INTERVIEW X

Heya Pallys!  I am proud to announce the very first Hater X  interview. A quick thanks to the dirty Hippie at The 704.  Movin' on up!  Read it here.

H8 BITS

Heya Pallys!  I'd like to introduce you to the first installment of a segment I like to call.....H8 BITS, where you will find bite-sized assortments of concentrated yummy vitriol dedicated to numerous musical whipping-boys.  Lets begin, shall we????

-Helen Stellar!  These guys AGAIN?? They actually ended up calling their last album--"If the stars could speak they would have your voice," which in and of itself is hilarious!!!  BUT ... they were originally gonna call it "If the stars could speak they would have your voice - and it would say I love you."  Oh boy, oh boy!  Guys, you're in a rock band.......or, what some would  consider a rock band. Your wispy bangs and synthetic light show should get you laid.  There's no need for overcompensation.


-there ain't nothin hip about Cody the Band, but the dude knows how to write a song.  I'd say, good move dropping out of brother Jordan's Marvelous Toy lineup. Not that I have anything against Marvelous Toy.  On the contrary.  The Huddock brothers show that they've got chops and possible staying power in the east LA scene.......and if music doesn't work out for them, they've always got the option of long prosperous careers impersonating these two guys.


-I wanna poop in Princeton's collective mouth.   or as i like to call em, the Rocky Dennis Twins


-No Age might just be the most overrated band in Los Angeles.  Their new album is coming out and I hear its supposed to be their best one.  A game changer.  Not sure what that means, considering they're cemented into local LA lore as the main reason for The Smell uprising,  Colin Greenwood wears the band's shirt, and now they're opening for Pavement and Sonic Youth at the Hollywood Bowl.  Just between us.....do ya know who I'd rather see open up for those Slack Rock dinosaurs???  The Happy Hollows.  There, I said it.  That's a local band worth their salt......despite their penchant for sparkles and gnomes or whatever the hell they yelp on and on about!


-Wake Up Lucid is so bad that even that crusty ball-washer at The 704 actually trashed them.


-The opening song to Downtown/Union's newest release is one of my favorite songs, currently. But the entire EP is basically The Henry Clay People Part 7. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing.  But.....


-Speaking of the Henry Clay People.......I want to be a Siara brother.  In fact, I think I should be one by law, because I've figured it out!!!  I'm about to divulge to you their songwriting formula.  Are you ready?  Play the chords G, C, A and D in any sequential order, then write lyrics that always start with the word "WE" as to incorporate the listener and make him/her feel like they're a part of something universal yet bigger than themselves.  A parlor trick, it may be........but its one hell of an effective one!  While typing this I went online and bought a box of bandanas on Ebay that were once worn by this guy.  


-I would like to bid a fond farewell to the Partridge Redheads.  It saddens me that they all died. Must've been some sort of suicide pact.  How else could you explain their actions after their farewell show??  My sources tell me that they piled into a van promptly after their final LA set, blared Tom Petty's "Free Falling," and drove off a cliff.  And not to speak ill of the dead, but while we're on the subject of the Partridge Redheads and Tom Petty.... the highlight of any Parsons set was always a soporific cover of a subpar Tom Petty song. The remainder of their sets always consisted of soporific covers of subpar Tom Petty songs that Tom Petty never bothered to write.  


-The Parson Redheads were the most overrated band in Los Angeles.....before they all burned in a plummeting fiery death.

A PUZZLEMENT - PIZZA!

"Music is the brandy of the damned."  - George Bernard Shaw

A fitting way to begin the evening, my dear constituents.  Tonight, this specific line swirls around and around in my oversized noodle as I sit here with only my glass of Christian Brothers, my computing device and my unraveling memory to remind me of all that's gone by.  Don't for a moment assume that this path of mine is not a lonely one.  In the end, when you've exhausted both the majority of your years on this earth along with the graceful patience of others, you breathe your feeble rice-paper breath, raise your eyes from your frayed and tangled shoe-laces, and witness the open void on all sides of you (a void that exists within and without every one of us).  All that is left now is acceptance.  Bitter swill to swig on down.  But once every last drop is gone, there will be peace.

maybe.

Today we shall dig dig dig and dance on the skull-&-bone remains of blog-posts past!  One of our favorite purveyors of indie-nerditude, Classical Geek Theatre, will have his words refried and fed back to him in the form of a big ol' THIS IS WHY YOU'RE WRONG turd pie. And if you follow me regularly (and I sure hope you do), you will know that there shall be a third party musical whipping boy attached to all the fun.  Who is this whipping boy, you ask?? 


Pizza!

DOFF OF THE BOWLER

Now let me first start out by declaring that this band confounds me.  That is meant as both a knock and a compliment.  I had the miserable pleasure of catching one of their show's a little over a month ago, and I was unable to hate to the fullness of my ability.  Sitting in the back of that hole they call The Echo, i read the musical lineup posted on the wall and started salivating over the idea of destroying a band named Pizza!  How could they be anything but awful with a name like that?  Easy pickins, right!  

Then they started their set with a song called, "Be a man," and i will reluctantly admit that this old codger was impressed.  There was something playfully dangerous about them.  Their set of music was sarcastic, daring and full of surprising twists and turns.  As it went on, however, I began to doubt the sincerity of what I was witnessing.  I couldn't necessarily say exactly why, but after twenty minutes of watching their lead singer, Geoff Geiss, all I could wonder was if his trance-like proclamations were forced or truly inspired.  Despite the strong start, their set left me pondering whether or not I enjoyed what I'd just witnessed.  I felt equal parts rapture and nausea.  

SQUIRT OF THE FLOWER

Here's where CLASSICAL GEEK THEATRE and its creator make an entrance (Mr. Mouse will be known on this blog by one name only:  Scoop!  He looks like a Scoop, doesn't he?).  Now, our pally Scoop here seems to put Pizza! on his top ten pedestal of musical champions (right next to these Benedict Arnolds and these fakers).  Naturally I assumed that if anyone would have a lexicon of well thought out musings on this band, it would be Scoop.  Here are two statements that stood out:

 "They continue to evolve their deconstructions of punk, new wave, and post-punk. I used to think to myself “Pizza! is going to be a fucking mammoth once they figure out exactly what their sound is”. Now I understand: to find and commit to such a sound would be death."

Dear Scoop,
                   Dante places the non-committal, the neutral, and the undecided in a special region near the mouth of Hell; the lowest part.  A lake of ice.  For traitors (see Benedict Arnold above).

"They’re a really smart band, capable of catering their songs to the crowd.....a furious punk rock set....or shifting their sound into something purely post-punk and new wave."

Dear Scoop,

                    scanning the vast spectrum of popular music from punk to post-punk?  You're not allowed to describe them as versatile based on this limited criterion.  When you steal directly from bands that followed that arc organically, not as a tribute act, how tough then is it to follow suit?

Finding no help from our dear friend Scoop, I was forced to base my opinions on the one thing I had yet to sample.....the recorded music.  So I listened.  And listened.  Before I go any further, let me just tell you dear pally's, Geoff Geiss is smarter than you.  His musical knowledge is more vast, both historically and creatively, than yours.  He is extremely aware of himself and his surroundings.  He is precise and thoughtful with regard to musical arrangement and delivery.  And that's where I start to question him and his pack of no-goodniks!  There's a heavy smell of premeditated "we're-hip-because-we're-so-unhip-and-we-don't-care" all over the songs.  And the lyrics frustrate and enrage me.  It's as if Mr. Geiss acknowledges his surface imitation of David Byrne as being hollow, and so to compensate for the authenticity it lacks he steals lyrical stylings from Jonathan Richman, who unfortunately writes staggeringly dumb songs for profoundly slow children.  Here's a piece from Pizza's "Our Number One Sound."

The Book is about the
D-d-d-dance floor
From Genesis on down to Revelation

Our dope noize
Will be your salvation!

I can't decide if it's fucking genius or dire mental retardation that would inspire someone to write lyrics about the Tower of Babel in such a way that would make it seem as though English was, at best, his 3rd language.  Now call me an old coot who doesn't understand the subtle art of sarcasm and youthful sass!  Thats fine.  I'm not hip to the grooves of the kids these days.  I'll be first to admit.  But there's something to be said for songs with carefully crafted lyrical content.....both serious and satirical.  In my opinion, lyrics don't make a song, but they sure as hell can break one. 

THE LAST WORD

David Byrne and Jonathan Richman proudly wore their influences on their sleeves, but they couldn't help but reproduce those sounds in a manner all their own. They made something that hadn't existed before.  Partly because of their limited ability as musicians, and partly because they were not also imitating specific mannerisms from their predecessors. They ARE kinda twitchy and weird. They couldn't help that. When Mr. Geiss apes a specific cadence as well as the physical mannerisms of his favorite bands, he shows that he does his homework dutifully. But what is it exactly that's being added or altered or retooled into something with innovation or relevancy? Generally speaking, if you have a personality of your own, you don't need to incorporate someone else's quirks along with the substance of their aesthetic.  Pizza reeks of careful calculation.  Is that a bad thing?  I don't know.  Maybe not.  But it sure as hell pisses me off!  Maybe my biggest problem with these guys is that they make me feel old.  I was around when this kind of music popped up the first time.  Now all that being said, I still can't figure out what the flarn to think of these little Zygote bastards.   So until they can create and release some music that will allow my brain to decipher whether or not to love em or leave em, they will be my sworn musical enemy!!!  Take heed, Pizza!  Your days, like mine, are numbered!!

SAMPLE AND DOWNLOAD PIZZA'S MUSIC HERE

A PUZZLEMENT -- Helen Stellar

I am not blind to the paradox that exists in my purpose as your friendly neighborhood hate-spewing Old Codger.  While it is true that I have been sent up from the depths to drag down all the lofty mediocrity that shines so brightly and abundantly like tiny little turd-beacons on high, some argue that the mere effort exerted in such a negative exercise not only injects bad karmic energy into a world replete with vitriol, but that it also renders my hard work moot.  After all, by calling out a band on their awfulness, I am giving them press which may then raise the awareness of their existence.  And the only reply i can muster is this: consider my awareness-raising words a one-time-only gift to said band.  It's the least i can do, because what's coming next is not pleasant. Besides, someone has to speak up on this festering truth.  Because KCRW refuses to! What's that you ask??  What am I trying to gain by spreading such maliciousness so openly toward a group of gentlemen who don't deserve it?  The answer is sleep.  A good nights sleep.  And they do! They DO deserve to know! 

Today's source of Old Codger puzzlement?


Helen Stellar.


I will now beseech our dear Kevin Bronson (of the highly-respected, highly-touted Buzzbands to explain himself. Out of all the talented musical acts in this fair city of ours, why do you sport an especially-veiny Viagra Boner for these crumb-bums, dear Bronny? You have a keen ear for good tunes! You are the aural barometer of L.A. indie rock, and NEVER is this barometer fooled by inadequate schlock (these guys notwithstanding)!  And how about you, White Rabbit?  You didn't think I would let you off the hook, did ya pally?  Your tastes are seasoned, your palette respected.  Why do you praise a band that sounds like a shittier version of an already shitty these guys? Is Helen Stellar old dude music??  I can safely say the answer is NO!  I'm older than all you bastards! Is it the Dizzy Dame factor?? Oh those cursed Dizzy Dames who flock to Helen Stellar shows and fall hook-line-and-sinker for the band's chiseled features.....their neatly pressed rock wardrobe.......their milk-toast audio landscapes......their dazzling light show.....those lights that act as bile frosting smeared on the turd cupcakes that are their putrescent songs.  Let me assure you dear Bronson......dear Rabbit......it is pure folly to think that by championing these hacks, you will improve your chances of getting laid. You won't!  And even if your sex-by-proxy approach is merited, I can promise you that every single female Helen Stellar fan has this.

And what of the music, you ask?  What is there to say?  I'd usually be able to support a musical message of positivity, openness and love.  But the way these guys do it not only reeks of bullshit, but it makes me not want to love at all.  It makes me want to stab each and every band member in the neck with a pair of wasabi-stained chopsticks.  So I hate to break it to you boys, but your peacemaking has failed.  You inspire war and contempt within every person who doesn't want to sleep with you.  Kinda like this guy. 


Above all, I feel pity for you, dear Helen.  I feel pity because it seems to me like you're shooting toward the lofty goal of being bland, vanilla heartthrobs for people with bad taste worldwide, rather than just citywide. Think small.  Please!  And don't assume you're doing humanity a favor by reforming just because everyone, including Cameron Crowe, is afraid to tell you that you should have stayed dead.  And if you're going to have a name like Helen Stellar, for godssake, you better be either a crazy Math Rock outfit capable of making audiences feel deaf and dumb, OR a noise rock outfit capable of making audiences WISH they were deaf and dumb (bravo to you for achieving the latter with me, albeit in a different "non-noise-rock" manner)


THE LAST WORD
But there's still hope for you yet!  The next time you huddle around your pristine instruments  to jam, try writing musical progressions that don't sound like you're stealing sheet music from the garbage cans of these guys.   And maybe write some lyrics that don't sound like you're trying to cultivate adoration from a child for the sole purpose of humping his mother (see the song,"Joseph").  You are grown men with obvious musical ability.  Now go put that ability to good use for once.  I dare you to be daring.  It's not too late.

HIGH HAT RETORT - Mississippi Man

Hello Pally's!!  Oh what a day it’s been!  I must say, ever since my lug of a crum-bum-chum, Lord Growing, talked me into starting my own blog, I’ve been witnessing the world through the smog-misted goggles of renewed purpose and opportunity.  It’s a wonderful time to be alive!  From the looks and feel of my sagging skin and arthritic hair, my time on this earth may be short, but I'm going out swinging. And here we are, together for the first time, for the last time. It is with great anticipation and honor that I introduce to you a recurring segment I have dubbed, HIGH HAT RETORT, where your beloved X takes show and/or album reviews/opinions/musings written by other local bloggers and methodically points out all of the reasons why said review(er) is WRONG!  Oh, we’re cookin with gas now!  If you feel offended by the idea of me thrashing another’s opinion, well then now might be a perfect time for you to either get used to it or hit the silk!!!!!  That’s old codger code for SCRAM!

Speaking of old codger code, for those of you who were born later than 1952 (all of you), let me explain to you what a high hat is.  It is not a piece of drumming hardware.  Not here, at least.  Some would say it’s a person of high class or authority.  Others might call it a snub.  A good old fashioned back-alley-wise-guy-pork-pie punch in the gonads, if you will.  Lets begin, shall we?  SHALL WE?????

This morning I stumbled upon THE 704's review of the Mississippi Man show at 

The Troubadour this past Tuesday.  For the past year or two there's been a flurry of local internet buzz surrounding this SoCal Americana band.  And all of it has been glowingly positive.  And upon finding our dear Lord Growing's review, I silently prayed for his wrath to shower down on them like a plague of Locusts.  But of course, like everyone else, he fell in line with the Lemming masses and proceeded to poop in his own mouth whilst steadfastly praising their name.  Now that really snaps my cap!  Everyone needs a good psychological flogging now and again.  Keeps you real.  Keeps you honest. 

I shall admit, for the record, that this old so-and-so has been witness to the live musings of Mississippi Man 1 and 3/4 times in his 77 years of life. The first was over a year ago in one of Echo Parks many under-aged pee-stained art spaces.  They were quite impressive on that night, which kept me intrigued and curious.  Then I saw them a "1/4" time at the Echoplex for a gig they were supposed to play but mysteriously never showed up for, i assumed due to a severe hipster wardrobe malfunction. And the final "1/2" time i saw them was second hand, through words here.  Be aware, i am an avid reader of all the local (and some national) music blogs.....so even when I miss a show, I don't really miss a show.  In fact, why does anyone ever need to go to a show again, now that the 704 literally goes to every single one??  To the 704 I graciously say, GET A JOB HIPPIE!

A CRACK OF THE CANE:  Let me digress for a moment regarding the "1/2" show.  Is the rumor actually true?  Did these little piss-ants have the gall to poison the stage with their butt-smell after showing up late??  To a cancer benefit???  Wardrobe malfunctions are only excused once in my book.  If you forgot your custom belt buckles made out of safety harnesses and your fuddy-duddy back-o-the-head-only knit caps, press on dear sirs, press on!  And say it ain't so about the tasteless jokes!  Had I been there, I would have let loose my irritable bowels all over their keyboardists' precious Nord.

Now, back to the lecture at hand!  I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking to yourself, "old man, you're allowing outside experiences that have nothing to do with the actual music taint your view of these guys."  And to that i say, you aren't wrong.....this time.  I may be a vitriolic old coot, but  I'm an honest one.  Maybe I've let said events effect the way I feel about them.  But isn't it my right to, as an American citizen who served his country proudly under the command of Colonel Lewis Burwell "Chesty" Puller during the Green Beach invasion of Inchon?  The only way you are forgiven for any and all musical minutiae is if you happen to be this man, and let me assure you.....you are NOT!  So if you're gonna carry yourselves like a bunch of rock 'n roll bad-asses, you better be writing some amazing songs.  Songs, i might add, that don't sound like a B-sides collection by

these guys.  And despite the fact that they admittedly have a few tunes that impress this old son-of-a-gun, they don't have enough.  They are piggy-backing onto the second most annoying genre-fad thats been around since your parents discovered Wilco. (the #1 annoying genre-fad being the shitty lo-fi jangly surf rock thats got every blogger in the world buzzing out of their collective anuses).  Whats that you say??  There's nothing new under the sun?  To that I will gladly utter, GO WIPE YOUR ASS AND TAKE A NAP, YOU GENERATION "Y"  ZYGOTE HIPSTER BASTARD!!!! 

On a lighter note, here's a Mississippi Man tune I find quite fantastic.  

-X

Hell's Oven from Strange Fruit Music on Vimeo.

Dearest music enthusiasts and aspiring Lunk-head musicians the world over,

Welcome.

You don't know me, but you will.  Not as a recognizable face in the crowd, mind you.  My wild times getting flimm-flammed offa  hooch and struttin around like a butter and egg man amongst the dizzy dames on a regular basis are long past me. Now, I’m not saying that I completely refrain from gracing the local East Los Angeles music scene with my presence.  A Geezer's gotta stretch his limbs now and again.  But I am not cut from the same sturdy cloth as your other favorite local L.A. bloggers who grace various venues four and five times per week, oh no.  You will know me only through my words.  I shall wield the blunt spork of brute light for the good of musical humanity.  A healthy dose does a bully body good.  Growing up in the 30's and 40's taught me these things, mostly the hard way.  No free rides here.  All these Coney Island softies writing on their "blogs" have failed to understand how skirting around harsh reality for the sake of one’s feelings just gums up the works.  Disagree, do you?  Well, who asked ya?

So this is the beginning, dear readers.  The first of many. You shall find all sorts of odds and ends here, mostly regarding independent music, with a little variation thrown in from time to time.  Variation over moderation is what I always say, which is why I carry a flask o’ Hooch in every pocket on my person.  That, my pallies, is the key to long life.  That, and a tablespoon of Worcester sauce every evening before bedtime.  Keeps the Cancer and the Commies at bay.

To those of you who have navigated your way to me, I say sit back, relax, and enjoy blogging through the eyes of a 77 year old Korean War veteran who has slogged through a mile of bloody corpses during the Battle of Inchon in order to bring you a freshly new (old) perspective on the independent music scene in Los Angeles and beyond.  Let me extend my hand toward you in a gentlemanly manner. 

Now let me take my free hand and slap your crum-bum hipster face. 

Prepare Ye.