The other day Black Nathan called me up to give me some good news. It seemed that Rock of Love (sweet fucking christ if you're not watching this skanktastic train wreck of plastic surgeon enhanced daddy issues what the fuck is wrong with you?) would continue past this third season but with Glenn Danzig. They would re-title the show Rock of Love:Brides of Satan and goddamn if I wasn't giddy if not entirely skeptical. Of course, a 2 second research session later I found out it was just some bullshit a random kid posted on the VH1 messageboards. No big deal, but still a loss for all of us. When you think about it, of course it had to be fake. I mean, how many chicks under three feet that are into metal could they round up to act like they wanna fuck Danzig? You can't really have the ladies slut it up when they are barred from sporting the clear heels.
If, for some divine reason, the producers of Rock of Love decide to take this little idea with any sort of seriousness (really, what the fuck is Danzig doing aside from trying to find funding for his sure to be shit horror movie?) let me add some suggestions for the potential challenges on the show:
Who Can Produce the Best Fake Southern Accent Despite Being Born in New Jersey
Chicken Sacrificing Judged on Speed, Ease AND the Amount of Blood That Can Be Slathered Over Pert Titties
The Cramps have long been one of my favorite bands. From the first moment I heard them (it might have been Return of the Living Dead or Near Dark or one of the myriad punk compilations I ravenously consumed in my pre-teen years...shit I think the first exposure of any sort I had to 'em was a poster on Christian Slater's wall in Gleaming the Cube), I was blown away. My parents were a unified front in never allowing me to purchase any of their tapes or discs when they took me to the record store but I made damn sure to head back out on my own, purchase and then hide those treasures well.
My column in the Daily Cougar, Stay Sick, was named after the first Cramps album I purchased and from them I learned to appreciate a lot of early rockabilly and country classics I might not have discovered otherwise. Those Songs We Taught the Cramps compilations you can find contain a wealth of awesome music to dig on. And even though they would be credited with the genre "psychobilly" Lux and Co. never felt that label truly described their music. However, they sure as shit set a standard all the slap-bass AFI wanna-be's will never near.
Live...they were always ferocious with Lux leading the way. The last time I saw the band perform he seemed to have never lost a step. Like a chicken-fried, high-heeled maniac he strut across the stage, fellating and draining multiple bottles of wine (note: this almost exact description which ran in my review is now you cannot use the term "fellate" at the Daily Cougar) while making you feel lethargic even though you were ragin' like no tomorrow.
To Poison Ivy, Lux's friends, family and fans, Please Kill Yourself offers their collective condolences.
Jesus titty fucking christ who put the benny's in Bruce's water before the Haltime Show? I kept expecting him to dislocate a hip or eat it face first after jumping on the piano. But, man, that crotch slide into the camera? What in the fuck was he thinking. I'm sure the guy on the recieving end of the Boss' goods is gonna be suing for getting tea bagged on national television even though you couldn't see the actual event taking place.
The guy interviewing Damian is an annoying little douche. That said, he is proclaiming The Chemistry of Common Life the best album of '08 and the "most fully realized punk CD in years" (whatever the fuck that means) and the fact that he is doing that on Fox News means he will escape my ire...for now. He gets props for also not calling them "Effed Up." Aren't we all old enough to know they're just saying FUCK anyways?
Please somebody tip Bill O'Reily off to this interview so he can get all "culture warrior" on the band.
I don't know why the laziest members of bands (at least currently) have the least amount to do. I'm talking about this new pretentious dance trend going on and how the synth/keyboard players are the ones with the least to do and seemingly showing the least interest while on stage. What the fuck?
Friday I met up with Dead and his boyfriend at some indie-dance show and was pretty shocked at the sheer dullness going on at stage left. Picture this: some chick with a ridiculous hipster hair-do that when tossed just so can either look like a fashion mullet or emo obsessed style. Either way, she is trying way too hard to be cool. Add to that the heroin chic body along with some overpriced faux-vintage re-sale dress and a constant look of utter disdain for what she was doing and you have your typical synth/keyboard player sucking the life out of whatever energy the front of her band is striving to relay to the not drunk enough audience. Pretty lame, right? Well at least I fucking think so.
This whole sect of the non-mainstream, as my brother would describe it, the "indie-dance hipster scene" and their bands are built upon the person with the mic with commanding stage presence and nothing else. None of the bands that are heralded (Crystal Castles, Muscles, shit even Le Tigre) succeed live without a compelling presence at center stage. And it is that minor requirement that has allowed this scene to flourish so vibrantly. While a few of the bands that have spawned off countless, boring drones (Le Tigre, The Gossip before the went disco) have actual merit to their work most simply are there just to tour and derive an inflated ego from a false belief that they have imparted some art or insight on the audience. Last night was no different. Sorry, they were just there to dance.
Von Iva were a fun live band simply because of their singer. She was sexy, had a terrific voice and worked the crowd into a frenzy but when you stripped the music of how it plays in a live setting, you're left with a CD you'd be pissed you spent your last fiver on over a beer at midnight. And the fact that they mined the primal, so base your stroke victim granny could've beat that shit into the ground drum beat for EVERY SONG made the initial lustre cast upon the group fade faster than the sheen on dogshit roasting on the sidewalk. The point is, most of these bands aren't even part of a passing fad. They are endemic of a party culture that is as throw away as the 80's Brit-pop spike. Good for MAYBE a single but on the whole just fun for a night.
Sorry to get distracted with some music Nazism but the main crux of this rant was to be about the synth/keyboard players. First off, they're not really musicians. They just cue up whatever fucking track was pre-programmed in the pre-tour practice sessions and then strain to slightly press on one of their Hammond programmed keys. If they actually helped to compose the beats (which are mainly stolen), and work around that to deliver something unique it could be forgiven. But, that ain't the case. So, what you get is random ass hipster #1 who evokes the height of this years fashion trend and can capably not get too piss drunk before a performance to pretend like she/he ( is doing something that matters.
Now, I am no insisting you get these plebeians to actually contribute to the band because their lack of skill and talent will surely wreck your 15 minute career. I just ask they act like they are fucking rocking while monitoring the tempo changes.
Exhibit FUCKING A:
This is Dragonforce. At no time should a metal band employ a keyboardist. I can delve into that statement another time but for now you're just gonna have to trust me. These D & D lovin' lads didn't but let's take a look at the result: Dragonforce - Through The Fire And Flames
Did you see that shit? He is easily the most useless member of that band and he obviously knows it. How can I tell? Because the son of a bitch is head banging harder than any of the dudes shredding scales. And that is exactly what he should be doing. This bull with tits knows that he is within an inch of his life with the band and if he just goes all Viv Savage he won't get his Rock Band residuals anymore. Maybe this is an extreme example because he is a superfluous member of the band who actually has something to lose but I think you get the point. If this cat can go the fuck off all of the pilled out hipster cunts whose instrumentation is nothing more than pressing a button can certainly liven things up on stage. And if that is too difficult, just give up. At life.
For fucks sakes I've seen record player player's (aka DJ's) with more enthusiasm.
Sorry this is a few days late but I've actually been social this week. Ron Asheton was a fucking phenomenal guitarist. And for you writing purists out there who are saying, "Hey, man! You can't make a fucking statement like that without qualifying it and going on for paragraphs specifically describing how he was, "phenomenal!" FUNHOUSE. There. One word, one album title. THAT should shut you the fuck up. And if it doesn't? Well, shit! I'm glad I wasn't born with your puny ears or that Evander Holyfield brain you are sportin' right now, cockstain!
I know there are a lot of chunkheads out their that like to blow guys who can shred scales with one hand (and yet the Ventures never cross their mind and Dick Dale is only forced upon their guitarist worship vernacular because of Pulp Fiction) who will bitch about that statement. So, go and fuck yourself with a Freddy Krueger glove. Maybe innovating an instrument and its sound is more important than wanking off up and down the neck like it's your two inch cock? Yeah, I think so. Steve Vai can eat a bag of dicks. The Asheton brilliance comes from the utterly primal, ID-induced, caveman-like nature of his guitar riffs. And I can think of no better example of his scuzzed out sonic assault on the senses than this tune. R.I.P., brother.
Maybe, there will be some new shit posted. I'm working on a couple of things right now (and plotting a PRINT return of Please Kill Yourself) but this is probably how I will be spending my week of vacation. Sorry, I go off.
The other day Black Nathan called me up to give me some good news. It seemed that Rock of Love (sweet fucking christ if you're not watching this skanktastic train wreck of plastic surgeon enhanced daddy issues what the fuck is wrong with you?) would continue past this third season but with Glenn Danzig. They would re-title the show Rock of Love:Brides of Satan and goddamn if I wasn't giddy if not entirely skeptical. Of course, a 2 second research session later I found out it was just some bullshit a random kid posted on the VH1 messageboards. No big deal, but still a loss for all of us. When you think about it, of course it had to be fake. I mean, how many chicks under three feet that are into metal could they round up to act like they wanna fuck Danzig? You can't really have the ladies slut it up when they are barred from sporting the clear heels. 
