groupies, past and present, young and old. I genuinely try not to come off as judgmental and sanctimonious on this subject. I truly love musicians and their work and understand the personal sacrifice that goes into that job day and night. But, I guess, from my perspective, I don't see the glamour and prestige and the magic that typical fans see when a live band plays a song they love.I'm almost jealous of them for that. I still get the hair on my arms standing up now and then, but it's in the subtle things now, like a wink or a nod between members when a bum note slips out,or when a song gets an unexpectedly huge reaction, or maybe even no reaction at all.

It's in that moment that I feel like I'm involved with the band personally. I'm just so eternally grateful this moment of clarity occurs from the comfort of my seat and not the caps of my knees.

I READ THE NEWS TODAY, OH BOY....

This is the post I've been dreading to write. Mostly because I knew it had to be written since the day I started this page.

John Lennon died 30 years ago tonight. Some people never recovered from Pearl Harbor, Kent State or 9-11. I never recovered from the winter of 1980.

I was twelve years old. My grandfather who was my only real kindred spirit in my family at the time died of a heart attack the day after Thanksgiving. I was still pretty shell shocked from that psychological earthquake when on a Monday night I'm just sitting in the dark of my living room staring blankly at the TV showing some bad sitcom called "Ladies Man" when half of my entire friend population in seventh grade calls me at 9PM.

I had two friends. Carl and Vince. To say we were unpopular at school would be an insult to the true losers we aspired to be someday. Why were we unpopular? We only talked about three subjects, Saturday Night Live, Star Wars and The Beatles.

Carl calls me crying saying John is dead. I knew exactly who we was talking about. We only referred to one guy as John, and it wasn't Belushi. I didn't believe him. I was sure it was a mistake.

"Some motherfucker shot him, man." He hung up. I still hear him today saying that line yet I haven't spoken to him since 1984.

I don't think I slept that night. I cried a lot for the remainder of the year. I have been crying the week of Thanksgiving through December 8th every year since. I listen to anything John Lennon sang for the entire period and think hard about how cold and dark and gray the world has seemed to me ever since.

I have come to accept that this feeling will just hit me at this time of year for as long as it is supposed to. I don't prepare for it. I don't anticipate it. I don't try to deny or ignore it. I let it happen and then I say goodbye to it tomorrow. Until next time.

It sure does make me appreciate the love I have in the world come Christmas time. Anyone who has taken a minute of their hectic schedules to indulge my ramblings here has my undying thanks. I try very hard to keep these posts from being too self-indulgent although I realize that can be nearly impossible.

For all you who wonder how or why I'm always laughing and trying to bring my loved ones together and have a good time all the time, it's because I know all too well how quickly we can lose our favorite people and how much they are missed once they are gone.

VINYL SOLUTION

A couple of weeks ago, i was in the trashy elegance of Hollywood, CA. I walked a couple blocks from the theater i was waiting to see a show in that night to my personal Mecca. That legendary iconic spot where everything I love about the world is right before me.

The Hollywood sign?
The Walk Of Fame?
The Rainbow Bar and Grill?
The Capitol Records building?
The Chinese Theater?

No fucking way.


Amoeba Records on Sunset Blvd. is my home away from home. My Disneyland. I would drive the five hours from my house every month if I could afford it.

Some people like the mall. Some people like Starbucks. Some people like bars. I could spend a whole day at Amoeba and still not get enough done out of my visit. The last time I was there as soon as I walked in I was overwhelmed with this adrenaline in my veins. I am surrounded by the entire solo collection of John Lennon in a huge white 200 dollar box, some rare limited edition import Bowie box sets and an out of print GNR Live Like A Suicide on 33 rpm vinyl. Seemingly every CD title from every band imaginable is displayed before me in new or used condition.

It just takes me back to being a kid in the 70s and 80s who was obsessed with not just music, but records. Some people have a leather fetish, mine was vinyl. I know by the start of the 90s I had something like 500 or 600 albums alone, and probably that combined amount in cassettes and CDs also. At least a third of that catalog was Beatles-related alone. Yeah, I was a geek. But, fuckin' A, I knew my bands probably better than they did.

I think the main reason I adore going to Amoeba so much is simply because the record store itself is such an anomaly in the 21st century. Let's face it, nowadays convenience is king. Why drive somewhere to pick up the new Radiohead CD and pay the store's price when i just point and click and it's sent to my inbox to download and enjoy AND I can just pay what I want for it? I don't have to drive to Borders for the new Keith Richards autobiography when i can just download it to my IPAD for a fraction of the hardcover cost? Believe me, I understand the appeal.

But that doesn't mean I gotta go along with it.



I bring up this story to turn you on to yet another exciting rockumentary i watched recently. I NEED THAT RECORD! is a chronicle of the rise and fall and slow death of not just independently-owned record stores but the music industry itself. It interviews a lot of rock stars and journalists as well as those who champion the indie biz and the fans who keep it going. It helps one understand what record stores mean to a small but fiercely passionate percentage of the population; i.e. people like myself. It's an intangible satisfaction we get that puts some kind of emotional connection to this piece of property that we don't get from ITUNES or Rhapsody.



I don't go to Wal Mart or Best Buy to pick up music. I guess i can see why somebody would because they are already there to pick up groceries or a weed whacker or something. Why not check out the new Nickelback or Taylor Swift CD for my truck, right?

At home, I go to ZIA Records. I don't get the rush I get from going to Amoeba in LA but it still fits my aesthetic going there to trade stuff in and walk out with something else to enjoy.

I hope you have time to check this movie out. It will likely reinforce your commitment to music if you already have one.

I will acquiesce to convenience in this parting shot. I watched this film on my TIVO with my instant Netflix viewing option. I'm not above the point-and-click if it brings my satisfaction and music-geek enlightnment from the comfort of my couch.

WILD ABOUT HARRY.

It's been a great year for rockumentaries and my next piece of evidence is a doozy. Recently released on DVD and Netflix Instant Queue, I had the pleasure of seeing "WHO IS HARRY NILSSON AND WHY IS EVERYBODY TALKIN' ABOUT HIM?"

For those reading this who can't answer that question, watch this.



Harry Nilsson was an extremely gifted singer-songwriter who achieved much commercial and critical success in the early Seventies. He had the respect and admiration of The Beatles, Monty Python and Brian Wilson, and with good reason. His talent was on the same level as theirs. He was probably best known, at least for myself, as a hard core LA party monster who figured heavily into John Lennon's "Lost Weekend that lasted 18 months" in his words.

Lennon actually plays a very symbolic role in the story. They were extremely close friends. They had parallel childhoods, unbreakable artistic integrity and a sharp sense of humor about life. After Lennon's murder, Nilsson campaigned for stricter handgun laws and later retired from the music industry and concentrated on raising a family.

Nilsson was a fine example of that long list of geniuses who should have been bigger than they were. For whatever reason, Harry is one of those guys who, it seems, only real music fans are familiar with. Leonard Cohen, Randy Newman, and Tom Waits would be the closest I could compare him to. He's just one of those guys who you may recognize a couple of his songs but you really had to a music lover to understand how far reaching his influence was.

I highly recommend this movie if only because I learned so much about a man who had a long lasting effect on the lives of people, like John and Ringo, who in turn had a major influence on my own life. The movie itself was like the music of Harry Nilsson. It was joyous. It was witty. It was sad. It was deep.

Above all, it was real.

ANOTHER POINTLESS RANT ABOUT THE ROCK AND ROLL HALL OF FAME

The continuing tragicomedy that is The RnR Hall Of Fame announced its nominees for 2011. These are just nominees. Only six are guaranteed induction in January. Here are this year's contenders:

· Alice Cooper
· Beastie Boys
· Bon Jovi
· Chic
· Neil Diamond
· Donovan
· Dr. John
· J. Geils Band
· LL Cool J
· Darlene Love
· Laura Nyro
· Donna Summer
· Joe Tex
· Tom Waits
· Chuck Willis

Now, imagine you are a sixty year old bald critic/journalist guy who has never played in a band and makes his living off building up the false legend that musicians are all geniuses possessed with magical powers. Or pretend that you are Rolling Stone founder Jann Wenner, who is essentially the man behind the curtain of the Hall Of Fame.

You have a summer house in The Hamptons and you hobnob with on Jon Bon Jovi, Russell Simmons and Peter Wolf. Why on earth would you sway votes towards Alice Cooper, KISS, Cheap Trick, Motorhead, New York Dolls or other so-called rock bands when you can just give it to Donna Summer, who never wrote or produced anything she sang?

That's who is running this show. That's why year after year the list gets bleaker and dumber. And that's why they do it. To get dorks like me to keep shouting about the pointlessness of it all.

The Hall Of Fame is still a joke. Always will be. Period.

I'm just gonna go ahead and start my own hall so I can finally validate all those thousands of hours listening to Yngwie Malmsteen's Rising Force over and over.....

WE HAVE ASSUMED CONTROL

I never dreamed I would ever get to admit this, but this year has made me feel cool as fuck to be a Rush fan.

It wasn't always that way. I can remember the first time I ever heard them. I was 12 or 13. Sometime in 1981, my only friend at the time was crazy into buying 45s. He picked up the single for Tom Sawyer by some band called Rush, whose name I think I recognized from T-shirts I saw older kids wearing while driving cars I wasn't allowed to get into.

I'm sitting in my buddy's bedroom and he puts this single on and CRASH!!! goes that opening chord to Tom Sawyer. I honestly remember thinking "What kind of singing is that? That's a human being playing that stuff? What is with that drummer in the middle part of the song? Why do I have this heavy feeling in my chest?" Some things in your life, seemingly small to others, stay with you till the grave is dug. This was one of mine.

I bought the Moving Pictures LP soon after that and had my mind completely frozen by YYZ and Witch Hunt. I was converted immediately. This was no ordinary band playing around with blues chord changes and Beatleish melodies. These guys were out to decimate every other band in the rock genre by playing harder, tighter and faster than their contemporaries.

It was pretty hard to get excited over The Doobie Brothers or Bob Seger when I heard 2112 for the first time. Somehow, the combination of bombastic playing and VERY deeply intellectual lyrics inspired by Ayn Rand spoke directly to me and a lot of my friends. I have no real explanation why. We were not the cool kids, we were not the ones guaranteed for academic or financial success, we didn't know girls, but somehow this trio of ugly Canadian dudes wearing kimonos made us think we were special.

I followed this band every album since. Every weird synth phase or weird move they made, I was there. I stood in line overnight to get my first RUSH tickets in 1984 and had the worst seats but the best time. (Al's Donuts!!!)

This music speaks to me on a level completely removed from my other favorite bands.

Fast forward thirty years and hundreds of lost brain cells later, the holy triumvirate of Geddy Lee, Alex Lifeson and Neil Peart suddenly are getting mainstream recognition everywhere. Their 2009 appearance on The Colbert Report (their first on US TV since 1976) was the start. Then came their cameo and plot thread through the movie I LOVE YOU, MAN, and now suddenly they are all over VH1 Classic. I seriously have watched so many Rush concerts on that channel I seriously wonder if they've just given up playing anything else.

The piece d' resistance has been twofold this year. The first crown jewel is the fascinating and justifying two hour documentary BEYOND THE LIGHTED STAGE by Sam Dunn and Scot MacFayden, who previously helmed two great metal docs, METAL-A HEADBANGER'S JOURNEY and IRON MAIDEN FLIGHT 666. (Must-see for any heavy metal fan if you haven't checked them out by now). The Rush film goes deep into the history of all three band members covering the fact that they too were outcasts with an uphill battle for acceptance from day one. It covers all the changes in style, sound and hairdos the band encountered and cleverly addresses the topic of why and how Rush fans got to be predominantly male and nerdy for so many years. It's also a reminder of how truly funny these three are when not playing such heavy serious music. Go to the bonus menu on the DVD and watch the footage of the band getting drunk at a hunting lodge for further proof.

After you watch that, watch the newly-released entry from the Classic Albums series 2112-Moving Pictures. For the first time, the series has devoted an hour to two albums by the same band. The producers went deep into the subject with interviews from the band as well as one-on-one live demonstrations with Alex, Geddy and Neil walking you through the creative process of writing and playing the stuff that has inspired generations of air guitarists and air drummers around the world. It makes for a great companion piece and if this doesn't satisfy your inner RUSH geek, you'll just have to wait for the next album and tour.

BLOOD INTO WINE

Love him, hate him, or even if you just don't get him, Maynard James Keenan refuses to fit the mold of rock star.

Maynard is the front man for three highly successful and musically diverse bands, TOOL, A Perfect Circle and Puscifer. He typically and literally shuns the limelight. When you go to see TOOL or APC, Maynard is usually standing behind the drum riser shrouded in shadows or silhouetted in front of a mind-expanding video presentation for two hours. He rarely says more than a couple lines to the crowd and almost never does photo shoots or interviews.



Normally, I would think these actions would simply be due to the fact that he's a prick. Why would people pay to see a band they can't actually SEE? I am here to confess that Maynard gets away with it.

I've seen TOOL three or four times in concert since 1997. They are stunning as a live act, on par with Pink Floyd or Rush. I realized at the most recent show I saw at Planet Hollywood Theater in Vegas that the reason the band stays in the shadows is to let the fans (of which there were thousands that night) get their own fulfillment from the songs. Whether the fans were inebriated, distracted by the visuals, or just working out their frustrations and/or ecstasies from witnessing the music live, it was all about the artist and the audience taking a journey together. At the end of the show, I can honestly say that I felt better than when the show started.

Maynard is definitely out to tackle as much of life as he can, this being obvious in his most recent non-musical adventure, Merkin Vineyards. Yes, he makes his own wine. In Arizona, no less.


The new documentary, Blood And Wine, shows the process and struggles Maynard encountered when deciding how to shape his newfound passion. He wanted to treat wine making like he treats his music, organic, honest and uncompromising. He found a visionary partner in Eric Glomski, whom is essentially the co-star of this movie and has his own infinite passion with wine making and the environmental connection it brings.

The best thing I can say about Blood And Wine is that if you are a fan of Maynard's work, you will be satisfied and surprised. If you know nothing about the music but love wine or even just documentary films, you too will be satisfied and surprised. It's not an ego piece, but rather a surprisingly open look at how one person treats everything they do in life as an artistic expression and as a tool (pardon the pun) for working out their problems and points of view.

TOO TOUGH TO DIE

Johnny Ramone died exactly six years ago today.

The Ramones completely changed my existence and my outlook on the world. This happened on exactly August 5, 1990. I was a casual fan and went with a friend of mine from LA who was really excited a band that didn't sound like Night Ranger was coming to Vegas. They were on the Escape From NY tour with Debbie Harry and Tom Tom Club. They were second on the bill but it was obvious from all the T-shirts in the crowd who the main draw really was.

In those days, most bands I liked were starting to ride the "glam train" into the new decade and their image (in my mind) was suffering for it. I didn't like KISS and Dio wearing bigger brighter colors and grinding themselves into cliched corners with bigger stage shows and longer solos. Needless to say, The Ramones entered my life at just the right time.

The first chord was literally like a lightning bolt into my brain. I had never seen a band with such military precision and intense energy feeding back and forth between the audience and the band. They didn't say hi to the crowd, they didn't switch guitars, they didn't waste time. I got 30 songs in exactly 60 minutes. Even better, every song sounded instantly familiar to me, like a Beatles song cross-pollinated with Motorhead's rhythm section. For the first time at a concert,I was a different person than when I entered the venue.

My intense infatuation with them only grew with every passing year after they retired in 1996. I knew they were gone for good with no sign of a reunion tour ever. One thing about The Ramones, they never bullshitted the fans.

That was Axl Rose's job.


Still is.


Joey died in 2001. Then Dee Dee in 2002. In between those passings, I somehow bumped into Johnny Ramone at Burbank airport. He got off the plane from Vegas I was boarding. I literally stole a pen from a gift shop just to grab his autograph. He could not have been nicer. He actually stopped his day for two minutes just to chat and talk about his legacy and Marilyn Manson with me (he had just been MM's guest in Vegas). We shook hands and parted ways. I've never been starstruck on that level since. I honestly stared at my hand the whole flight home thinking "I just shook hands with the inventor of Punk Rock Guitar!!"

When he died in 2004, I was at a bar when I heard the news. I got really really shitfaced and proceeded to try and get into a fight with anyone I could. I had no luck. I was just another surly drunk in a city that breeds them. As far as I was concerned, Punk Rock was officially dead that night. It kills me to admit that I was right. Name me one great Punk band in the last six years. I'll wait.....

Johnny Ramone helped me realize that it was okay to be weird in a world of squares. It was okay to be tough and stick to your convictions and not kiss anyone's ass to make them like me or my group of friends.

If you have time, rent this movie. You will be amazed at how many other brilliant people share my feelings about him.....

THE BEATLES--1,000 YEARS LATER

http://www.maniacworld.com/beatles-1000-years-later.html

INTEGRITY..WHAT A CONCEPT.

The fact that this story is newsworthy says a lot to me about the state of the dying music industry today.





The severely untalented cuntestant (yeah, I said it!) from BBC's Britian's Got Talent, Susan Boyle, flew from her underwater cave in Loch Ness to LA to film a performance on the equally untalented AMERICA'S GOT TALENT TV series. The show she was going to perform was to be Lou Reed's brilliant, moody masterpiece "PERFECT DAY".



Lou Reed, however, declined Susan Boyle and the show permission to perform the song allegedly because he is not a fan of Boyle. Whether or not that is really the case, I cannot commend Lou's actions enough. I'm sorry there aren't more like him. If he sees someone do his songs the right way from an artistic point of view, I'm sure he appreciates the recognition. I'm happy to see him speak out against the "Instant Stardom" route these god-awful TV shows take making karaoke hacks like SuBo look like bona fide artists.

People who buy one CD a year at Target buy into the Susan Boyle hype. Let tehm. They made Celine Dion and Michael Bolton famous, too. What would the world be without music for people who have no real taste?

Thanks again to guys like Lou Reed and Neil Young, etc. who actually still give a shit about their fans and their reputations.

MACHETE

I grew up loving B movies. B movies got their name in the days of drive-ins when there would be an A movie like, say, Bonnie And Clyde and then a B movie to follow it like, say, Biker Party. I think the purpose of the B movie was just to have something less distracting for people to make out in their vehicles to.

B movies have a certain sensibility that I will always love. They don't try to be serious or artistic or important. They have no qualms about violence, nudity or highly implausible scenarios. They just know exactly how to give the people what they want. Action, blood and boobs.

The genre kind of faded with the extinction of drive-ins, although it nearly came back with GRINDHOUSE by Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino in 2007. In that movie, there was a fake B movie trailer called MACHETE starring Danny Trejo as a one man army. In a bizarre chain of events, somebody managed to get a real movie made based on a fake movie commercial.

The story is about a former Mexican Federale who goes on a revenge spree after a mobster (Steven Seagal) kills his wife and child. Along the way, he is hired to assassinate a Senator (Robert DeNiro) and then set up by the same men who hired him. He also gets involved with an immigration official (Jessica Alba), a revolutionary (Michelle Rodriguez), a corrupt border patrolman (Don Johnson) and an even more corrupt political aide (Jeff Fahey).

The remaining 90 minutes are just an onslaught of bloody violence and explosions and stunts, with a "message" subplot about the political shenanigans surrounding the immigration debate. It's all done very tongue in cheek and thanks to this movie I learned several new ways to kill a muthafucka.

All the actors in the film were great (even Lindsay Lohan and the Michelin Man Of Mayhem, Steven Seagal) but this movie belonged to Danny Trejo. Trejo has been a great supporting actor in countless movies like "Desperado" and "Heat" as well as Rob Zombie's Halloween remake, but he finally gets to be in every scene this time, and it's quite obvious writer-director Robert Rodriguez made this movie just for him.

The best thing I can say about MACHETE is it felt like a throwback to a time when movies were made fast and cheap with no budget for CGI or modern rock songs or a cross-promotional marketing blitz. This is one of those movies that is not for everyone. But I am proud to say it was made for people like me.

BACK ON THE BLOG

Heard ya missed me...Well, I'm Back!!!

I'm back from summer hiatus. I figure, TV shows and teachers take summers off, why not me, too?

Really, I just got sick and tired of making excuses for my laziness to Gina and Demo Dave. Apparently, they look forward to these little written Tourette's exercises of mine. I love my fans so much I can never deny them what they want.

That's Showbiz.

Honestly, I have had ideas on what to write for three months and have struggled with summoning the energy to produce it. I need to go through a certain ritual to do these. I have to be relaxed enough to just stare at the screen for about ten minutes and write nothing. I have to play music I feel like listening to that won't distract me (at the moment it's Herbie Hancock). Essentially, I need to make a commitment to finish what I start.

The primary impetus for this blog today is a new transition I am facing in my life. I work full time, am enrolled in three college courses and have a very busy schedule making time for my loved ones. But because I also love doing this so much and I know how much better I will feel when I post this, I am promisiing to MYSELF that this will be a part of my daily routine.

The feedback I get from any of you who are willing to sacrifice a few minutes of your day to read these posts is like gold to me. I am truly humbled from the bottom of my cold black heart.

When I decided to restart this thing, I was reminded of an obscure Rush song called "Losing It". It's a soft, subtle gem of a tune with lyrics that vividly paint images of people who mastered their chosen art only to watch it disappear like a rapid sunset. If I ever tell myself I am too busy to do this, I will watch the attached video and pay attention to the lyrics after the jump.....




The dancer slows her frantic pace
In pain and desperation
Her aching limbs and downcast face
Aglow with perspiration

Stiff as wire, her lungs on fire
With just the briefest pause
The flooding through her memory
The echoes of old applause

She limps across the floor
And closes her bedroom door...

The writer stare with glassy eyes
Defies the empty page
His beard is white, his face is lined

And streaked with tears of rage

Thirty years ago, how the words would flow
With passion and precision
But now his mind is dark and dulled
By sickness and indecision

And he stares out the kitchen door
Where the sun will rise no more...

Some are born to move the world
To live their fantasies
But most of us just dream about
The things we'd like to be
Sadder still to watch it die
Than never to have known it
For you, the blind who once could see
The bell tolls for thee...

STRAIGHT THROUGH THE HEART

Ronnie James Dio passed away yesterday at the age of 67 after a long battle with stomach cancer.

He finally faced a dragon too strong to slay on his own.



I have been a hardcore Dio fan since I first heard Black Sabbath's HEAVEN AND HELL in 1984. Some things about your teenage years will never be forgotten. I had an older friend named Rocky who lived a couple blocks from me who seemed to have the coolest music collection I had ever seen. He had everything Dio recorded. Elf, Rainbow, Sabbath, solo stuff. I will seriously never forget tooling around our neighborhood in his Gran Torino cranking "Neon Knights" on his cassette deck. I had never heard non-Ozzy Sabbath before and from then on I stayed neutral in the "Ozzy or Dio" campaigning that went on in my school.

I simply thought they both rocked.

RJD pretty much invented a style of heavy metal. It was serious but never too serious. It was fantasy without becoming whimsical. It was heavy and operatically tinged without becoming overblown and crossing over into ELP or YES territory, not that there is anything wrong with that. Whether working with Tony Iommi, Ritchie Blackmore or the half-dozen guitarists in his own band, his voice soared around these bold, metallic guitar riffs and it just carried the song into a separate dimension.



It is safe to say that any person fronting a metal band today owes a debt of gratitude to Dio for what they do. He commanded every stage he took and he never looked out of his element or lost. He always appeared gracious and truly thankful with the fans at the shows. I caught him at the height of his powers in 1984, at a rather lower point in his career in the late Nineties, and once more in 2007 during his triumphant but ultimately final lap fronting Heaven And Hell. The man owned the show and held the fans in his palm. He never phoned it in. He never lost his touch. He never said "Fuck the fans" by not giving us what we wanted. No matter what year you saw him, you bought your ticket knowing you were gonna rock out to Heaven And Hell or Long Live Rock N Roll or Rainbow In The Dark or Last In Line.

He was all class. He is already sorely missed.

TOP TEN SONGS I CAN DIE HAPPILY WITHOUT EVER HEARING AGAIN....

Maybe it's just from going to see too many cover bands and lounge artists.


Maybe it's just from listening to the radio at work for too many years.


Maybe it's just from spending too many years slumped over in a booth at titty bars.

But I have got to say something.

To my musician friends, DJ friends, and my party friends.

We all love music. We all love to dance and rock out and get our party on.

But, for the love of God, please stop torturing me with your incessant requesting of, wasting your hard-earned jukebox money on, or drunken karaoke-ing the list of songs I am about to present to you.

The following songs MUST be put on some type of moratorium. You have officially played these bitches out.

In order:

10.Closer (Nine Inch Nails)-- this entry may just apply to strippers. It was really cool and edgy when you would grind to this in 1994. Now you might as well play "Tequila" for me and dance like Pee Wee Herman. I can't dig on this one anymore. I apologize to all those desperate Goth girls in their forties reading this. I hope this won't depress you more.



9.Sweet Home Alabama (Lynyrd Skynyrd)-- I honestly love Skynyrd a lot more than I let on but, seriously, if I get trapped in one more Coyote Ugly vibe bar surrounded by goofy sloppy bitches with cowboy hats on, it's gonna be Dukes Of Hazzard meets Columbine up in this motherfucker!!! PS. To that drunk guy who can't hold his Heineken, the "Play Some Skynyrd" line you love to yell out died on the plane with them in 77.



(Although I gotta admit, Billy Powell's piano solo at the end rocks..)



8. Enter Sandman (Metallica)-- I am primarily just burnt out on The Black Album entirely. Plus, I can think of so many other Metallica songs that will never get old (Creeping Death, The Thing That Should Not Be) that I just have a hard time fathoming why so many people insist on shoving this one down my throat after nearly twenty years.



7. Love Shack (B52s)-- Maybe I've wasted too many hours of my life at karaoke bars and parties and this song has got to be the reason why I stopped. Drunk girls who can't handle their Long Island Iced Teas have really made me violently ill when I hear this one nowadays.



6. Summer Nights (Grease Soundtrack)-- see "Love Shack".



5. You Shook Me All Night Long (AC/DC)-- I, like 30 million other people, played Back In Black so often I had to replace the LP, cassette and CD. But, I just wish I could live in a world where I didn't have to hear this song from a band or a jukebox when I go out.



4. Pour Some Sugar On Me (Def Leppard)--Unlike You Shook Me All Night Long, I don't think I ever liked this song. Hearing it regularly in the year 2010 has not endeared it to me yet. I actually would rather go driving with Def Leppard's drummer behind the wheel.



3. Don't Stop Believin' (Journey)-- the sudden resurgence of this song just makes me more irritated with the Sopranos finale every time I hear it, which lately is too often.



2. Sweet Child O Mine (Guns N Roses)-- like the AC/DC story, I wore out my copies of the Appetite For Destruction album when it first dropped. I just noticed now that I have heard this song so many times I realize it's way too fucking long. I mean it just seems to take forever to end. And again, with the passage of time, I don't know why everyone climbed on to this song and not Nighttrain or Used To Love Her, but then I can't explain why people watch Two And A Half Men, either.



1. You Give Love A Bad Name (Bon Jovi)-- Please. I can't even feel dread or pain or anything when I hear this one anymore. It's just reached such an apex of crappiness for me it defies explanation.



I need to go take a long relaxing bath now. This list just made me feel really douchey.

THE RUNAWAYS

A couple weeks ago, I got to catch the long-awaited (for me, anyway) biopic on The Runaways, the seminal female punk band who knocked over some very big doors in the late Seventies to little or no acclaim or wealth during their time.

The band, which consisted of Cherie Currie on vocals, Joan Jett and Lita Ford on guitars, Jackie Fox on bass and Sandy West on drums. All the members were in their mid to late teens in 1975 when they were assembled by Kim Fowley, one of rock music's most colorful and bizarre songwriter/producer/mogul types. None of these girls had ever played music for very long, and the movie shows the struggles they faced writing songs, performing them, and getting any interest or respect from their peers.

The Runaways recorded several albums and toured The U.S. and Japan for several years, with just minor success along the way, but nothing to cement their status enough to insure a very bright future. On top of that, the movie shows that they were not managed very well by Fowley, who was extremely abusive and manipulative towards them, and because of their youth and lack of experience, the girls were not emotionally prepared for the lifestyle that comes with being in a rock and roll band.

The movie marks the writing and feature film debut of Floria Sigismondi, who has directed some remarkable videos for the likes of Marilyn Manson and The Cure. The visuals are stunning at times and there was an intangible Seventies feel captured in this movie. I also greatly enjoyed the placement of the music, particularly The Stooges "I Wanna Be Your Dog" and David Bowie's "Lady Grinning Soul".

My regret is that the script, Sigismondi's first, is just not that great. The lines are rather pedestrian, as is the pacing of the events. I also was unhappy with its portrayal of Cherie Currie, whose biography the script was derived from. Although Dakota Fanning did a fine job in her acting, Cherie's character just comes off as rather emotionless and dull. Kristen Stewart did slightly better as Joan Jett, surprising when you consider that Stewart has based an entire career on playing dull and flat characters. The real star of this film is Michael Shannon as Fowley. He is psychotic, flamboyant and every bit as manic as I imagined the real man to be, and I actually regret this movie was not about his life instead.

I won't place The Runaways up there with the truly inspirational Music Biopics like Walk The Line or The Buddy Holly Story. Hell, I didn't even think it was as good as Ray or The Doors, unfortunately. It won't leave you with any newfound appreciation for the band members and their struggles, but if you want to feel like you are back in the late 70s for an hour and a half but can't stomach the thought of watching KISS Meets The Phantom for the 132nd time, give this one a try.





PS. This movie did reaffirm my appreciation for Suzi Quatro. She was a real badass and WAY ahead of her time.

THE FUNNIEST VIDEO I HAVE EVER SEEN

Finally, the Slaytanic overtones of Sesame Street are revealed....

WHEN BAD VIDEOS HAPPEN TO GOOD BANDS VOL. II

The first and most obvious video. Should have been renamed How To Kill Your Career In Five Minutes. I'm still not entirely sure if Billy ever officially came out of the closet. He seems to be in that ambiguously gay grey area (AKA Kevin Spacey's Basement) but whoa, man, was this ever an awkward sight for hetero rocker dudes in 1984.



Call me crazy, but I still think Freddie Mercury came off straighter than Billy Squier in that last video. Regardless, this video (and the song) is just abominable. The album MIRACLE is actually pretty good in spite of this audio hemhorroid. I swear to God this song reminds me of the Ghostbusters theme....



I tend to have a love-hate thing with Journey. Some days I think I want to find Steve Perry and kill him with my bare hands. But on other days I remember my girlfriend's funny anecdotes about him babysitting her in Hawaii and I let him live. But, at the risk of sounding like an old queen on the red carpet, what the fuck is the deal with a tuxedo jacket and blue jeans??? And if that's not funny enough, get a good look at Randy Jackson on bass and Cameo Afro. I need to get my samurai sword autographed by him some day....

WHAT YEAR IS IT ANYWAY?

Confessions of a music geek: I'm a longtime fan of 70s progressive rock. It started with Rush. They were my gateway band. It moved along to Pink Floyd, Genesis and Yes, who at the time were the most musically insane band I had ever heard. Ten and twenty minutes of spiraling guitar parts, thunderous bass lines, bizarre percussion rhythms intertwining with lightning-fast keyboards that sounded impossible to reproduce with human hands; It had to have been sped up on tape, I used to tell myself.

Then, my better half turned me on to Emerson, Lake And Palmer, arguably the Mothership of over the top excess and pretentiousness in the Prog pantheon. I was not that familiar with their music outside of the radio hits like Lucky man and From The Beginning. From those songs alone, I never thought they were as outrageous as I was led to believe.

Boy, was I wrong.

Every ounce of crazy and pomposity I used to embrace with Yes and Rush, ELP had it in spades. This music was off the charts on the wacky-meter. I had never heard the kind of noises that Keith Emerson got out of his synthesizer before. I was floored by this tension in the musical interplay between these three guys who seemed determined to outdo each other for the sake of musical superiority, subtlety be damned.

Well, I got slightly re-energize my fascination with ELP last night when Emerson and Lake did "An Intimate Evening With.." at The Las Vegas Hilton showroom, in the same room where Elvis and Liberace once celebrated their excesses. Remarkably, in 2010, there is still an enthusiastic crowd for this lost aspect of rock history. To be fair, the audience was probably happy to be outside at all. I sensed that most of these people hadn't seen a live rock show since the Carter Administration.

In lieu of a fill-in drummer for absentee Carl Palmer (on the road with ASIA, whom I have also forgotten are still together), drum machine tracks were provided but should have been dumped altogether as they sometimes gave it a lounge feel it didn't need. But when Greg and Keith rolled out such gargantuan warships as "Tarkus" and "Rondo", that atmosphere of excess was back in full glory and I could not have been happier. The spectacle of hearing these insane keyboard parts at surprisingly high volumes in what is probably the most revered showroom in Vegas with about 500 out-of-place tourists who just wanted a comp show after dinner was even crazier than the music itself.

I am glad I got that little time travel out of my system. Of course, it should work out that my prog-rock nerd needs to be watered again this summer when Rush hit the road.

WHEN BAD VIDEOS HAPPEN TO GREAT BANDS

Nowadays, MTV is nothing more than a wasteland of soul-crushing reality television, but as recently as the late Nineties, it was by and large the most powerful tool of promotion the music industry had.

Back when there was a thriving music industry.

There were some truly great artists who benefited tremendously from the constant exposure on MTV. Prince, The Police, Peter Gabriel and Talking Heads are among many that made the video art form a thing of wonder in the 80s and 90s.

And then there is the sad case of great bands who just made bad video after bad video for years, some altering their image forever, some only through the late 90s when the art form evaporated altogether.

It kills me to put his together because I LOOOOOVE a lot of these people and even the songs included here..but the visuals??.. OY!!!

Ladies and Gentlemen, for your viewing displeasure, I begin with the hottest band in the world (except maybe for Great White in Rhode Island) KISS!!!

You wanted the best, you got this band instead....

Where to begin? The dishwashing gloves? The clothes? Gene's hair (or lack of it)? The hand gestures? The shower head? I could dissect the problems with this one like I was cutting open the shark in JAWS.....


The second entry is just painful to me beyond words. It's one of the best bands of all time performing one of the worst songs they have ever written for one of the worst movies ever made. This is actually the first of several really bad videos they got sucked into doing during the 80s. Don't say I didn't warn you.



The Ramones were one of the most intense live bands of all time. I really wish they just shot concert footage and aired that instead of mistakes like this one.



Oh God, this one just hurts all over. This Judas Priest video is also a horrible song (at least this version, anyway) used to coincide with another horrible movie. I wish I knew what coked-out Columbia executive gave this the green light. This piece of shit was a career low for Uma Thurman and Robert Downey Jr. but also a career peak for Anthony Michael Hall.



Well, I am sure I will find more to post but to be honest, after having to sift through the shit stink left from these, I'm gonna need a shower and a high colonic first.

Stay tuned. You've been warned.

TIME WON'T LET ME.....

I have not touched this page in over 90 days.

I sincerely apologize.

I am working full time and finishing college part time, not to mention various doctor's appointments, prior commitments, and helping a loved one quit smoking for good. I really miss doing this but as the classic Outsiders 60's song goes..."Time Won't Let Me".

So, to eliminate this file that's been building in my brain, here is where I am going to pick up this fun-filled blog.

I have two book of the month selections.....









I SLEPT WITH JOEY RAMONE is a touching, heartfelt story by Joey's younger brother Mickey Leigh. It pulls no punches on the life and death of this brilliant but tortured punk rock pioneer. Joey was adored by millions and responsible for a brave new style of music but as far as living with him every day was concerned, he was a prisoner of obsessive compulsive disorder, fits of rage and flashes of love and loyalty to family and friends. The book also serves as an up-close account of the beginning of the punk rock revolution by the greatest American rock and roll band of the last 35 years.





WE'LL BE HERE THE REST OF OUR LIVES by Paul Shaffer is a funny and fast collection of anecdotes and observations from a guy who has worked with literally everyone in showbiz. Paul has an almost Gump-like story involving entertainment icons as diverse as Sinatra, Belushi, Phil Spector and, obviously David Letterman, among a hundred others. His love and passion for music and performing is well-told and even infectious upon reading. I highly recommend this to anyone who has had their lives changed by a song or a singer and dreamed of getting to tell that person what they mean to you. You get to live vicariously through his story. It's a gas and a giggle, babe.....


Thanks for caring enough to read my page again. Please stay tuned for more....