Stuff 'N' Nonsense

One More Day!

My next to last post for the NaBloPoMo November project! And I managed to blog every day, though just barely. I'll wrap it up tomorrow with my thoughts. Until then, enjoy one of my all-time favorite videos:

Rick Roll'd but He Didn't Rock

I confess: I was so immersed in the world of hard rock and heavy metal during the mid to late 1980s that I didn't even notice the mega-success of Rick Astley. "Welcome to the Jungle" and "It's So Easy" were my versions of ear candy; no way was I going to be caught anywhere that might have "Never Gonna Give You Up" blaring through the speakers. So the first time I was Rickroll'd I wasn't even sure what was going on.

I don't remember the tempting blurb that accompanied the link. I just remember clicking and landing on what appeared to be a cheaply-made YouTube video of a guy who looked about 20 (if that), dressed in cheesy '80s garb and singing some equally-cheesy '80s song that sounded vaguely (very vaguely) familiar. Was it a parody? Nobody could possibly have made a video like this seriously! Whatever it was, it wasn't what I had been expecting when I clicked the link, so I went back to the original site to see if there was some way I could have clicked on the wrong thing, or if the link itself was wrong. I had no idea it was me who was wrong. When I am clueless, I'm clueless in the extreme. My first exposure to Rickrolling zoomed right over my head and left me in the dust for months.

Eventually I figured out that yes, this was a real, authentic pop music video circa 1987, and this goofy-looking boy really had been a big celebrity. And I also figured out how really dense I can be. But once I got the joke, I was delighted over it. I'd click on the most brazenly prevaricating links in hope of landing back at "Never Gonna Give You Up." Imagine my bleak disappointment when these links really did lead me to the latest killer app, free download of the latest Metallica album or a 50% Best Buy coupon.

And finally, on Thanksgiving Day, the Rickroll made meme history: at Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade in New York City, the Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends float contained a Rickroll in the live: Astley himself interrupted the show to lipsync to his vintage hit.

I thought I'd never say this, but Rick Astley, you rock!

Axl Rose Is No Creative Genuis

...which is why I have no enthusiasm for the once-highly-anticipated release of Chinese Democracy. I haven't heard it yet. I may or may not give it a listen outside of the tracks and snippets floating around on the radio and on the internet. Guns N' Roses was a great band, a band whose sum was greater than the whole of its parts. That band ceased to exist when Steven Adler was no longer part of it. Adler was undoubtedly the least talented member of GN'R, which only proves my point even more strongly. It wasn't Axl or Slash or any other member of Guns that created something transcendental; it was all of them together — the chemistry, the clashes, the streets, the drugs, the girls and the sleaze they shared. Separately, they are musicians with varying degrees of talent. And none of them on their own is capable of creating the type of music that defines an era. Case in point: Appetite for Destruction (with Adler) did exactly that; Use Your Illusion I and II (sans Adler) did not.

David Bowie is a creative genius. Bob Dylan is a creative genius. Beck is a creative genius. Axl Rose may have been the focal point of GN'R, the place where all the elements came together, but he was one-fifth of a band that needed the other four-fifths to achieve brilliance. So to call the project that made Chinese Democracy Guns N' Roses is an outrageous lie and an abomination.

Yeah, I may give this album a listen. Or I may not. Somewhere out there is a new group whose chemistry is about to make history. And I'd rather spend my time hunting that out than waste it on some guy who has the gall to think that keeping a band's name can recapture a magic that died two decades ago.

My CWA Conference Playlist, Part II

Here it is:

Claw Hammer, Thank the Holder Uppers, 1995

Listening to this record is like being parachuted into the middle of a noise forest where the players' diverse musical ideas are linked by only the merest of threads. It's cacophony at its most glorious, exhilarating dischord, a dream that would be a nightmare coming from any other grouping of musicians. I know the latter as fact: on the flight to Atlanta, I put on the headphones and let the disc run while I napped, a smile glued to my face. For me, Thank the Holder Uppers was love at first listen, so much so that I even remember the time and place. It was a winter evening in the ramshackle house I was renting in Silverlake and I had a stack of CD advances to peruse. The night was black like an empty palette. Claw Hammer was meant to happen to me right then, a color explosion that continues to reverberate now, even though the band has long been history. Unlike the other groups who are accompanying me to Atlanta, Claw Hammer were L.A. locals, guys who wisely stayed away from the Sunset Strip to follow their own curious path. Jon Wahl's vocals share a lot in common with Captain Beefheart, a perfect accompaniment to the bang and slash and crash of the music, a blend of rock, jazz and the kitchen sink. There's no subtlety to Claw Hammer; what makes them great is that they're musical sophisticates who take their smarts and shove 'em right in your face. The quartet made the leap from indies to Interscope right when the major labels were looking for the next big thing after grunge. I could have told them Claw Hammer wasn't it, but I would have kept my mouth shut anyway because these guys deserved some decent money before retiring to the graveyard of unappreciated bands.

Cheap Trick, All Shook Up, 1980

This is the one album in Cheap Trick's 30-plus-year history that causes the most debate. You either hate this album and consider it one of their worst, or you decry the critics and hail it as one of their most underrated. Since I took it with me across country along with just three other discs, you can guess which side I'm on. In fact, I think it's one of my favorite Trick records in part because it is so vilified by certain parties. Maybe these listeners hate it because they expected the Rockford quartet to continue pumping out hooky, angst-y power pop for the rest of their careers. Instead, the guys went out on a limb to mine the unexpected, with legendary producer George Martin bringing production elements that were welcome surprises for a guitar rock band in 1980. Martin added electronica and orchestra to Trick's sound while keeping emotions raw and Nielsen's guitar as appealing and heavy as ever (keep in mind that back then, Cheap Trick was considered metal). As in all Cheap Trick's best work, there's wry humor mixed in with anger — in fact, this disc has the kind teeth baring ferocity (and soaring beauty) that only an iron-lunged singer like Robin Zander can deliver. No wonder this album inspires the passion it does. It takes risks for its era and that probably scared a lot of fans — after four albums, they thought they knew everything there was to know about Cheap Trick, and they were wrong. That's exactly why I celebrate it. And to top it all off, the album cover concept was influenced by my all-time favorite artist, Rene Magritte. I adore All Shook Up so much that I've tentatively titled my memoir High Priestess of Rhythmic Noise, which is a riff on one of its song titles. It's the least I can do to show gratitude.

Okay, now comes the logical question... "Janiss, why don't you have an iPod?" It's on the list. Trust me.

Seduced by an Apparition Named After a B-List Actress

Easy listening ain't part of my playlist. Unless an artist challenges me aurally, emotionally, or at least makes me laugh, I'm inclined to move on. Not that long ago, I uncovered a group that does all three. The Real Tuesday Weld has actually been around since the end of the 1990s, but they've been something of a mystery. I'm not even wholly sure they are really a group. I think they're mainly the depraved hallucinations of a Clerkenwell dweller named Stephen Coates. Coates' influences range from vintage (pre-World War II) jazz, cabaret and electronica to movie soundtracks, especially by composers such as Serge Gainsbourg and one of my personal favorites, Ennio Morricone.

Coates blends these timeless influences into a decadent brew that bubbles with a haunting and dangerous lyricism, but then he raises the ante by joining creative forces with animators and artists with visions that are as twisted as his. The resulting music videos are sometimes whimsical and more often disturbing — so disturbing, in fact, that you can't take your eyes off them and they knock around in your head and in your dreams for days. I could take you on a lengthy journey through Coates' alternate universe, but for now I'll just share my three favorite videos, courtesy of YouTube.

I'll start you off easy with the whimsical — the curious collaboration between The Real Tuesday Weld and an animator named Alex Budovsky: "Bathtime in Clerkenwell."

A little stranger is Coates' parody of Cole Porter's "I Get A Kick Out of You," with animated video directed by George Fort.

But this is the video that really fucked with my head: "The Ugly and the Beautiful." Just watch it. I don't even want to talk about it.

If you're brave enough to want more, visit the group's YouTube channel, or check out their music on Amazon.com.