Monday, April 6, 2009
The Who
It's pretty belated, but I recently fell in love with The Who. Maybe its a generational thing. In high school everyone wore Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin 197-whatever tour t-shirts but it was more about the persona and finding something to match your Birkenstocks.
These YouTube videos have rocked my world. This is before the "industry of cool." This is a rock n' roll to call your own. Now that I think about it, no one wore The Who on their clothes in high school.
Maybe that extra-fried "hippie" had one lost, behind his bed frame collecting dust with a bunch of empty Cheetos bags.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Ultra-Everything
The Bronx at Mess With Texas Three. You can see a bunch of us El Paso droogs moving around and causing some ultra violence.
The Bronx at Emos during SXSW. I'm the guy with the blue shirt and the shoes in the air are mine. RIP Sperry's.
The Bloody Beetroots are coming and you should go. A nice place to find a devotchka of your own.
And I'm reading A Clockwork Orange. The introduction by Burgess helps to bring everything in a clockwork motion, making you very empathetic. Alex is another Holden Coffield.
Monday, March 23, 2009
The Bronx The Black Lips: show reviews at sxsw
The Bronx at inside Emos Wednesday at the Brooklyn Vegan show during SXSW.
It was the first day of SXSW. We caught a free showcase outside Emos with bands we didn't care for-it was mostly admiring the high-rise denim revival and how band members resembled our friends-and free Lonestar. We were just killing time before The Bronx played across the street. As time grew closer we entered Emos. We stayed in the patio waiting some more, buying beers, talking to the band like a little school girl fan, and catching up with other South By veterans. We downed the last beer and went inside to wait. I began to get nervous. Like waiting for a car crash to happen in a busy intersection. The drunks in the crowd shared their enthusiasm for what was to happen. Still nervous. They finally got on stage. They began with Stop the Bleeding. Twenty seconds in I lost my voice and I was exhausted like I had jogged miles wearing cement shoes but I kept. I was kicking, shoving, hip dancing, yelping whatever choruses and verses I could afford from my leathery chords, and falling endless times. The Bronx played favorites of mine like Heart Attack American from The Bronx I and Shitty Future from II. I was wearing my boat shoes and I lost them quick. Didn't matter much. Boots and sneakers were stomping my red hot socks the remainder of the show. Friends told me they would come across one or the pair throughout the show and tried to salvage them but it was useless in the chaos. At one point I found them but I just threw them on stage. Quite stupid now that I can look back. A thirty minute set left me smelling like a dumpster. Exhausted and fulfilled. It hurts to cough and laugh. I bruised like a fruit. A friend says I need more vitamin C in my diet.
The Black Lips at Mess With Texas 3 Saturday
It was the last set of Mess With Texas 3, the sun setting down. Absorbed in the large crowd, all of them sweatied and bruised from the Circle Jerks moments prior, I joined them waited for the Black Lips to start. I slowly moved to the front finding crevices in the crowd. I could see the band get ready: awesome short shorts, gold teeth, and Pilgrim attire. My allotted space became few and I knew the crowd would be a wave and we would all be falling atop each other side to side and back and forth for the entirety. The back of the stage was filled with scenester girls wearing whatever fashion ads filled the latest Nylon. They weren't into punk music but all their subscribed blogs did so there they were. The shit finally started, mostly new songs from the latest release, 200 million thousand. I was stoked and howling. I was manhandled and shoved around till I made my debut at the front of the stage. Our favorite songs from Good Bad Not Evil were done along with others hidden in the rough. I sang what I could, trying to keep my arms intact and my feet on the stiff ground, praying I wouldn't lose my last pair of shoes, my Vans, the key word is slip. Sweat pouring and bodies converging endlessly like Mexican jumping beans on acid. My recent stick n' poke was rubbing on sweaty coarse bodies causing that unbearable static on the flesh. King Kahn came out and did a song with the Lips. I raised an arms out when I could; though cautious, I didn't want it to come off in the tempest. It was two hells, maybe mirrored reflections, everyone singing, smiling, having a buck of a time. Girls bras were thrown on stage, I counted three. At one point and to paraphrase, they said on the mic, Jesus fed 5000 people. We can do better. Out came bags of McDonalds filled with dollar burgers. And how they flew! Wrappers and cheese fell like confetti on the crowd. I got a piece of bread in my mouth. The patties that made their return to the stage were pitched back to the crowd with the backs of their guitars, a fast food minor league game. My bruises doubled and I again smelled something fierce and maddened. After the last pattie took flight and every song and bead of sweat was exerted the Lips finished their set. Everyone gave their thanks and we dissipated to our caves before the second round at night.
It was the first day of SXSW. We caught a free showcase outside Emos with bands we didn't care for-it was mostly admiring the high-rise denim revival and how band members resembled our friends-and free Lonestar. We were just killing time before The Bronx played across the street. As time grew closer we entered Emos. We stayed in the patio waiting some more, buying beers, talking to the band like a little school girl fan, and catching up with other South By veterans. We downed the last beer and went inside to wait. I began to get nervous. Like waiting for a car crash to happen in a busy intersection. The drunks in the crowd shared their enthusiasm for what was to happen. Still nervous. They finally got on stage. They began with Stop the Bleeding. Twenty seconds in I lost my voice and I was exhausted like I had jogged miles wearing cement shoes but I kept. I was kicking, shoving, hip dancing, yelping whatever choruses and verses I could afford from my leathery chords, and falling endless times. The Bronx played favorites of mine like Heart Attack American from The Bronx I and Shitty Future from II. I was wearing my boat shoes and I lost them quick. Didn't matter much. Boots and sneakers were stomping my red hot socks the remainder of the show. Friends told me they would come across one or the pair throughout the show and tried to salvage them but it was useless in the chaos. At one point I found them but I just threw them on stage. Quite stupid now that I can look back. A thirty minute set left me smelling like a dumpster. Exhausted and fulfilled. It hurts to cough and laugh. I bruised like a fruit. A friend says I need more vitamin C in my diet.
The Black Lips at Mess With Texas 3 Saturday
It was the last set of Mess With Texas 3, the sun setting down. Absorbed in the large crowd, all of them sweatied and bruised from the Circle Jerks moments prior, I joined them waited for the Black Lips to start. I slowly moved to the front finding crevices in the crowd. I could see the band get ready: awesome short shorts, gold teeth, and Pilgrim attire. My allotted space became few and I knew the crowd would be a wave and we would all be falling atop each other side to side and back and forth for the entirety. The back of the stage was filled with scenester girls wearing whatever fashion ads filled the latest Nylon. They weren't into punk music but all their subscribed blogs did so there they were. The shit finally started, mostly new songs from the latest release, 200 million thousand. I was stoked and howling. I was manhandled and shoved around till I made my debut at the front of the stage. Our favorite songs from Good Bad Not Evil were done along with others hidden in the rough. I sang what I could, trying to keep my arms intact and my feet on the stiff ground, praying I wouldn't lose my last pair of shoes, my Vans, the key word is slip. Sweat pouring and bodies converging endlessly like Mexican jumping beans on acid. My recent stick n' poke was rubbing on sweaty coarse bodies causing that unbearable static on the flesh. King Kahn came out and did a song with the Lips. I raised an arms out when I could; though cautious, I didn't want it to come off in the tempest. It was two hells, maybe mirrored reflections, everyone singing, smiling, having a buck of a time. Girls bras were thrown on stage, I counted three. At one point and to paraphrase, they said on the mic, Jesus fed 5000 people. We can do better. Out came bags of McDonalds filled with dollar burgers. And how they flew! Wrappers and cheese fell like confetti on the crowd. I got a piece of bread in my mouth. The patties that made their return to the stage were pitched back to the crowd with the backs of their guitars, a fast food minor league game. My bruises doubled and I again smelled something fierce and maddened. After the last pattie took flight and every song and bead of sweat was exerted the Lips finished their set. Everyone gave their thanks and we dissipated to our caves before the second round at night.
Monday, February 9, 2009
February called in sick
I have no camera, digital or otherwise. I probably won't get one till late in the year when I'm working out of El Paso. So I want to compensate this blog, my only voice online with other stuff and stealing friends' pictures. Yesterday I fell off my bicycle. I took a, lets say, hour and one half ride to clear my mind. I intended it to be short, but alas, all my questions and dilemmas weren't making themselves clear so the ride continued. Applying too much pressure on your brakes will make your bicycle fly forward, and you're invited for the fall.
Raise your hand if you love Crayola. I've rekindled my love for the brand recently.
I'm close to writing thirty journals. The stories and poems are getting longer and less creative, the caricatures are getting uglier, and I never seem to find myself emotionally.
This is late in my life but I'm a recently converted sock enthusiast. So my Mom buys me socks and underwear, 'cause I'd be lost in that aisle if I had to choose, and she finally goes beyond the realm of plain white and gets me some baller-status, I'm getting buck tonight, socks. Fuck yeah, and thank you, Mom.
One morning before I ultimately decided to ditch my volunteer work, I was listening to Flosstradamus and got the idea to get a diamond tattoo. My brother drew up a diamond and I got it hours later. Having no camera, I drew up its location on my arm. If you've seen my Texas tattoo, then you know its placement. Its scabbing right now which is an awesome and tedious experience.
Raves are the new Korn concert here in El Paso, Texas. Its the perfect excuse for e-talking on a Friday night. El Paso is getting buck this year with the rave and electro and dance and techno and house and whatever you call the noise that asshole with the laptop is making scene. With the drug war in Juarez all the DJs are coming instead to El Paso. Great news for us. An upcoming show we should all attend is The Bloody Beetroots. They play April 17th at 69, the night before their Coachella appearance. This video is a nice teaser to their show. Granted they look like and probably are rock star assholes, but you don't have to talk to them. Just roll and touch yourself. I did that one time. Awesome.
Raise your hand if you love Crayola. I've rekindled my love for the brand recently.
I'm close to writing thirty journals. The stories and poems are getting longer and less creative, the caricatures are getting uglier, and I never seem to find myself emotionally.
This is late in my life but I'm a recently converted sock enthusiast. So my Mom buys me socks and underwear, 'cause I'd be lost in that aisle if I had to choose, and she finally goes beyond the realm of plain white and gets me some baller-status, I'm getting buck tonight, socks. Fuck yeah, and thank you, Mom.
One morning before I ultimately decided to ditch my volunteer work, I was listening to Flosstradamus and got the idea to get a diamond tattoo. My brother drew up a diamond and I got it hours later. Having no camera, I drew up its location on my arm. If you've seen my Texas tattoo, then you know its placement. Its scabbing right now which is an awesome and tedious experience.
Raves are the new Korn concert here in El Paso, Texas. Its the perfect excuse for e-talking on a Friday night. El Paso is getting buck this year with the rave and electro and dance and techno and house and whatever you call the noise that asshole with the laptop is making scene. With the drug war in Juarez all the DJs are coming instead to El Paso. Great news for us. An upcoming show we should all attend is The Bloody Beetroots. They play April 17th at 69, the night before their Coachella appearance. This video is a nice teaser to their show. Granted they look like and probably are rock star assholes, but you don't have to talk to them. Just roll and touch yourself. I did that one time. Awesome.
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