Ride the ‘Stache

Anyone who knows me knows that I am a facial hair afficionado, especially when it comes to the all-powerful mustache.  I have gone through more looks over the years than most, changing styles of beard and mustache and all the  combinations in between more times than I can remember.  It’s a preference as well as a statement.  I look better with some hairy attributes adorning my face than when I go for the clean shave.  It also states though, that I can officially be considered a man.  Screw becoming a father, or buying your first car, doing your first walk of shame or pwning some noobs in Call of Duty 4; rocking a full beard or ’stache is the elite level of manhood.

Inspired by one of my favorite musicians, I’ve recently gone down the path of starting to bring back my very own lip sweater.  It takes patience and courage, as facial hair can be much like the hair on your head depending on the extremes you intend to pursue with it.  It may go through awkward stages, but the final result is always worth the pain and suffering encountered along the way.  The lucky ones however seem to be able to produce a new mustache overnight, and as much as it angers me, I’m equally filled with joy and awe witnessing such an amazing feat.  Put that together with a musician who’s music is part of the soundtrack to my life, and you have men who I will pray my future sons and grandsons grow up to emulate.  Without further adieu, in no particular order, I present a list of 5 of my favorite cookie dusters in music history (with one son of a bitch that needs a boot to the teeth.)

1) JOHN OATES (HALL & OATES)

I know what you’re thinking, but it is actually a group of two men named Hall & Oates, not one man named Holland Oates.  It’s O.K., I was shocked the first time I heard the news too.  Lead singer Daryl Hall may get to sing more and get more attention from some fans for his gorgeous feathered mane, but when you ask around, you’ll notice that if someone isn’t completely sure who the band is, they’ll ask the question, “Is that with the short guy who has that mustache?”  You see, even if people can’t remember the music, they remeber the ’stache.  Although the band has never been quoted as saying so, legend has it that John Oates’ mustache is in fact the main songwriter of the band and is responsible for their 10 number 1 records, 80 million albums sold and all the ass they could handle in the 1980’s.  The day after Oates made the catastrophic decision to shave a while back, he inadvertantly started global warming by releasing a dangerous amount of hot air and greenhouse gases that were trapped on his lip for all those years.

2) FRANK ZAPPA

Zappa is and always will be a legend, his name  said slightly whispered and wide-eyed by those that speak it.  He produced records, sang and played guitar, directed films and composed full blown orchestral pieces.  He fought the ignorant, pampered wives of politicians in the 80’s who wanted to take away free speech rights and censor certain music, and he did so in a way that made all their empty heads spin like Linda Blair.  He did all of this, with one of the thickest, most pronounced mustaches many can remember.  The soul patch below the bottom lip alone is thicker than any in human history, and along with the mesmerizing ’stache formed a combination more powerful than the J.L.A.  And a final uppercut to score for Zappa’s upper lip plumage? It was so associated with the man, its image was copyrighted by the Zappa Family Trust after he passed away.

3) EUGENE HUTZ (GOGOL BORDELLO)

The current inspiration for my journey back to mustache growing, Hutz is the charismatic lead singer of gypsy punk outfit Gogol Bordello.  As I wrote about his and the band’s performance a few weeks ago, I’ll reiterate that they are best live act going in music today.  Not only is the work of art he sports on his upper lip 100% in tune with his music and gypsy/eastern european roots, he’s one of those guys where he just doesn’t look normal without it.  And let me tell you, the guy is a sex icon to all the women that see him and encounter him.  From those I’ve talked to and heard, the ladies LOVE that fucking thing, so much so that I’m willing to bet his mustache alone, separated from his face, could get more tail in one night than I could muster in an entire lifetime.

4) FREDDIE MERCURY (QUEEN)

Mr. Mercury is my favorite lead singer of all time.  I’ve gotten more chills from listening to some of his vocals than any other singer I’ve ever heard.  That being said, this entry is short and sweet.  Forget that a mustache was required by gay law to be worn by all homosexual men in the 80’s; he, way more than Eugene Hutz, looks atrocious without one.  Seriously. Go google Freddie Mercury right now, and look at his pictures sans ’stache.  It’s not pretty.  Lucky for him he could rock the shit out of a concert stage and was smart enough to keep the lip spinach for the majority of his adult life.

5) RIVERS CUOMO (WEEZER)

Weezer’s “Blue Album” and “Pinkerton” are two albums that I’ll cherish forever.  I believe just about every kid in every small town across the world that gets to experience high school and college should be able to listen to them and take them in just like myself and seemingly everyone else I know.  I hope they are albums that my future offspring might actually give me props for listening to,  before subsequently calling the rest of the music of my adolescence “pussy shit.”  The respect I have for Rivers as a songwriter is beyond high, so when he made the decision to grow a fat soup strainer, like he was a father of 4 circa 1991, I supported him 100%.  And then the pictures were released.  And I vomited a little bit in my mouth.  Although he borderline looks like a child molester that makes up fake myspace profiles that resemble ”aMBeR, 15 YeArs OLd, I <3 dA JonAs BRo’s!!!! LMfAO!” I do give him credit.  A shit ton of credit.  He knows what he looks like with that thing on his face, and by going out in public like that, it only means one thing:  the guy has a massive pair of cojones, and he does not care what a single person thinks.  Well played Rivers, I admire you yet again.  This next asshole however gets negative points…

MICK MARS (MOTLEY CRUE)

You sir, are one fugly dude.  Not only should you not try and pull off anything remotely risky when it comes to facial hair, you did the worst thing possible: you shaved a mustache down the middle, leaving the sides to dangle, ironically looking like they’re trying to run away from your disgusting mug.  You lose Mick Mars.  I’d say try highlighting your attributes, but I see none to highlight.  Thanks for the nightmares by the way.

The Evolution Has Already Begun…

That title sounds way more ominous than what it truly means.  If you haven’t noticed, the blog postings on here have been few and far between.  Consistently going to shows has proven tougher than expected on a social and financial front, so the time has come to incorporate more into this blog than originally anticipated.  The name will stay the same, and although the pieces I write following my concert experiences will still be the “main event” if you will, I need to add more.  In the very near future expect to see more updates concerning things like music I’m currently listening to, new albums I can’t wait to hear, top songs in ridiculous made-up categories of my choosing, etc.

Speaking of new music, the buzz has been building quite a bit around the band Them Crooked Vultures.  For those who don’t know, this power trio is made up of Queens of the Stone Age frontman Josh Homme, musical Mr. Do-Everything Dave Grohl and the legendary John Paul Jones of Led Zeppelin.  The whole “supergroup” plan usually ends up in the shitter in my opinion.  Just because there are a bunch of talented musicians stuck in a room together doesn’t mean they’re going to make mind-blowing music like they did with their original bands.  The bands that come into our lives and change us forever did so by finding something deep within each member of the group and transcribing it through their music, not because each member already had 5 grammy awards in their pockets and were ready to sell some more records.  A great band doesn’t need the most “talented” musicians to change someone’s life, just the right mix of those musicians.  With that said, I feel like Vultures has a chance to break the mold of those normal hype machines that end up crashing and burning.  The Homme/Grohl chemistry is what gives this band a chance.  Their work together on QOTSA’s “Songs for the Deaf” shows the kind of epic damage they can do together, as that album was a modern masterpiece (a term of endearment I don’t like to throw around too often.)  It was merely a coincidence they were both famous rock stars from different bands, as they mesh together like bandmates that started in the garage together 20 years ago.  Take a listen/look at this teaser and tell me what you think.

Also, back in line with the live concert scene, I need some help from YOU the reader.  Let me know some shows I should go to! Or better yet, let me know the shows you’re already going to, and we can go together!  Seriously, it’ll be a grand ol’ time.  I’ll mention you in my posts and you’ll be the envy of your co-workers on mondays.  Yes, being mentioned in this blog is in fact THAT prestigious of an honor.  My calendar has plenty of open space, so leave a comment, or 5, and let me know what you think I should be seeing/listening to.

Currently on tap:

Saturday, September 19th, Pub 17, Ramsey NJ – The Allupons (former bandmates of mine/benefit show for leukemia & lymphoma)

Saturday, October 17th, Terminal 5, NYC- The Avett Brothers

Friday, October 30th, Hammerstein Ballroom, NYC – MASTODON, Dethklok, Converge, High on Fire (what a boner of a show!)

Saturday, October 31st, Wachovia Spectrum Arean, Philadelphia – Pearl Jam, Ben Harper and Relentless7

Gov’t Mule is Ho-Hum at Wellmont Theatre

Warren Haynes is an anomaly.  The man, in theory, should be a terrible guitarist.  The short, portly musician has fingers to match, resembling stubby little cocktail weiners.  Someone with digits like his should not be able to dance around the fret board of an electric guitar and hit clean note after clean note.  Yet there he is, night after night on his constant touring schedule playing with Gov’t Mule, The Allman Brothers Band and The Dead, ripping solo after solo.  He is a beyond talented guitar player, and I genuinely enjoy the music he makes most of the time.  After seeing him and The Mule in Montclair, New Jersey the other night though, I do have a theory about Mr. Haynes:  He totally knows he should suck at playing the guitar too.  I say this because the concert was not a Gov’t Mule show, as much as it was Warren Haynes trying to solo as much as he could in a two hour window, proving his stumpy appendages could get the job done, while getting the occasional break as the rest of the band played some music too.  I’m all for talented musicians and shredding guitars, but a band is a collective effort, not one man showing off the whole time.  In turn, the concert all in all was pretty freakin’ boring.

As the show went on, and each song sounded the same and was moving at the same pace, I became less and less interested.  The idea of walking out early (an hour and a half into the concert mind you) and skipping the rest of what I and one of my best pals Justin already knew we’d be hearing was a serious and predictable outcome.  The band also needs to find a new sound guy.  Try and try as we did, neither one of us could hear the bass player, although there he was with his fingers moving up and down the neck of his instrument.  Yet there was no audible bass line to hear, and if I thought I heard something, it was just muffled noise.  The only break up in the monotony of the concert was the 10-minute drum solo, which was quite entertaining.  Matt Abts is a grammy award winning drummer, and for good reason.  While the band was off stage, he went through a series of different teachniques and rhythms, even changing from playing regular sticks, to mallets, to his bare hands, and finally back to finishing the solo with the drum sticks.  And then Haynes came back on stage and played another solo. Zzzz….zzzz….

It was boring for a concert, and in the cramped seats of the Wellmont Theatre not the greatest of experiences, but there are worse ways to spend a night.  The evening ended with a stop at Wendy’s for some chocolate Twisted Frosty goodness.  Upon being given our “yummy treats” as described by the heavy female Wendy’s employee, Justin found something wrong with his frosty. 

J: “Dude, there’s a dickhole in my frosty.”

Me:”What are you talking about?”

J:”Look, it looks like someone stuck their dick in it.”

Me:”They made it right in front of us in the drive-thru window, they wouldn’t have done that.”

J:”Yeah, but did YOU actually see them make it!?”

Touche Justin, touche.

Carnivorous Mud, Gogol and Tool Deliver Goods, MBV Sounds Like Jet Taking Off (Pt. 3)

After Tool closed out with a memorable performance, I left with a great taste in my mouth of the entire day’s experiences.  Although I had driven in with Kat and Jillian, they were taking the ferry back to their abode in Brooklyn, so I said my goodbye’s, which were filled with tears and long embraces, and started the trek back to my car. 

For some back story, upon arriving at the park, I followed professional looking signs that said parking and came upon a lot with a handful of cars already settled.  I could see some fellow festival attendees tailgaiting, so I felt at ease leaving my car there under the supervision of the older man with a thick African accent.  He told us his partner would be by to pick us up and bring us to the actual park grounds, as he had been shuttling people back and forth that day and the day before.  When he showed up in a rusted, 1984 Dodge Colt wagon, my apprehension started to grow about leaving my car in Jersey City in a lot that was used for a now abandoned car dealership.  “Fuck it” I remember thinking to myself, “It’ll be fine.”

As he dropped us off, he told us we could exchange cell phone numbers to call when the show was over, or I could take the light rail to Richard Street, which was just a two block walk back to the parking lot.  Not wanting to pay anymore fees, I said I would just take the light rail.  As I was waiting for the monorail-style train to pick me up after the long day, I remembered he didn’t say which direction I should walk those two blocks in.  Not to mention, I still wasn’t sure if my car was even still there or already being used for a joy ride in downtown Jersey City.

Stepping off the platform and on to the streets, I could either go left or right, and left seemed more logical at the time.  As I walked, I went deeper and deeper into a situation that in hindsight was extremely dangerous.  Every car that was soon driving by never exceeded 5 mph, and was complete with 22-inch rims and tinted out windows.  I just looked forward in fear the wrong glance would call for the idiotic white kid walking in the ghetto at midnight to get shot up like a pinata in “The Three Amigos.”  Every stoop I passed was completely dark, with groups and gangs of young black men stopping their conversations as I walked by.  They would then proceed to walk down the step in my direction, staring, some even spitting conveniently near my feet as I walked by.  It was at this point I wish I had on a pair of Depends.  With more wrong turns, my situation only improved as I continued to pass drug deals on corners, as well as a woman standing in front of a building doing her best Exorcist contortion impression.  That building mind you was completely boarded up, with a sign of  “Beware of Dogs” crudely painted on the side with the sound of about 8 or 9 dogs barking like mad emanating out on to the streets.

After speaking to a couple random people that in my eyes looked like my best bet as information givers/people that wouldn’t fuck my shit up, I made my way back to the light rail with the plan of if no one there could help me, I’d call 911 and explain how much of an ass I am.  Sweating profusely, more from anxiety than from urban summer heat, I was thankfully able to find a couple that helped me out.  They pointed me in the other direction, and as I finally saw a street that was recognizable, I was praying that my car was still there.  To my surprise, both of the gentlemen from earlier in the day were still watching over all the cars, which had now gone from a lot of 6 or 7 cars to about 60+.  I was beyond close to hugging them both because I was so elated to have made it there alive, and after I reached home and washed myself free of mud and zoo-stank, celebrated the day’s good times and bad with friends at the local watering hole.

As I explained my day to pals, my good friend Jon told me that the week before five people were shot in downtown Jersey City.  Life is good, life is good…

Carnivorous Mud, Gogol and Tool Deliver Goods, MBV Sounds Like Jet Taking Off (Pt. 2)

So after a week/weekend that consisted of physical therapy, an amazing time with family up in Saratoga (I somehow even managed to win more money than I lost!) and a splash of laziness thrown in for good measure, I’m finally getting to part 2.  I know the 4 people that might look at this weren’t dying for it, so I hope just more for my sake I’m able to keep up a little better than what I’ve demonstrated since the first post.

After narrowly missing …And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Dead’s set, a decision was made shortly thereafter that we would tell everyone we knew that wasn’t at the festival we did in fact see Trail of Dead, and that it rocked.  So yes, Trail of Dead’s set was awesome.  They played a bunch of their older stuff.  So cool.  I swear.

Meeting up with Ben, the first of many North Carolinians we congregated with that day, we meandered over to the comedy tent for the humorous stylings of Tim & Eric, of Adult Swim and internet webisode fame.  I’ll first mention their joke-cracking dj, who by the end of his attempt at stand-up had crashed and burned.  Early on though, there were some winners right up my alley, such as some new pick up lines: “Damn girl, you shit with that ass?” which was promptly followed by “That dress would look great buried in the desert.”  His crowning moment (in my eyes at least) was when he started talking about the funerals he dj’s.  I was laughing already picturing someone hiring a dj for a funeral.  He mentioned how he thought because they release two doves at weddings, he should start releasing two bats at the funerals.  Gold.  And then he followed it up going right at a potentially offensive topic (which peaked my interest.)  “So I was hired to dj John Travolta’s son’s funeral.  When I played the dedication song, they didn’t appreciate that I chose “Stayin’ Alive.”  Two thumbs up good sir.  Tim & Eric followed this up by prancing around on stage in skin-tone spandex suits with elephantitis-sized fake testicles sewn into the crotch.  With pubes.  Singing about diarrhea.  And the only word in the song was diarrhea.  There was also a twisted video about getting a man-themed broche, conveniently called a “Bro-oche.”  I’ll stop here, because the entire set was hard enough to grasp for the people that actually witnessed the madness.  We did all start laughing more and more as the day wore on however.

Making our way back across to the main stage to see  Arctic Monkeys, it was noticeable there was a decent number of fans to see the band.  I’m not a huge fan of the group, but the set was decent.  There were some moments of solid, heavier-than-expected grooves, but it was a more laid back group of songs overall.  It was tough to tell if lead singer and guitarist Alex Turner was drunk, didn’t want to be on stage, or just needed a lazy Sunday (er, Saturday) to himself, but I think it was a mix of all three.  No worries, because one of the greatest musical phenomenon happening at the moment was taking the stage next.

Gogol Bordello, lead by the  borderline maniacal Eugene Hutz and his battery of fellow crazy bandmates, annihilated every part of the festival that had a connection to bad vibes or low energy, and completely revitalized the crowd.  I’ve seen them before, as did some of the fans there, but whether there were repeat audience members or people who never experienced the madness that is a Gogol show, everyone was soon joined together as a part of something magical.  First and foremost, Hutz is downright one of the most charasmatic human beings on the planet and you can’t help but be sucked in and follow the Stalin-stached frontman.  The band, made up of immigrants (as is Hutz) from different countries around the world, follow suit and put on a show of epic energy levels.  People were soon running to the main stage hearing and seeing what was going on, and by the time they had reached the final few songs of their set, the crowd was one smiling, sweaty, muddy, pulsating mass.  Gogol shows don’t have mosh pits.  They have perfect strangers holding each other around the shoulders, dancing in circles and jumping up and down.  I know, I’ve taken part in this.  There is no testosterone-filled frat boy thinking because there’s an electric guitar with mild distortion he has to body check someone to the ground.  Everyone becomes friends.  Everyone dances.  Everyone can’t wait to see them again.  Gogol Bordello is the most fun you can have at a concert today, and not only do I believe in that statement, I heard it  from just about everyone leaving after their set.

After Gogol saved the day, My Bloody Valentine almost brought everything back to square one.  I won’t write a lot on them, because giving  little effort is what I felt like they were doing while on stage.  For those who don’t know, the band’s albums “Loveless” is on countless critics’ (and hipsters’) lists of greatest albums ever.  I have it, and it’s pretty good, but I’ve never jumped over the moon about it.  Nonetheless, I was at least interested in seeing their show.  I had heard they like to play louder than most, and they did.  They played at absurd volume levels, pushing concert goers further and further from the stage.  Oh and the ending of their set, which was treated as an encore?  A twenty-minute, high-decibel, ear-bleeding wall of distortion.  The closest sound I can compare it to is standing on the runway of an airport while a jet plane takes off for twenty minutes straight.  Brutal.  They, along with their hipster devotees, can go be “cooler” than everyone somewhere else.  Do that shit at your own show, not a festival you were invited to play at.

That left Saturday’s headlining act, Tool, left to take the stage.  I’ve always been a pretty big fan of the band.  Heavy, musically talented (Danny Carey really is a drum legend) and original, there’s a lot to like.  I was slightly worried though, hearing how frontman Maynard James Keenan can be come show time.  You can either get a man who is 100% dedicated to the performance, or one who finds it amusing to read a book while on stage during the parts he’s not singing.  Well Maynard, and the band, were undeniably amazing, and with a loyal Tool army of supporters (I’ve never seen so many t-shirts of one band at a show in my entire life), they closed out Saturday night with authority.  The sound was amazing, with guitar and bass lines that came through so clear and haunting I had goose bumps countless times.  Carey escalated his playing to Bonham level, and Maynard was a straight up rock God.  Silhouetted against the back screen, he twisted and turned and contorted in a manner unlike anything I was used to.  If their flawless performance wasn’t enough, the accompanying high definition video screens producing trippy images as well as their classically creepy video footage, along with amazing light effects, made this a complete package and concert experience.  Understanding the power that can come from a show done right like that, they really are a modern day Pink Floyd.  I had pictures, but Maynard looked directly at my camera and it melted. 

Part 3 coming much quicker than Part 2.

Carnivorous Mud, Gogol and Tool Deliver Goods, MBV Sounds Like Jet Taking Off (Pt. 1)

As I approached the entrance to Liberty State Park for the All Points West Festival on August 1st,  anticipation was high for a day of memorable musical performances and genuine moments shared with my good friends Kat and Jillian.  Then I took one step on to the property and realized there was an enemy there that day attempting to prevent those good things from happening: the circus-stench, ankle-engulfing mud of despair.  Not five minutes after arriving and I felt like Atreyu crawling through the Swamps of Sadness.  Walking through the park one could see at least one shoe or flip-flop every 20 yards or so, left behind like the fatally wounded on a battlefield.  Sometimes it seemed as though the owner of said footwear may even have fallen victim to the mud themselves, swallowed whole by a beast that hid beneath their feet.  These poor souls never made it to see their favorite band and weren’t able to enjoy a Twix chocolate bar while being misted at the aptly named “Twix Mist Tent.”  I had to push forward, not for myself and the 100 plus dollars (after those damn service fees) I spent on the single day pass, but for those brave concert-goers that perished in the harsh terrain doing something they loved.

 A quick bite from the tasty Spicy Pie stand refueled our tanks, washed down by a warm, 7 dollar, medium-sized cup of beer.  Quickly doing the math and understanding we would be spending roughly 50 dollars each if we purchased the max number of beers we were allowed to drink, water became the go-to beverage for the rest of the day.  There was no shortage of food stations, and hearing the Dancing Zorba’s Greek food tent was causing most of the lines at the porta-potties gave the festival a genuine “bad red -rope licorice” incident, which was definitely a plus.

Disappointment set in when we realized we had missed …And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Dead’s set, so we headed to the comedy tent in hopes Tim & Eric would cheer us up.  Yes, despite my ramblings, there actually were comedians and bands performing at this festival.  You’ll read about that tomorrow however, because I started this late and I am le tired.  Part three following my numerous near-muggings and shootings that followed the concert will be posted soon too.