Bad Religion at House of Blues Anaheim, 4/1/10

I knew when I did my huge lists of my favorite albums of the decade I would leave stuff out.  It's just the nature of lists that we forget things, no matter how long we spend putting it together.  But boy, did I commit an egregious error when I left out Bad Religion.  I ignored another of my favorite bands, Rocket From The Crypt, because I didn't feel anything they put out in that time span was quite good enough.  Bad Religion, on the other hand, had a major creative upswing in the 2000's when founding member Brett Gurewitz came back, and the first album they did after the reunion, The Process of Belief, absolutely deserved to make the list.  I admit, sometimes I'm remiss.  After seeing them again recently, I feel even worse about it, but I'm confident they still have some strong material in them, something that'll make my inevitable list of the 10's.  (What follows is likely to be long, so consider yourself warned.)

Surfer Blood at Detroit Bar, 3/28/10

Living in Southern California brings with it many perks: Mexican food; the weather; the beach (if you're into that kind of thing); Mexican food; In-N-Out; Legoland and, of course, Mexican food.  But perhaps the best thing about living here is the abundance of concerts constantly taking place within driving distance.  I don't even know how I'd adjust if I moved somewhere more isolated; I can deal with a slower pace, but where's my live music???  And sometimes you don't even have to drive to LA or Pomona or San Diego, because sometimes buzz bands make stops in little bars like Detroit in Costa Mesa.  (I was once lucky enough to catch Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Liars and Jon Spencer Blues Explosion there right before YYYs blew up, but now I'm just bragging...).  This was the case last Sunday, when Surfer Blood showed up in Orange County.

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club at the Echoplex, 3/12/10

Cinderella once sang, "Don't know what you got till it's gone," and while I think we were all more or less aware of what we had in Cinderella, they still sang true.  During my dizzy time in the bunker (which rotated between my apartment and my girlfriend's), I was so preoccupied with my health and how disorienting the vertigo was that it never even occurred to me that I hadn't been to a concert since the second week of December.  For me, that's quite a while.  Luckily, a remedy was on the horizon: Black Rebel Motorcycle Club.

Vertigo Your Own Way; or How I Learned to Stop Spinning and Love the Blog

Why, hello there.  As you could probably tell from the post below this, it's been over two months since I wrote anything on here, and for all of you who care, I apologize.  It's been nice to actually receive some complaints about my lack of output, but I assure you, I've had a good reason.  A full explanation for my absence and our first ever guest appearance coming after the jump.

Me and My Decade 3: The Final Chapter

New Year's took a little bit more out of me than I expected it to (which seems like a gross miscalculation on my part, but I digress...), so this is a few days later than I had intended.  But after thousands and thousands of words to sort it out--and thousands more below, to be sure--we've finally arrived at the end of my attempt to document the music of the decade that mattered the most to me.  It's been fun, but please let me know what some of your choices would have been, or why some (or all) of mine are terrible, or even just chime in with some "Supergrass, hell yeah!" level remarks.  And if you haven't read parts 1 & 2 yet, just scroll down, or you can find them here and here.

Alive in the Superunknown

I had to take a break from all my listing to point out this exciting story I just read: Soundgarden is (probably) getting back together!  Apparently, all that I had to do to make this happen was briefly lament their demise in my Metallica review.  This is the most exciting reunion I could think of, personally, since Soundgarden was one of my first, favorite bands.  When my parents bought me my first CD player back in middle school, Superunknown was the first album I went out and bought personally, and I still listen to it fairly often.  And no kid of about my age could get through MTV or radio without seeing the amazingly creepy "Black Hole Sun" video, or hearing "Spoonman," "My Wave" or "Fell On Black Days" on KROQ (you know, back when KROQ was still good).  Lead singer Chris Cornell recently showed up at a Pearl Jam show, sounding as good as ever, and drummer Matt Cameron is still playing great, these days with Pearl Jam.  I can only assume that Kim Thayil (lead guitar) and Ben Shepherd (bass) still know what they're doing.  If this rumor pans out, I really hope they pop up at Coachella; it would be roughly infinity times more exciting than when the Pixies did it.

The Decade, Part II: This Section is Non-Operational

Ahoy, and welcome back to the countdown of the decade!  Literally, of course, since I'm sure, technically speaking anyway, there are far better countdowns that have happened this decade.  That VH1 show about the 100 best hard rock bands, for instance, was super cool.  (And for all you music geeks, there is a clue in the title and the picture for this post to a couple of the albums in this part.  Not that you'll have to wait long, but I'm trying to spice it up).

Anyway, let's get on with the next 36% of the list:

This Mystic Decade

That's right, in a burst of horrifying unoriginality I have decided to do what every other journalist/magazine/online publication/blogger/asshole has already done.  Namely, attempt to organize my thoughts long enough to arbitrarily rank a bunch of albums I bought (yes, bought, you dirty music pirates) years ago.  But what can I say?  Like the music geeks above, I'm a sucker for lists.  So I've decided to select my 28 favorite records from this decade.  Why 28?  Because that's how old I am as I write this, and it worked out as the best cutoff I could manage without going completely insane.  My logic is unassailable!  There are, however, a few rules to make it less predictable and more inclusive:

Metallica at the Honda Center (née The Pond), 12/10/09

I have few concert-going regrets in my life.  To name a handful: seeing 311 instead of Nine Inch Nails back in '99 (hey, I was young); missing my only chance to see the original Black Sabbath lineup because my friend Jeff had the bad luck to get some flaming foam finger in his eye; and my friend's mom accidentally throwing away his ticket to see the Ramones on what we thought was their final tour, back before either of us were old enough to drive (I still have my unused ticket, sigh).  Though I was fortunate enough to correct the last one by catching them at Lollapalooza '97, that show was also the source of perhaps my biggest regret.  That would be basically falling asleep during Metallica's headlining set.

Them Crooked Vultures at the Wiltern, 11/17/09

I'm way behind on this, but before I start writing my long and self-indulgent end of year and decade lists in the next couple of weeks, I have to say something about the band that I've been blabbing excitedly about in this space for months now.  Thoughts on this show and Them Crooked Vultures' debut album coming right up...

Crazy Like a Fox

Last week, after many good intentions and empty proclamations, it finally happened.  Yes, I went back to a movie theater and paid to see a film somewhere other than the comfort of my own home for the first time in over a year.  I have to say, I missed it more than I thought.  It was the middle of a Monday, so it wasn't like I had to deal with any protracted search for a seat, but even the thrill of deciding where best to take it all in came rushing back in a way I hadn't expected.  I frequently argue that movies are too fleeting, character and story-wise, to be worth the effort, but I had forgotten something very important: when it is worth it, it's the only way to go.

Anyway, the movie I saw, in case you hadn't figured it out by now, was Wes Anderson's Fantastic Mr. Fox, and I wanted to say a few things about it.  If you haven't seen it and intend to, stop here.  Seriously, last chance to remain untainted.  I warned you...  Mr. Fox is Keyser Soze!  Ok, not really.  But he is very entertaining.

Dinosaur Jr at House of Blues Sunset Strip, 11/5/09

Band reunions are a tricky business.  Oftentimes they get back together for financial reasons and noticeably lack any semblance of whatever made them great.  Those of us who missed them the first time around may enjoy it anyway, but it's just not the same.  On the other hand, sometimes it's Dinosaur Jr.

Better To Be Lucky Than Good

Take a second to look at all that money. Those are all hundred dollar bills, and that guy is only twenty-one. All he had to do was play poker for hours and hours and days and days, and outlast 6,493 other players. Oh, and get ridiculously lucky over and over again at the final table. 

The Night Marchers at Alex's Bar, 10/30/09

"Let all the blogs say that tonight was a success!" - Speedo

Done and done.

There are some things that are just true about me. I love gummi bears; I kick ass at the Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon game; I watch a lot of television; and I wear plaid, just to name a handful. And another one is: when Speedo talks, I listen. Who is Speedo, you ask? Well, in addition to being the guy with the guitar and the microphone in the center of that picture up there, he's also one of my musical heroes. Based in San Diego, his bands have been making me happy since 1995. Rocket From The Crypt's Scream, Dracula, Scream! was one of the first albums outside the mainstream that I ever truly cared about (though credit goes to my friend Spencer for finding it), and I still listen to it frequently to this day. He was also in Pitchfork, Drive Like Jehu and Hot Snakes, though in those bands he was primarily the lead guitarist, thereby denying anyone who listened to their records or went to their shows his inimitable charm and good cheer. Everything shut down in 2005, memorably ending with Rocket From The Crypt's farewell Halloween show (which I went to, naturally).

No Bang, Some Whimper

Right around 9:02 local time Sunday night, my productivity, social life and relationship all experienced sudden spikes in their immediate and long term prospects. Yes, the Angel season came to an end with the feeble strikeout of a bench player (an overpaid one at that), a rally in the top of the eighth having been negated by two inexcusable errors in the bottom of same. As disappointing as it was, in some ways it was a relief; even though they pushed it to Game 6, the Angels never seemed right in this series, and it went beyond just getting beat by a better team. Many of the players looked nervous at bat and in the field, and manager Mike Scioscia, as much as I love the guy, consistently over-managed by putting in the wrong pitcher or hitter at strange times. The Yankees may have won anyway, but it would have been nice to see the Angels play to their capabilities. 

Oh well. Only one team's fans are truly happy by the end of the season, and while I'm not among them this year, it was a good ride. The Angels had to deal with the sudden death of young pitcher Nick Adenhart in the season's first week, and it became a rallying point rather than a crushing blow. Obviously nothing can make up for what happened to him, but carrying Adenhart's memory and jersey with them all year was a nice tribute.

The offseason will begin immediately after a World Series I can't make myself care about much, and the Angels have some important players to re-sign or let go, and repeating success at a level even close to this year isn't guaranteed. Something tells me they'll be right there again, though, and with a little more luck maybe at this time next year I'll be writing about a championship. In the meantime, I've chosen to vent some of my frustrations of the last series in song form. Specifically, to the tune of Billy Joel's "Don't Ask Me Why."

Playoff games make Scioscia feel the heat,

He goes with matchups way too much,

Removes best players for some lesser-skilled,

But they don't come through in the clutch.

Pinch-hit for Mathis,

Maicer Izturis,

Mike, tell me why!

After Months of Waiting, Something Came

Following up on a previous post, the supergroup made up of Led Zeppelin's John Paul Jones, Foo Fighters' Dave Grohl, and stoner rock guitar virtuoso/Queens of the Stone Age frontman Josh Homme, Them Crooked Vultures, have finally announced a release date for their debut. And now they put the first whole song out there for our rabid consumption! My kneejerk review: better than sleeping with a Ninja Turtle. Check it out below, and then wait patiently for three more weeks until the record arrives on November 17.

He Should Have Had His V8

Just because it makes me laugh:

Just When I Think I'm Out...

I just wrote about baseball on Friday, but with the playoffs going on it's taking up pretty much all of my attention, so as long as the Angels are still in it, expect to read about it here. Before I was focusing on the thrill of a big win in a playoff game, and just generally feeling very confident. Well, then the American League Championship Series against the New York Yankees started, and the Angels promptly took a dump on my hopes and dreams. Playing in the cold and wet of October on the East Coast, they looked terrible in Game 1 on Friday, losing 4-1, and only marginally better the next night. But what really made Game 2 tough was the excruciating way in which they lost. After battling back from a 2-0 deficit and forcing extra innings, the Angels finally took a 3-2 lead in the 11th, needing to get only three more outs to come back here to Orange County--wait, so they don't play in LA, you say? Shut up, I respond--tied at one game apiece. Instead, the first batter in the bottom of the inning hit a homerun to tie the game, and the Yankees went on to win in thirteen innings, and I immediately went out and clubbed some baby seals to cope.

Needless to say, I was a bit disheartened heading into yesterday's Game 3, knowing that a loss would essentially end the season (it's a best-of-seven series, but almost no one comes back from 3-0), when they were so close to tying the series. And this game didn't start well either, with the Yankees getting on base, hitting solo homeruns seemingly at will, and the Angels failing to get anything going against the Yankees starter, Andy Pettitte. But then something funny started happening: the Angels started hitting. After Howie Kendrick hit a solo homerun to cut the lead to 3-1 in the 5th, diminished power threat Vladimir Guerrero came up with a runner on and two outs in the 6th, representing the tying run. And wouldn't you know it, he hit it out! Suddenly the Angels had new life, and I started believing again. The next inning Kendrick hit a triple and scored on a sacrifice fly, giving the Angels a 4-3 lead. They just might win this thing! Of course, the Yankees promptly tied it with their fourth solo shot of the day, and next thing I knew we were headed for another extra inning game.

In the bottom of the 10th, backup catcher Jeff Mathis came to the plate, and I sighed exasperatedly. He's a great defensive catcher, but can't hit worth a damn, and I figured he was an automatic out. In fact, on Saturday night I spent a fair amount of time arguing about how bad he is with someone at my friend's house where I was watching the game. She defended him vigorously, but I stuck to my guns. Could there be any doubt, then, that he would hit a double to lead off the 10th yesterday? The Angels ultimately wasted a bases loaded opportunity to win the game, and I immediately went into sulk mode, assuming the Yankees would score, go on to win, and the Angels would be swept out of the series after two consecutive heartbreakers. But somehow the Yankees came and went in the 11th, and with two out in the bottom of the inning, Kendrick (easily the Angels' most important player in this game) came up and hit a single. Mathis strolled to the plate, and I found myself in the strange position of believing in him after all the team's best hitters had been failing. Seconds later he hit almost the same exact pitch to the same exact spot out in left field, Kendrick raced around from first base to score the winning run, then leapt into the air in celebration just as Mathis was rounding second. The Angels poured out of the dugout, I jumped up and down in front of the TV, my dachshund did his dachshund sitting up trick in reaction to my jubilation, and there was much rejoicing.

And now I'm hanging on every pitch again, knowing that the Angels have a chance to win this thing. The odds are stacked greatly against them, needing to win three of the next four, but they're much better off than if they had lost yesterday. And if this season offers me no more good days, I will at least have the crazy batshit happiness of that image of Kendrick in the air with Mathis in the background. Caring so much about this may be irrational, but some things don't have to make sense.

The Pains of Being Red at Heart

Oh, baseball, you cruel and wonderful sport. People who don't like the game often cite "boring" at the top of the list of offenses, and I can at least understand that reaction, but how anyone could find playoff baseball boring is beyond me. The elements of the game that can seem to take too long now have an amplified importance; every pitch, swing and catch can be game and season changing in a way the regular season just can't match. And let's be honest: regular season accolades and accomplishments are great, but eventually you want your favorite team to win a championship. 

Pearl Jam at Gibson Amphitheatre, 10/6/09

I already reviewed Pearl Jam in my Outside Lands post below, but I saw them again on Tuesday night, and something special happened that I just have to write about. I've mentioned before that I came of musical age in the early 90s, and not surprisingly Pearl Jam was a big deal, but at that same time I was obsessed with a video by another band, Temple of the Dog.