Amoeblog

DON'T STAND SO CLOSE TO ... THE CRITICAL DRUMMER

Posted by Billyjam, June 2, 2007 07:20pm | Post a Comment
The Police Every Move You Make LP Box Set


During the much-hyped, highly lucrative and recently launched Police reunion tour, Sting reportedly jumped about onstage like a "petulant pansy" during this past Wednesday's Police concert at the GM Arena in Vancouver, Canada which, again reportedly, was "unbelievably lame" -- all this reported not by some extremely harsh music critic, but by the reunited trio's very own drummer Stewart Copeland, who also ripped apart his own performance as making a "complete hash" and something equally dismissive about guitarist Andy Summers' performance.

The self-critical artist wrote all of this on his personal website in a posting he uploaded Thursday. He continued to write in this highly-critical review of the previous night's show that "the groove is eluding us. We crash through 'MESSAGE' and then go straight into 'SYNCHRONICITY.' But there is just something wrong. We just can’t get on the good foot. We shamble through the song and hit the big ending. Last night Sting did a big leap for the cut-off hit, and he makes the same move tonight, but he gets the footwork just a little bit wrong and doesn’t quite achieve lift-off. The mighty Sting momentarily looks like a petulant pansy instead of the god of rock." The Police's members were notorious for getting into backstage fights back in the their heyday. Copeland continued: "It usually takes about four or five shows in a tour before you get to the disaster gig. But we’re The Police, so we are a little ahead of schedule. It’s only the second show."       

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(In which Job enjoys theatrics at a new West End.)

Posted by Job O Brother, June 2, 2007 06:11pm | Post a Comment
We were maybe fifteen minutes outside of LA when Carrie first chirped, “Are we almost there yet?”

Logan shot a look that said, “I love you and you’re very dear to me but so help me God I will cut you open.”

The drive to 29 Palms was mostly uneventful. Bathroom breaks inevitably took us to greasy spoon diners, where guilt over utilizing the facilities without purchasing food caused us to orchestrate elaborate, timed infiltration.

“Okay, you and Carrie go in first. We’ll hold back a few minutes then enter.”

At some point it was decided that Logan should be nicknamed “Blimpie”. [In the original writing of the trip's blog, Blimpie was the name used, until Logan found out and used a tone of voice that caused me to subsequently re-edit everything. -Ed]

We had been at the 29 Palms Inn almost five minutes before we agreed it was love at first site. Ours is the most isolated cabin, located at what they call the West End, which I guess makes Carrie and Logan “West End Girls” for the weekend.


 We've got no future, we've got no past; Here today, built to last.
Amidst a constant stream of jokes about the many, grisly ways in which we would all meet our doom in the desert (snakes, sunstroke, redneck slashers) we staked out our bungalow and heartily approved.

Next, we trekked the walk across the desert sands and brush to the pool and restaurant. After a quick dip, we settled into a dinner table.


Feed us.


We were soon being served by a complete and total psychopath.

As psychopaths go she was very nice. We’ll call her Naomi, but that wasn’t her name. I’ll keep that confidential out of respect to her and because I’m scared she will hunt me down and turn my cracked-then-dried skull into a commuter mug.

Logan was hungry and was doing what she always does when hungry: planning to order enough food to provide relief to the continent of Africa. …With leftovers for Indonesia. Carrie wasn’t having it, and insisted they share a plate. I noted that sharing a plate would incur a $5 fee, as stated on the menu. Being raised, as I was, in the Great Depression*, this struck me as crazy talk.

“Order individual dishes and we can take the leftovers home where I can turn them into another meal… or maybe a pillowcase.”

But Carrie won, and she and Logan ended up splitting plates. As predicted, Logan didn’t even finish hers.

Over the course of the banquet, Naomi informed us of the bulk of her personal life. Before we even heard the dessert menu, we knew where she’d lived the last two years, the ages of her children, her plans to grow marijuana, her tragic physical background and battle with pesticide-related illness which led to a heated dissertation on the wickedness of everything from pesticides to Chanel No. 5. As she spoke she became increasingly agitated and loud until a speech relating an argument she once had with an architect culminated in her indignantly raising both her hands and, as I was putting the last bite of salmon in my mouth, yelling:

“Fine! POISON YOURSELF.”

All I could think was, “I am so putting this in my blog.”


Moonrise over the desert.

By the time we were lounging on the front porch of our cabin, hypnotized by the beauty of a perfect moonrise and the warm nighttime breeze, my comrades were dropping faster than the cast of a Donner Party documentary.

Corey, as y’all know, is still recovering from his appendicitis surgery. Carrie and Logan had been infected with a cold virus from a friend, and were both quickly succumbing to it. I prescribed fresh lime wedges for vitamin C, and both patients ate some, buffering it with shots of tequila. West End Girls, indeed.

Logan, being the rugged survivalist she is, went out from the cabin on a hunt for the much prized and medicinal wild Nyquil, and returned with the green variety, the flavor of which I can only assume is meant to be “minty gym sock”.

Corey was already in bed, but the girls stayed on the porch, waiting for the Nyquil to coax them into sleep. I sang them the lullabies I had heard as a child, most of which contained threats of child abuse and the occasional racial slur. Ah, history.

I finally crawled into bed myself, where Corey read to me excerpts from his yet-to-be-completed novel, until I fell asleep.

I dreamt that I met Björk. She looked like the gay dude from “Little Britain” and was very sweet.


Back off girls, this one's mine: Corey is his element.

*The Great Depression I'm referring to is my
childhood, not the more famous one initiated by the Stock Market Crash of 1929.

Mac Attack - I'm Over My Head

Posted by Miss Ess, June 2, 2007 03:18pm | Post a Comment

All I ever really want to listen to is Fleetwood Mac, and I am NOT talking about the Peter Green years.  I'm talking the full-on 70s, shawl wearing, twirling, super chemistry, exposed chest hair with gold chains, cokehead Buckingham/Nicks era. There is no comparison.


Sitting here all day, I have had the self titled Fleetwood Mac CD on repeat. I have heard these songs since my birth. I bet my mom listened to this record while she was pregnant with me. These songs are ingrained in me. There is not a bad track on this record, but my favorites on  this and all their records are always the Stevie Nicks tunes. Some of the earliest memories of my life are these songs, trying to sing along, trying to understand the words, thinking how weird it is that "children grow older" as sung in "Landslide" and how I was gonna grow up soon (this was when I was about 5 maybe?). Yikes!

"Crystal" is one of the best songs Miss Stevie ever wrote, in my opinion. First of all, the name of the song, "Crystal," is just so damn classic for a song by Stevie. You know it's her right away. Then there are the beautiful lyrics about a multidimensional, all encompassing and almost scarily polarizing love. I love how the song starts so quietly and goes on forever, fading and fading.

I am also really into the fact that somehow it was decided that Lindsey Buckingham would have to sing this one, though Stevie wrote it. She sings backing vocals to his lead. I'd love to know the inside story on how that decision was made. Considering that they were still going out at the time but their decade-ish long love affair was only a year or so from coming to an end, it's an intense listen, at least for me cause I'm a silly dreamer and I like to imagine how crazy and deep their relationship must have been. If you watch footage of recent Fleetwood Mac shows, you can still see the chemistry between Buckingham and Nicks and how they play off of one another and flirt with their eyes. I enjoy that.

If you have not yet seen the DVD that expounds upon the making of most people's favorite Fleetwood Mac record, Rumours, I highly recommend it! It's called Classic Albums:  Fleetwood Mac Rumours and it's radical. Usually I think these kind of DVDs are cheesy and uninformative but this one is the opposite-- it leaves you wanting more! There are all kinds of dishy stories in there and all the band members are interviewed along with studio technicians. The album was recorded mostly at the fabulous Record Plant in Sausalito, CA., and the band (as most people know) was suffering internally from the breakups of Buckingham and Nicks, Christine McVie and John McVie and even Mick Fleetwood and his wife. All that discomfort and pain led to one fantastic record!

Anyway, the DVD is super great for a gossip hound like me who likes to know all the technical details of what recording the record was like but also what was going on behind the scenes. Apparently Stevie wrote "Dreams" during a moment of respite with her Rhodes on a giant four poster bed that Sly Stone had had dragged into one of the studios there. 

Isn't it almost always true that bands with multiple songwriters and multiple lead vocalists are the best but also the most plagued by drama? The Beatles, The Band, Love (and Fleetwood Mac of course) come to mind immediately and there are plenty more. I like a band with some variety and vitality and when no one in particular is in charge it seems to bring about a certain chemistry that is unusual and exciting.

But maybe it's just me and my random thoughts.

(In which Job orders some desert.)

Posted by Job O Brother, June 2, 2007 11:41am | Post a Comment

I've made a horrible mistake.

...Okay, maybe I'm being too dramatic in describing it that way. It wasn't a horrible mistake, just a mistake. I apologize for being so over-the-top in my choice of words; it's horrible of me.

I promised y'all a conclusion to my boyfriend-in-the-hospital saga and had even completed writing most of it, but left it on my computer at home, which I no longer have access to. Therefore, you will still see Part 3, just not this weekend.

But why not this weekend? Because I'll being regaling you with a new series of reports from the desert!


A picture of the desert and one of those flat, black things that cars like to drive on.

Yes, I carload of attitude is making its way today to the glamorous town of 29 Palms, California, where we'll be staying at some isolated cabin, drinking tequila and mojitos, taking new photos for our MySpace profiles, hiding fake snakes and terrifying each other, and basically being ridiculous.

In the desert, no one can hear you make an ass of yourself.

Accompanying me is my post-op* boyfriend, Corey, my dearly beloved friend, Carrie, and another sweetheart-o'-my-heart, Logan, who has the distinction of being one of the floor managers at Amoeba Music Hollywood. We'll see what dirt I can get on her before we return to work. Career advancement through blackmail, anyone?


The author, his boyfriend and Carrie with Logan, circa 1986

This is all promoted under the assumption that I'll find Internet access out there, of course. If not, I'll write but post later in the week.

See? Already some suspense!


*When I read this paragraph to Corey he busted out laughing and hit me on the shoulder a few times, exclaiming "You can't write 'post-op'! Do you know what that means?"

"Yeah," I answered naively, "Post-operation."

"Yes," he continued, "But that's what they call transsexuals who've just had their sex-change surgery!"

I laughed hard and, unwilling to edit the sentence, decided to include this aside.

MASHUP PARTIES PROVIDE MUSIC FOR THE A.D.D. GENERATION

Posted by Billyjam, June 2, 2007 09:14am | Post a Comment
bowie britney        

Bootie SF, the popular, long-running San Francisco all-mashup dance party finds continued success both at home and on the road in cities including New York, Paris, and LA, where the party (appropriately retitled "Bootie LA") returns tonight (Sat, June 2nd) to Safari Sam's at 5214 W. Sunset. Working the wheels of steel tonight in Hollywood will be resident DJs Adrian & the Mysterious D, and Paul V (Indie 103.1) plus a special guest, the mashup pioneers The Evolution Control Committee. "Bootie," which takes its name from "bootleg," started out half a decade ago in San Francisco -- a time when the mash-up craze was in full tilt with mostly UK produced bootlegs or mashups, such as the wildly popular 2Many DJs' Nirvana vs Destiny's Child hybrid "Smells Like Booty" being passed around in MP3 form on the internet. Since then the genre has continued to grow, albeit below the radar due to many factors, including its illegal status.
 
Recently I caught up with Adrian & the Mysterious D -- the two ever-busy founding members of the mobile club, who two weeks ago were in the Big Apple with "Bootie NYC" at downtown club Element. Last weekend they were back home with a big Memorial Day party in San Francisco. Next weekend (June 9th) they'll throw another Bootie SF with the two founders spinning alongside Live 105 DJ Party Ben and guests DJ Matt Hite and Canada's Lock3down plus a performance from their "mash up band" Smash Up Derby featuring Miss Trixxie Carr. At a Bootie SF party about a month ago they had some pioneering guest DJs who world-premiered their groundbreaking WiiJing techniques (they hacked a Nintendo Wii and turned it into a unique new DJ controller). I asked Adrian and the Mysterious D about their club and the history of mashups, their Top FIve Mashups, and the genre's place as they see it in pop music culture.

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