I'M BATMAN

New Seasons

I woke up Monday morning, clinching my big chair-arm shaped pillow* like it were a person, and not wanting to go to work. Of course, I had to, but not before I realized my keys was misplaced. So I pitched a fit, stole my neighbor’s Land Rover, and drove it off the side of 75/85, just a mere 1 exit before 10^th street.

*2 different people told me that thosethings are called “husbands” or “boyfriends” respectively. I have mixed (BUT NOT INTOLERANT) feelings.

I didn’t do that. I asked a roommate to drop me off. This kind of thing is all too common on Monday mornings. I blame it on Breaking Bad and HBO. Never have I been so engrossed in several hours of TV in my life, exceptfor the first few seasons of Lost, to whichI look back on enormous distain, like I would of a bad sexual decision.

Last Sunday’s Breaking Bad was incredible. I’ve had many conversations with my Dad about how this show has been built so that you expect ANYTHING. At one point I would have put a couple twenties on the idea of Walt leaving the show for the last of this season and most of next, only to return as a badass head of a cartel. Then at one point I felt Hank’s death was due very, very soon. That’s not entirely out of the question right now, but I was more confident a few episodes ago. Nevertheless, that showdown between Walt and Jesse in Walt’s house was so aesthetically stressful for me; I had a hard time watching. Well done.

There is nothing more to say about Breaking Bad that Alan Sepinwall doesn’t say every week on his genius BB column over at Hit Fix. Check it out.

Sunday night was also the premier of HBO’s How to Make it in America and Hung. Hung is an interesting show. The first couple of season have been mildly amusing, in that HBCO way. You know, that hmm-that’s-clever and oh-there-are-the-boobs HBO thing. Entourage is the best example. Total fratboy humor, using f-bombs and off-the-cuff insults to create the illusion of comedy. And Hung was different, in the sense that it deals with older characters. But unlike Entourage where the promise of nudity was coveted, it’s in the premise of Hung to deliver it every episode. And it does, I suppose, but I mean, that makes it all the more fleeting. Hung had a chance to be a genuine character piece, but now that Ray (Tom Jane) has accepted that yes, he is a prostitute and that’s what he does, I feel like the show has lost a tad bit of steam. The season 3 premiere was a little desperate – but perhaps that’s its aim. Tanya is incredibly annoying, she always has been. But there is a loveable aspect to her bipolar insecurities, and that makes her presence forgivable. Not entirely on the other h

and, Lenore continues to be a purposely self-serving bitch, one who’s motives are clearly only geared to draw the viewer’s hatred. The entire 2^nd season painted her as being completely, enthusiastically evil. The back and forth chemistry of her and Tanya torturing one another is absolutely the best part of the show, and as of the premiere’s conclusion, it only makes sense of the direction this season is going to go: Lenore brings competition male hooker competition.

Hands down, I’ve always felt Hung would benefit from being an hour-long show, not a quick 30 minute attention grabber like Entourage or Showtime’s soul-sucking Californication. For a show that is not entirely a comedy, the dimensions that an extra half hour a week could bring would be welcome.

How to Make it in America, on the other hand, shouldn’t be taken as anything more than entertainment in the most Entourage way possible. The first season was short and sweet, leaning heavily on the buddies-forever chemistry of the two leads. And that’s it. Louis Gusman is always a badass, and his role as Rene really seems like one he’s having fun with. But that’s it. The cliffhangers of each episode in season one were cheap but fun enough to bring you back. But then suddenly they became what my roommate calls an “aww, shucks” ending. Those guys! Those craaazy guys! They sure were in a mess, huh? Everything’s cool. That’s it. The premiere of season 2 was in the same vein, and frankly after the Entourage series ending, I’m sick of that. So much has been blogged about the end of Vince and the guys, and how it sucked or was allowed to suck, but from someone who followed Entourage since high school, it was tough to see how the show didn’t mature along with my friends and I.

Life as we Know It

Hey Blog, man.

Been a while, my most humble apologies. Yesterday was a company-wide volunteer day. Yeah, I know. I've gone corporate. Sold out. Artistic integrity ceases to exist. Whatever cliches it may conjure, my company ended up sending me to the Center for Puppetry Arts, a place I haven't been since I was 8 years old.

I've never experienced nostalgic at this magnitude in my life. My memories of the Center were of a HUGE cavernous museum and stage--but now it was tiny. The Jim Henson exhibit is only one room, and the "puppets of the world" part wasn't near a maze of childhood nightmares like I remember it. Although it was pretty creepy.

That got me thinking. Perceptions of size obviously change as one grows, and maturity brings another element of approaching events. But what kind of environment would it take to synthesize how that museum felt when I was 8? I'm not talking about the size of everything, but what if it were possible to put all kinds of things in place, adjusted just right to match my maturity now, so that I still felt the magic and terror of a huge museum and puppet show?

Argh. I would probably be more disturbed by it than I was then.

Anyway, Jim Henson was a genius. The muppets have such long-term appeal, and much of it relies on the accessible humor. I can't wait for the new movie and hope Jason Segal brings them justice.

Mike Gordon and Big Sam

What goes through a musician's mind? How does Mike Gordon zone in on an extended improvisation then concentrate on an intricately composed section in the same song? How is it affected by playing in massive arenas with Phish, then moving to smaller clubs for a solo band show?

I don't want to interview, I want to BE Mike Gordon.


To some extent, the same goes for Big Sam's Funky Nation. I've seen him play with much bigger NOLA groups like Galactic, but his band gave a supercharged performance nonetheless. Life on the road. How does it feel? Whats the sleep reschedule like? Stuart Copeland wrote in his autobiography that it's on par with emerging from a cave each day and being in a new town, where the dressing rooms, stages, crowds and people all begin running together and the redundancy leaves much to be desired.

But man, to be on stage.

Big Sam's Funky Nation, Smiths Olde Bar, 3/31/11
Mike Gordon Band, Center Stage ATLANTA 3/19/11

"This is all new here, and it has been for some time."

To a packed out Variety Playhouse, Leo Kottke is the most enduring man anyone there has ever known. Hes the mischievous uncle and the highlight of a family reunion. Hes the enduring college friend that social circles quietly bicker over. He is also an amazing 6- and 12-string guitar player.

He's Bill Evens on guitar. Thats the only comparison I can think of. Evans technique sounded like he was taking a bucket of liquid and gently pouring it out all over the exposed core of a piano. Likewise Leo's playing is so smooth and natural, somewhere between the sound of running water and a fire hose. I can't put my finger on it.

But this night was a special one, too, besides Leo's charming attention deficit disorder or masterful playing. I met a father and son that graciously offered Suzy and I a seat next to them because they saw the Phish shirt I was wearing. They were both big fans, and quickly engaged me in a surprisingly extensive conversation on music in general. The son was an obviously socially-reluctant person; his remarks on Phish, BB King and other live acts were self-conscious and quiet - but he was obviously impressed that he could chat with someone who was very familiar with the subject. As he talked he began sweating profusely, something I didn't find alarming until he remarked that he was uncomfortable and had to leave.

"He won't admit it," his father said quite openly to me after the son had excused himself "but he's an amazing musician. Every instrument. He's a brilliant guy. Used to be into some bad stuff, drugs, and he has had some psychological problems in the past. But hes a brilliant guy.

He's awesome, I said. I'm glad somebody agrees that Phish's '95 New Years-eve version of Reba is one of the best ever.

"Yeah, he loves Phish. But he's a Baptist minister now, so he don't get to talk as much about it."

I was pretty surprised. I told him that I was raised Baptist too.

"Well, we all gotta be something, ain't it the truth?"

Strange. I still don't know why the son was sweating hard and why he got up. He never came back after he excuse himself a second time before Leo's encore. But for a moment while we were clapping, the father grabbed and told me something I have never gotten credit for in my life. He told me that it warmed his heart to see a young couple, Suzy and I, enjoying good music.

"It truly touches me. Its something I always prided myself with passing to my own son. Young people deserve to hear music like this. I mean that."

Thanks for Phish's Mike Gordon for introducing me to Leo Kottke and for Leo Kottke for introducing me to the man that gave me one of the most sincere and refreshing compliments I have have ever received.

Phish in Charleston voted Best of the Year

Charleston City Paper voted last year’s Phish 2-nighter at North Charleston Coliseum the best of the year. I couldn’t agree more.

The show was General Admission, which can be a good and bad thing for Phish show. Meaning more people on the floor = less elbow room and claustrophobia. But it also means you can catch the band and Chris K’s amazing light show from a different angle.

The crowd's energy was spectacular, from friendly people in the parking lot to everybody rushing out to wave the tour buses goodbye.

Atlanta: The Crowes Former Stomping Grounds

Back in June of last summer, I tapped out a letter to Black Crowes Drummer Steve Gorman about where the Crowes called home back when Atlanta was HQ, as part of the “Whats Wrong with Steve” feature on the official BC website. As a huge fan most of my life, I was surprised at how familiar I was with the areas he mentioned in his answer—-I’ve probably passed the house in Candler Park many times and have been a regular at Wax n’ Facts for years.

Read on for his amusing take on an Emory bar, the Pot Festival in Piedmont Park, and paying utilities with Chris Robinson.

June 2nd, 2010

Hey Steve,
I live in Atlanta, but didn’t move here till the beginning of this last decade. Even though it’s the Crowes’ former stomping grounds, I can find close to no remnants of you fellas here, save for a sticker of the old logo on a bathroom wall somewhere in Little 5 Points and a snapshot of a unenthusiastic Chris in the Silver Skillet on 14th street. Are there any landmarks of interesting Crowes history that I should be aware of? And please, if all possible, avoid playing at Chastain Park again. I got a bud who gets lost in the horse stables every time we go.

Alex in Atlanta

Alex

I am sure you’ve noticed that we’re playing the Tabernacle this time around. I can’t stand the thought of your friend suffering the indignity of another night spent lost in the stables, so I’ve taken action. You’re welcome.

As for remnants of us in our old stomping grounds, there are still a few to see if you know where to look.

Here are a few suggestions:

You can take the MARTA to Candler Park and see the house where Chris, Sven, our friend Clint, and I lived in 1987. When you get off the train, take the escalator down on the Candler Park side and walk in a straight line out of the parking lot. Cross the street and you’ll literally walk right into our old front door, at 292 Oakdale Road.

Mr. Crowes Garden (Chris, Rich, and some other dudes) and Mary My Hope (Sven, Clint, me, and another dude) both used the middle room of the house as a rehearsal space. I don’t think we mentioned to the landlord as we were moving in that we were planning to rehearse there, but you know how those things go. We packed about ten years of excitement into less than twelve actual months of living there.

Four people paid rent, $112.50 each per month, and about 10 other people crashed there on a regular basis.

Trust me that the house you see today bears little resemblance to the shit hole that we evacuated in the fall of ’87. Someone put a lot of time, money, and effort into turning that dump around, I assure you.

In those days, we hung out at the Dugout on Oxford Road in Emory Village. It was the best music club in town for a brief spell in the spring of ’87 but that era ended when the place got shut down for serving alcohol to minors. As the doorman of the establishment, I plead the 5th as to how that sort of thing might have happened. The Dugout is now, and has been for many years, a bookstore. If you go there, just picture me in the front doorway aggressively denying entry to each and every Emory frat boy that approached, while at the same time happily allowing any girl who looked at least 16 (fake ID complete with 1966 birthdate or not) to enter with a nonchalant wave of my hand.

You could swing by Wax n Facts in Little 5 Points, where I “worked” after the Dugout closed but more importantly, where Chris and I would regularly loiter for hours and hours arguing over which Nick Drake record was the best and strategizing about where we could find free beer on any given night.

Around the corner from there is the North High Ridge apartment complex, where Chris and I lived for about 6 months after the Oakdale house fell apart. In that time span, not one utility bill was paid on time or in full. Good times.

You can check out Piedmont Park, where we played the Pot Festival in 1992. That was a good day. We played on a stage at the bottom of the hill off of 10th Street, close to the Piedmont Avenue side. There were about six hundred million people there, or so it seemed, and I remember thinking very clearly during that show that we were pretty badass. I later lived in that neighborhood for five years and walked my dog there every day, so the park has a lot of great memories for me.

Finally (because if I don’t stop now, this answer will turn into a book and I am not planning on writing that until next year) you can go to the corner of Mount Paran Road and Jett Road in Northwest Atlanta. On the NW corner of this intersection, you’ll see the house that Chris bought after the first tour and where, in the garage, we put together the songs that became SHAMC.

Across the street, on the SE corner, you’ll find the house where, four years later, we recorded TSAOC. That’s another house we rented without telling the landlords what we were doing. To this day, I doubt seriously that whoever owns that house has any idea that an album was made there.

Okay, that’s enough of a jog down memory lane for today.

When you have checked these spots off your list, and paid proper homage at each, let me know and I’ll come up with some more.

SG

Valentines Day w/ Galactic

Galactic never, NEVER disappoints.

Its amazing how a group can stick to, and evolve, a singular brand, styling and sound yet have a near-nightly rotating cast of guest vocalists and musicians. Corey Glover from Living Colour may have been the best singer yet (just ahead of to Charli 2na or Cyril Neville IMO.)

One thing’s for sure, I’ve been able to turn this band onto more of my friends than anyone else. More than the Crowes (tix always too expensive) or Phish (too far away) or Claypool (too weird) or those guys at moe/tribe/cheese/keller/lotus/MMJ/umph that are always a lot of fun. Galactic just has a little for everybody.

And Corey Henry is the perfect frontman. Stay, Boe Money, please.

Footage of Galactic I shot at Tipitinas in NOLA last Halloween

Robert Plant’s new album Band of Joy sounds like a collection of Robert Plant tracks that didn’t meet the cut of Dreamland, the fantastic Mighty Rearranger, or even the near perfect Rising Sand with Allison K. That, and there is the faintest hint of desperation in trying to replicate the T Bone Burnett sound from the latter album. This might not be a fair observation, since both Dreamland and Rearranger established the hard-edge, psychedelic tribal blues style that Burnett softened (and improved) with the singer’s colaberation with Ms. Krauss. Band of Joy seems to contain tracks that could have been recorded during any one of the sessions, which wouldn’t be a bad thing if they were semi-consistent.

To his credit, Plant has a legacy rivaling Zeppelin. And deserving so. His voice has aged beautifully, and arguably better than any possible contemporary. Its easy to take for granted a voice as an instrument, one that can adapt a style and subsistence over time that can be expanded upon and still never perfected.

The Captain in Me

Logging tapes for TBS today in the Intern cubie and listening to a copy of the Doobie Bros’ 3rd album “The Captain and Me,” which everyone can grab for a measly $5 at that tattered Walmart CD bin outside the Valentines isle.

Its an interesting listen, one that reiterates the fact that the Doobies were never a consistent band when it comes to sound. Maybe that’s why their legacy isn’t as enormous as Skynyrd or the golden age Allmans or even Kansas. There is simply too much variety that sounds too much like other groups, as opposed to variety that adapts to a singular pace or sound or ownership.

Don’t get me wrong, this is some great music. Long Train Runnin’, China Grove and South City Midnight Lady are instant classics, and ones I will always keep on a best-of playlist on my ipod. Without You is a fantastic 5 mins, obviously born out of a damp amphitheater jam, with enough echo and swirl to conjure images of thousands of groggy festival-goers bobbing up and down to a mid-evening set on the 2nd or 3rd day of a hot weekend. Take a Listen

Funny, I’ve been playing air-piano to China Grove since 10th grade, but never new it was Bill Payne from Little Feat.

Blogspot

Well, unfortunately my old blog with all the old music stuff got pushed to the side when I switched over to blogspot. I was messing with the Old Azul Blog too, and Lucky I backed it all up on my little thumb. May get around to re-posting it someday. Some of it can be reached here.

Stay tuned, stay tall.