New (JAZZ) Vinyl Review! - Dream Patrol - Calling the Czar

Dream Patrol - Calling the Czar (1988)

The players:

Mark Ross - Keyboards (not the same Mark Ross from Quarterflash mind you)

Larry Kilmas - Saxophone

James Donnellan - Guitars

This was a lucky find during a trip to the thrift store. It's usually a dangerous proposition when you buy an album based on the cover art, but therein lies the fun (and occasionally the agony) of discovery. My interest, beyond the cover art (done by famous album cover designer Hugh Syme, who has done covers for Rush, Queensryche, Aerosmith, Megadeth and tons of other bands) was piqued by the fact that there are 3 guys in this band and none of them plays drums. You have a saxophonist, a guitarist/bassist, and a keyboard player. I surmised (correctly) that this was probably some kind of a new wave jazz band.

So tonight, I tepidly put this baby on the turntable and let 'er rip. To my surprise I was actually really drawn in by the music. The best way I can describe their sound is to say that their music would not be out of place being background music for a Miami Vice episode or a late 1980's Jean Claude Van Damme movie. Their sound has that kind of muted, laid back 80's feel that evokes images of nattily dressed evil tycoons enjoying baby seal sausages and drinking fine wines while discussing how best to receive their latest shipment of 'product' from Colombia.

Dream Patrol's music is also just about the best example of mood music I can think of. Several of the songs on this album, again, would not be out of place in an 80's film as the backdrop for a steamy love scene, replete with painstakingly shot camera angles designed to reveal plenty of tits but nothing else.

Most of the tunes are smooth-grooving jazz numbers with a solid synthesizer foundation, overlaid with bass lines and extensive saxophone melodies. All the songs are tastefully constructed, and the part that endears me the most to this record is that they didn't fall into the use of the traditional boring ass 4-note basslines and snare drums played with brushes that seem to be the foundations of traditional jazz.

I think there would be a temptation for some people to call this elevator music...and I think that might not be unfair, considering if you heard this in an elevator you probably wouldn't think twice about it. Still, I think the competency involved in the construction of the songs is worth commending. SOMEone has to write songs to listen to while eating a fine dinner and drinking absurdly expensive cocktails, so it might as well be these guys.

Suggested Cuts:

"Flight to Cairo"

"Nepenthe"

Concert Idiots - A Guide

One of my main forms of recreation is going to concerts. Most people know I'm a big music guy and I pattern a lot of my hobbies around music in one form or another. There are things I love about the energy of seeing one of my favorite bands in concert...the anticipation once you get to the arena...shelling out mad money for cheap merchandise, singing along with the show, allowing yourself to be gulled into the whole 'false encore' thing that everyone does...etc.

But there are negatives. Huge crowds, pushy people, pickpockets, big city traffic, shrivel-dicked security guards, and extremely overpriced food and drink to name a few. But by and large the thing I dread the most about any concert I attend is the fanbase. Almost exclusively, the performers I enjoy had their heyday a minimum of 20 years ago. Thus the fanbase is usually far older than yours truly, and brings with it a strange mixture of fan types, most of which I tend to avoid like the plague. What I'm about to write will come off very Holden Caulfield-ish to most people, but that's the beauty of the internet. I can write this, you'll read it (or not), you can type out a scathing retort, and I can not give a damn...then the cycle begins again.

So behold...the moron gallery of your local concert venue:

1. The "Back in the day" fan. This guy is usually a portly guy in his late 40's to early 60's who is the owner of a ragged old tour shirt that he bought 25+ years ago. Invariably, his quest to slur conversation at you will begin with some permutation of the phrase "Boy I saw these guys way back in _____ at the ____ arena. Boy what a show! Of course you probably weren't even born yet UH HUK HUK HUK." These fans are very peculiar in that their fandom of the band in question seems to ebb and flow with the band's radio profile. When "Run to the Hills" was first on the charts, this dude was all about it. He probably started a Clive Burr mailing list or some shit. But here we are almost 30 years later and I bet he couldn't name who the hell that 3rd guitarist on the stage is, and holy hell, who's that ugly dude playing drums! Another one of this guy's favorite phrases is, without fail, "Wow, these guys are still together!" AVOID

2. The leather-skinned groupie-wannabe. This is an older woman with skin that'd even make present-day Ric Flair stop for a sec and just go "daaaaaamn." Usually clad in the standard issue way-too-revealing camisole, wrinklified tattoos and jeans, this lady thinks she's STILL the hottest ticket in town. With her mouth-breather husband in tow, she walks with an ill-deserved assuredness everywhere she goes. She couldn't name one song by the band you're about to see 30 years ago and she'll be damned if she can now. She wasn't a groupie then, but she damn sure wants you to believe she was. Can usually be seen buying mixed drinks or beers with a pre-loaded Visa debit card and stumbling to her car laughing maniacally after the show.

3. The group of barely legal to drink girls looking for an excuse to get drunk. This is one phenomenon I never can understand...people who need an EVENT to go to in order to get 3-sheeted. Why not go to the bar? Failing that, why not just sit at home on your couch and get fuckin' hosed? Why would you shell out all the ridiculous Ticketbastard fees and buy tickets to a concert you don't even care about, just so you can pay 5 dollars a beer and dance like a moron to songs you've never heard of? Furthermore, why would you take away the opportunity for a REAL fan to buy some tickets? These are questions that will forever go unanswered.

4. "FREEBIRD" guy. Enough said. Permission to kill on sight.

5. Overly talkative guy. This guy can't get enough of conversing with you, and what luck! He's seated directly next to you and as such, escape is impossible. Popular phrases include, but are not limited to:

"Why you here alone!? No girrrrl friend!? Huh!?"

"Dude this concert is going to ROCK! I'm so pumped! Are you pumped!? Fuck yeah!"

"Man I love this song! Man, hey, hey, dude! Dude! I LOVE THIS SONG!"

"What're you doing after the show, wanna go have something to drink?" (Not creepy at all. At all.)

6. The "Let us in" fans. Without fail, before every show, when the doors are not yet open, the amassed crowd becomes restless for no reason whatsoever. Like a group of conspiring captives plotting their escape from a hellish prison camp, these loudmouthed pricks can't wait to let the security team and event staff have it.

"Psh, look at em, they're just standing there! Not doin' nothin! Let us in, man, we wanna hear the show!"

"Haha, we should like totally just rush the gate, they'd HAVE to let us in then."

"Dude it was supposed to open at like...6:30 and it's 6:33. Fuck this is bullshit, I hate this place."

"It's like this every time, man. I swear. We pay all this money to come here and they can't even open the gates on time. I bet they do it just to screw with us."

There's also usually one or two absolute frigging troglodytes who start a "let us in!" chant, thus proving themselves unsuitable to reproduce.

Meanwhile the rest of us semi-reasonable people are facepalming faster than you can say Captain Picard. I give security teams at concerts a lot of shit under my breath because most of them are legitimately micropenised assholes who failed police academy, but if I had to deal with these morons all the time, I'd get pissed off too. They just make the horde of fans outside look bad. Usually when I go to a concert, I literally don't utter a single word to anyone from the moment I go inside till I get home later. Why should I?

7. The CD Player. I call them this because their expectation is to go in, hear the songs the exact way they are on the album and then go home. They get horrendously pissed if this expectation is not met. True story:

I was in line for the Fleetwood Mac concert in May of 2009. Behind me were two older ladies, discussing the upcoming show. The first one says "I hope if they play Big Love or Go Insane they don't do those re-worked versions. I wanna hear it like it is on the CD." The second lady enthusiastically agreed.

That's about as close as I've ever come to physical violence at a concert. You don't want to hear Lindsey Buckingham absolutely tear the place apart with one of the most mindblowing single-performer nylon string guitar performances in rock history and would rather hear the original synth-heavy version which is passable at best? The fuck outta here with that shit. This type of fan is liable to complain about extended bass solos, drum solos, lead singer interactions with the crowd/raps, or reworked guitar solos. It's perhaps the most puzzling of all the fan types. Why are you even going to the concert? Because you like spending money so you can stare at a Titantron like a dipshit?

MAIDEN VOYAGE: Entry #4

So much for my picture post; this laptop may just self destruct if I try that so I may have to wait until Wednesday evening to put up any photos.

If they ever wrote a children's book about our day yesterday it would be titled Baby's First Driving Experience in Chicago. Our plan was simple: drive to a restaurant in downtown Chicago, eat lunch, then venture to the lakeshore to visit a couple parks and the zoo. Things started okay enough. We got from the southern burbs up to downtown. I even managed to park securely in a ramp on my first try, something I can never seem to do in Minneapolis even. We walked down and ate at Pizzeria Uno, a restaurant recommended to me by a native Chicagoan. The pizza was delicious and super filling. After snapping a few photos I urged us to get going, as few things in the world make me more apprehensive than city driving. Especially when you're driving what is essentially the largest domestic passenger sedan on the market.

We hit the freeway once again but due to a couple of navigational errors made by my helmswoman in the passenger seat, we wound up in the wrong place. A very, very wrong place. For all my apprehension driving downtown, I soon remembered the kind of apprehension I like even less: city driving in horrendous neighborhoods. Urban decay of every variety, open containers of booze being drunk in the streets. Panhandlers walking through rows of cars asking for change. Groups of young men in those dress-size white T's standing on the corner, perhaps sitting on a package. Rows of boarded up low-rises surrounding weedy courtyards. Perhaps if I were Jimmy McNulty I wouldn't have been quite so smacked by the whole affair, but as it was, I wanted to get the fuck out of there and fast.

Luckily we found our way eventually and headed up the lake shore on US Highway 41. It took us a long time, and forced us through many traffic snarls but we made it up to Lincoln Park. By the time we got there the zoo was closed. Rush hour traffic had ensnared the city like a swarm of god damn fire ants and the trip back began absolutely horribly. Short version is that we wound up on some kind of detour through Lower Wacker Dr. and stuck in rush hour traffic right in the damn middle of Chicago at 5:30 PM. At that point I decided I'd had enough for the day. I had to be man enough to know when to throw the towel in and live to fight another day.

Suffice to say it was some time before I managed to get out of there, no closer to the freeway I sought. The only way I managed to get out was to go back the way I came on 41, retracing my whole entire route back to the hotel. By the time we got there I felt horrible; my stomach rolling and turning from the cumulative effects of the day's food. But, the other member of my party was hungry, so we went to a local Greek place (staffed entirely by Mexicans...strange) and got some dinner. It warmed my heart that WWE Raw was on the TV and all the employees were studiously watching it. The guy cleaning the floors literally would watch and only do his work during commercials.

The food was fantastic but I couldn't even eat my Gyro (which the woman ordering in front of us annoyingly called a "guy-row") because I felt like such shit. We had to go to the local Target to get some drinks and supplies afterwards, and finally I was able to lie down at the hotel. I put my Gyro on the nightstand and vowed to eat it soon. After lying down for a while I felt better and managed to put it away. It was astoundingly good. There was more meat on the sonofabitch than there was pita to encircle it. Once I'd finished it though, it was time for sleep.

Now we're gearing up to head out of here. We're going back to Madison, staying one additional night there, and then going home Wednesday. I remain optimistic despite my Chicago fail yesterday. Next time I will be more prepared. Actually next time I'll take the fucking train.

MAIDEN VOYAGE: Entry #3

Now that my hearing has mostly returned, I can write this ish down...

So yesterday went from being shitty to being awesome in a short time. We started out by leaving Madison after some consternation about where to find a grocery store nearby. We just got some drinks from a gas station and headed out on US highway 12 towards Chicago. I ate Taco Hell for the second time in my entire life. It had been over 2 years since I even set foot in one, and that was for relief from what I'll succinctly call an intestinal civil war.

We headed down through some nice pastoral areas towards the Illinois border, but once we hit Illinois, I learned in time two things:

1. Google maps is smarter than me and I should not try to modify the routes it picks for me

and

2. Just because a highway is marked as a US highway on a map is NO GUARANTEE that it will not be 80 miles of stoplights and 40 mph speed zones.

What resulted was what should have been a relatively short trip being turned into a long, droning journey, during which I probably was averaging a walloping 15 miles per gallon. Winding our way down highway 12 into Chicago, we then went south on US Highway 45 towards the hotel. All said and done it was damn near 4 PM when we rolled into the place. My legs and back were killing me from the constant stopping and starting/stressful drive.

The hotel was overrun with people also there for Iron Maiden. Unshaven, long haired geeks like me were just about everywhere, all speaking excitedly and carrying Irish suitcases of cheap beer. We quickly got moving, getting ready to go out and grab a bite before the concert.

We ate at a nearby Asian fusion restaurant which provided us with some delicious fare at reasonable prices. The waiter was truly excellent and brought us the food in a hurry. I ate way too much too fast though, and worried of intestinal distress at the show. We reached the parking lot at the arena exactly as they were opening it for parking. We got a killer parking space near the gate, but wound up having to wait an hour to get inside. The funniest part about it for me was that there was a female line and a male line for pat down searches. The male line was about a quarter of a mile long, and I could count the female line on two hands. I forgot my camera in the car and by the time I realized cameras were permitted, I had already gone inside and could not re enter. I snapped some photos on my phone, but they are horse shit. My only hope is to find some photos taken by people in attendance that night.

After we got in we managed to feed the giant corporate monster as dutiful American peons should by buying overpriced t-shirts and a 5 dollar bottle of Coke. Just writing that last part makes me want to absolutely puke. We settled into our seats and had to wait for another hour before the show would begin. The day was hot, and this is an outdoor venue. Still, our seats were pretty good. The only downside is there was a speaker rack that obscured whoever was standing stage left unless they walked to the front of the stage. With Maiden this wasn't a problem but John Petrucci was elusive during the opening act.

Finally the concert got underway. Dream Theater played about a 45 minute set (!) and did a great job. They really need to get a rhythm player though, as Petrucci's insistence on filling all the gaps in the mix himself really made for some difficult listening at times. They predictably closed with Pull Me Under and left the stage. After a long period of preparation, the stage was set for Maiden's appearance. The customary Doctor Doctor cover opened things up (I'm glad I'm not the only one who loves the shit out of that song). Below is the setlist for the show, in order. I actually had written it pretty much from memory, but I checked it against a list I found online (I love you, internet) and realized I'd switched some songs around.

The Wicker Man

Ghost Of The Navigator

Wrathchild

El Dorado

Dance Of Death

The Reincarnation Of Benjamin Breeg

These Colours Don't Run

Blood Brothers

Wildest Dreams

No More Lies

Brave New World

Fear Of The Dark

Iron Maiden

Encore:

The Number of the Beast

Hallowed Be Thy Name

Running Free

As you can see, shit was heavy on stuff from Brave New World, Dance of Death, and Matter of Life and Death. Only a few classics in there. I'm not going to be one of those ass holes who bitches like mad about the setlist. Iron Maiden are grown ass men and can play whatever the hell they want. I actually really like the Brave New World album personally.

Bruce introduced "Blood Brothers" as a tribute of sorts to Ronnie James Dio, a guy who he called a "mentor." The crowd broke into a huge DIO DIO DIO chant at that, and an absolutely epic performance of the song ensued. The whole place was frigging into it.

One notable thing to observe as well was that they let Janick do a lot more shredding than usual at this show. If you watch the Flight 666 and Rock in Rio concerts, he seems to be relegated to rhythm guitar and 'sound effects' a lot (i.e. pick scrapes, harmonics, etc.) But here he was nailing a lot more solos and played almost all the recurring melody lines in Blood Brothers and other songs.

Just an outstanding concert. Mind blowing musicianship from top to bottom, and you'd expect nothing less. I already heard people bitching about the setlist in the lobby at breakfast this morning. What song did they want to hear? You guessed it. It's not that Run to the Hills is a bad song, but let's be real. The band has like 15 fucking albums worth of songs they can pick from. Don't you think they enjoy busting out album cuts now and then, and not just playing the same shit over and over? I sure would if I were in a band like that.

Tonight I'll probably do a 'picture post' with some photos from the trip so far, so stay tuned.

THE MAIDEN VOYAGE: Entry #2

We departed Minnesota yesterday from Red Wing (where we had dropped off the cat and spent our first night), heading south to La Crosse. We stopped in Winona to pick up a few supplies we forgot to bring (namely shampoo and deodorant....fuuuuuuuuuck). That was the first time I'd been in a K-Mart since our trip to South Dakota last year wherein the aforementioned mart was the only place nearby to get some new batteries for our CD player.

It was an agreeably pleasant and uneventful drive from there onward to Madison. The XM radio worked just as I thought it would to pass the time. There were only two points of consternation:

1. Sometimes I'd lose my signal if we went under some big trees or next to a big bluff.

2. The DJ on the Boneyard insinuated Ronnie James Dio sang on Headless Cross, thus proving her daft and unworthy of the job.

Once we got to Madison we checked into the hotel and headed out for lunch. 3 years ago when we came here for vacation we ate at a mind blowing Chinese place on a side street near the university area. So we went there again, finding it basically from memory, and had a fantastic meal with tons of leftovers for later. Then we headed back, intending to return to the State Street area in the evening when things cooled down. I passed some time watching the History Channel. The whole time I thought of that Adam Sandler bit on Weekend Update where he's supposed to be a travel reporter but he spends his whole Greek vacation in the hotel. "I'd seen Bull Durham before, but....never in Greece."

We eventually did head back, but most of the stores were closed by the time we got there. We had some ice cream from the Chocolate Shoppe (another place we ate at last time) and walked to the capitol building for some photos. There were a bunch of guys and gals, all with a bad case of the Umbles (stumblin', fumblin', tumblin') from a few too many High Lifes literally playing golf in the middle of the road. No police presence whatsoever but then again this is Sconnie. For some reason the part that made me laugh was that they were actually wearing golf clothes and golf spikes for this, replete with sweater vests and golf gloves.

We headed back after that, intending to get lots of sleep before heading out today. Presently I'm gathering our things for the 170 miles from here to the Windy City.

OH WAIT IRON MAIDEN IS TONIGHT!

O

M

G

And john petrucci

THE MAIDEN VOYAGE - ENTRY #1

This blog will serve as a place for me to post a vacation log while I am journeying to Chicago to see Iron Maiden on the 18th of July. The voyage commences on the 17th. The name for it came to me the other day, and I thought it was perfectly fitting: The Maiden Voyage. Particularly because I'll be taking my new car on its first real road trip and I'm anxious to see how she performs.

This right here is the map of the route

I'll be taking. I've actually gone this way to Madison before but have never set foot in Chicago. Sounds like fun. Downside is it's only about 436 miles, not quite my usual length as far as road trips go. Then again I'm usually not going on a road trip to see IRON FUCKING MAIDEN.

So every man of the house needs and loves his car. As you all are probably aware I'm a hardcore devotee of the old school, and one of its tenets is that as man of the house, I drive a big-ass rear-wheel-drive 4 door, V8 full size sedan. It was this way in my dad's time, my grandpa's time, etc. and I'll be damned if it'll change now. So behold, my machine:

1997 Mercury Grand Marquis LS. 4.6 Liter V8 engine and a 17 gallon fuel tank. This is the kind of trip these babies were built for. Touring and riding in comfort and style. Unfortunately the Marquis and the Crown Victoria/Town Car are going out of production next year. The last of the big fucking rear wheel drive monsters. A man can look quiet and correct in one of these.

As you can see I've made 2 key 'modifications' for the journey, the biggest of which being an XM Satellite Radio mounted on the dash. At a cozy 13 bucks a month, we get over 150 channels of commercial free music and other content. I don't think I'll ever listen to terrestrial radio again. The other mod is a simple cupholder/clutter catcher I've mounted to the floor. One of the annoying things about the stock cupholders is they cause you to lose access to the AC controls. Problem solved. For refreshment purposes, I've got a 38 quart cooler I'll be dropping in the back seat.

All is in readiness.

Album Review: Judas Priest - Painkiller

**Author's Note** The format for this and other reviews I post on this blog is directly stolen from Ruthlessreviews.com, a hilarious and highly intelligent review site I truly admire.

Breaking with tradition, this is actually not an album I own (yet). It's one of the few Priest records I actually don't have. But still, it's worth a review because it very well could be the best in their whole catalog.

1990 saw a decidedly different Judas Priest than previous incarnations of the band. Someone who hadn't listened to their material since British Steel for instance, would be amazed at how thoroughly their ears were being sonically assaulted. The band was in their rarest form...the performances on this album remind me of a fighter who shows up for one fight in the most amazing shape of their life and puts on a mindblowing performance, never to duplicate it. The twin-guitar assault was more technical than ever (hold up for a grip son....SWEEP PICKING?), Halford's vocals were pushing the limits of even his vocal chords, newly hired drummer Scott Travis brings the rapid-fire double bass from his speed-metal roots, and Ian Hill....oh who fucking cares it's Ian Hill.

While there are numerous outstanding Priest albums, I think a large percentage of the fanbase would pick this as their apex. It would be another fifteen years before Judas Priest released a new album with Rob Halford at the mic, and still to this day I think this is their heaviest, hardest, rawest album from top to bottom.

PAINKILLER

Theme: Here comes the Painkiller. He's basically the mother fucking silver surfer, but with wings, and he rides a motorcycle made out of a dragon. He's chrome, on fire, faster than the speed of sound, and he can fly. Oh and by the way he's from hell.

Key Lyric: "Faster than a laser bullet

Louder than an atom bomb

Chromium plated boiling metal

Brighter than a thousand suns."

Notes: One of the band's fastest, hardest, and most recognizable songs, I maintain that if Halford is going to die, it's going to be during a performance of this song on stage. The music video is the first time we get to see the horror that is a bald halford with no goatee.

HELL PATROL

Theme: Pissed off, coked up firebreathing demons from the bottomless pit of hell have come to the surface of the Earth. Why? To fucking specifically kill you.

Key Lyric: "Brutalize you

Neutralize you

Gonna go for your throat as you choke

Then they'll vaporize you"

Notes: Another outstanding track off this album...the drums are in your grill the whole time, and there are some great harmony guitar lines. It goes to show just how heavy this whole album is that there is just track after track of hard hitting songs without a break, which is not something the listener has heard from the boys before.

LEATHER REBEL

Theme; Typical Halford tale of martyrdom aboard a screaming Harley (most likely while clad in circulation-stopping tight leather). I'm a dangerous rebel living on the edge....remember my legend after I die...my heart's on fire...um am I forgetting anything? After 15 years of hearing Halford's heartfelt pleas to take him seriously as a mysterious biker, I'd hope the message has gotten through.

Key Lyric: "Like a renegade

All alone I walk through fire

Till I crash and blaze

I'm living on the edge"

METAL MELTDOWN

Theme: Explosions. Metal is power. We are metal. We have the power. Fire. Vague, unnamed entities are about to explode before you. Attending a Judas Priest concert is akin to having an atom bomb detonate in the seat next to you.

Key Lyric: "Imminent collision

Shockwaves all around

Generating energy

Screams so loud "

NIGHT CRAWLER

Theme: Mysterious, amorphous creature from hell itself stalks a town full of people and brutally devours them. I sure as shit hope you're noticing a common thread here.

Key Lyric: "Huddled in the cellar

Fear caught in their eyes

Daring not to move or breathe

As the creature cries"

Notes: Some pretty top-shelf creepy atmospheric keyboard and guitar lines in this one. As you're no doubt noticing so far, this album has a startling and jarring lack of innuendos related to: penises, sex, bondage, the thirst for power, and world domination. But I guess if you have to sacrifice the usual Priest lyric barrel, demons eating motherfuckers alive is a good substitute.

BETWEEN THE HAMMER AND THE ANVIL

Theme: Man do we hate those uptight anuses that accused us of forcing their fat manchild to commit suicide.

Key Lyric: "Transgression

They prey on grief

Our mission

To purify belief"

Notes: Supposedly written about the court case where Halford and the boys were accused of inserting subliminal messages into a song which caused a kid to commit suicide. 2 hilarious points about that:

1. This song's lyrics are so obtuse you would almost NEVER think that's what this song is about. I just imagine Rob Halford sitting down with a thesaurus, a candle, and a chianti and looking up the words "power" "righteous" and "sinner" and going to town.

2. The song they got sued over? It was a gat damn COVER.

Oh and the two handed tapping part during the epic guitar solo is sex.

A TOUCH OF EVIL

Theme: Slut. Just being touched by you is akin to having my paynus posessed by Satan.

Key Lyric: "A dark angel of sin

Preying deep from within

Come take me in I'm so afraid

But I still feed the flame "

Notes: What the fuck is up with the video for this song?

BATTLE HYMN/ONE SHOT AT GLORY

Theme: Destruction of our vague, unspecified enemies (or random colons) at all costs. Fuck hard today and become a legend in the future.

Key Lyric: "This day will last forever

Deep in the hearts of men

Courage and victory

Remember, remember"

Notes: Halford just absolutely couldn't hold it in any longer. For a gay heavy metal musician born in 20th century England, he sure dreams about dying specatularly on the field of battle a lot.

Another Vinyl Review: Black Sabbath - Seventh Star

Another from my record shelf that I spun the other day...

The year is 1985. Tony Iommi, the only remaining original member of Black Sabbath, is attempting to record a solo album. The style of the album was supposed to be a departure from the heavy, doom-laden style Sabbath was known for. In fact, the band was coming off 1983's Born Again...a very heavy album with former Deep Purple vocalist Ian Gillan at the microphone.

However, Warner Brothers records and Iommi's manager convinced Iommi to make the album a Black Sabbath release rather than a solo effort. As some sort of bizarre-ass compromise, the album was billed as "Black Sabbath Featuring Tony Iommi: Seventh Star." Fucking well HOPE he's 'featured' considering he basically WAS THE BAND at that point. What resulted was 1986's Seventh Star.

Fans had no idea that this was supposed to be a solo album, so many were taken aback by the huge change in the band's sound. This record is bluesier...less in-your-face, and definitely less dark. Another ex-Deep Purple member, Glenn Hughes, handles the vocals on this record. To be brutally honest, speaking as a big Black Sabbath fan...none of the tracks really jump out at you, none of them are terribly memorable. There are some truly impressive solos on this album, but that's about the only real redeeming feature. I did enjoy "No Stranger to Love" which I believe was the only single from the album, but even then, it was a slower ballad that really didn't fit the sound you associate with a Sabbath record.

Still, this record did serve some purposes: first off all it introduced keyboardist Geoff Nichols, who would be a key Sabbath member in the following years. Eric Singer (the current Kiss drummer) played drums on this album as well as the follow-up, 1987's The Eternal Idol.

I think more than anything, what this album proves is that while Iommi is an awesome player and a great musician who can write some great riffs, he needs a strong lyricist and fellow musician to help him out to truly achieve something dynamic. Geezer Butler (and to an extent, Ronnie James Dio) was the man for the job in the 70's and early 80's. But when left to his own devices, I think Iommi's own lyrics were too simplistic to even inspire HIM to write memorable songs around them, if that makes sense.

Butler, Dio, and later, Tony Martin, really helped Iommi to craft the later Black Sabbath sound. This record is more of what happens when he's left to tread water by himself, and it's not that great. It pains me to write sentences like that, especially since The Eternal Idol and the MONSTROUS follow up, 1989's Headless Cross were just fucking dynamite. In my opinion, Headless Cross was the best Sabbath album of all time, and it came because Iommi and Tony Martin collaborated to put together some truly epic songs.

Don't know what I'll review next, but stay tuned. I'm trying to go through the metal section of my records and see what I can turn up.

Later, and be excellent to each other.

Craigslist - A Diatribe

Craigslist is funny.

I really like looking around craigslist...when I'm bored, I'll just log on and search around the Minneapolis/St. Paul craigslist and see what I find. My favorite places to look are in the personal ads (obviously), the 'adult gigs' section, the free items listings, and the vehicles. All of them provide plenty of hilarity for your average red blooded American to enjoy. The personals and adult ads are full of desperate men and women willing to do anything for a buck, as well as people (usually men) whose deep-seated and disturbing fetishes can now be advertised anonymously.

Actual craigslist ad I found:

" Need a girl under 26 who can fart

I am a college student and just curious to play out this fetish.

Try your best to fart for 15 mins. near my face

pay 100

Please be cute, college-aged 18-26

If curious you can email questions ... "

One hundred dollars. That's how much some freakish pimplefaced gollum who apparently attends a local college is willing to pay to be farted on. I also love how he says "try your best" to fart for 15 MINUTES. Listen, I've had some big farts in my day, and even a succession of farts that stretched out a bit, but 15 minutes of straight up farting? Either this chick is gonna have to eat her weight in Tikka Masala curry beforehand, or this guy is gonna be really disappointed.

WHAT IS IT? What about being FARTED AT is sexually exciting? The smell? The sensation of the rushing air? The fact a woman's ass is in your face? Some combination of the 3? The 'please be cute' part is great too, as if some woman (who, let's be honest, probably looks like a split can of biscuits) who is willing to fart on your face, is going to be a knockout. You'd be lucky to hit the 'under' on a 300 pound over/under bet.

Let's go to the vehicle ads. Craigslist vehicle ads run the gamut from knowledgeable owners who post thoughtful, honest ads with all kinds of relevant car information (rarer than a dog who speaks Norweigan), to tiny blurbs like "97 Buick...runs great, 183K miles, call Steve at 555-5555." The beauty of these ads is that they're actually very deliberate in their brevity. These short ads are usually accompanied by a tiny, grainy picture (on purpose) or no picture at all to conceal the slipshod condition of the vehicle in question. No mention is made of features, body condition, transmission type, engine type, options, interior, tire condition, maintenance history, primary type of driving...etc. You get the idea. Some mouth-breather is trying to sell a POS car and they want some other pissant who doesn't ask too many questions to be the unsuspecting victim.

This doesn't even get in to the most tooth-grinding part of craigslist's vehicle ads: the horrible spelling and grammar. I must warn you: the ad I'm about to post IS REAL. I found it on the minneapolis/st. paul car ads listings, and I believe it's actually still up there. I'll also warn you: it will make you want to give up hope for the human race. It may even make you wish to procreate profusely simply to offset the level of mind-bending stupidity contained within.

THE AD:

"it a mx6 1990 it is a good littel car run and drive good got a pineer rado and good speakers in the car bran new cluch and presser plate and fly weel so it shood be good for a long. it got 25xxxx moder has a small tick broble a lifter. i am willing to trade for a 4x4 i would like a chevy or a ford no dodge pleas and thans for looking my # is xxxxxxx "

Pause for a moment.

This person, a grown-ass adult, sat down and wrote that bullshit. Not only did they write it, they hit 'publish' and then saw it again in an email from craigslist. They published it for good after seeing it yet again when clicking the link in their craigslist email. This person has seen their handywork numerous times, and not once did it cross their mind that there might've been a period or 12 missing in there someplace, and that 'motor' is not spelled 'moder.' I've GOT to get one of those Pineer rados someday myself.

Perhaps the most hilarious part is that despite looking at this ad no less than probably 10 times in the past few days, I have NO FUCKING IDEA what he means by "small tick broble a lifter." I am really no slouch myself when it comes to the mechanics of car part names, what they do, and how internal combustion engines work. I've worked on plenty of cars and motorcycles in my time and I cannot wrap my head around that mind-fuck of a post.

Review: Whitesnake - Ready an' Willing (1980)

Yessir, I pulled this one off my record shelf and spun it this evening. Below is a crappy review, my heart wasn't in it as much as it usually is due to the disappointment I felt upon completing my listening session. You know, when you go to a new restaurant, try their burger, and it's okay, but not something you'd eat again, yet you still finish it? Yeah that's Ready an' Willing.

In 1980, Whitesnake was essentially still just a blues-rock band and didn't really exhibit a lot of the heavy metal flash that began primarily with tracks from their 1982 album Saints n' Sinners, an album I have already reviewed. And while Saints n' Sinners was a blues rock/blues metal tour de force in a lot of ways, Ready an' Willing is a disappointment. The guitars are mixed down a surprising amount, in favor of a bass-heavy feel. Adding to the problem, impressive guitar solos are rare, and the songwriting seems labored...definitely not the best collaboration of the Micky Moody/Coverdale era of the band. Several of the tracks are plodding 12-bar blues-inspired numbers that pay homage to Coverdale's influences, but not in an interesting or innovative way. The title track, with its interesting chord progression and catchy chorus is about the only standout from the album, and even then, I'm on the fence about putting it on my mp3 player.

I love blues-rock and I love Whitesnake, but I'll be the first to admit this is not how you go about making a blues-inspired rock album. All the greats of the genre have figured out ways to integrate the essence of the blues while maintaining innovation and adapting to a pop sound. Whitesnake did this fantastically on Saints n' Sinners, Slide It In, and their self-titled 1987 album, all of which followed this release. That's why it was so disheartening to listen to this record....it was like waiting for a Tyson return to glory or a good new Metallica release - doomed for failure, with one's hopes crushed underfoot like so many grapes.

But, lest you think I'm suddenly down on one of the great bands of blues-metal, I will say that 1980 also saw the release of Live: In the Heart of the City, a double live LP consisting of late 70's Whitesnake concert material recorded live. This was a tremendous album (that I highly recommend you check out) and showed that the initial Moody/Coverdale/Lord etc. incarnation of the band really had what it took to put out some great music, but ultimately Coverdale's unpredictable nature led to the dissolution of this lineup in favor of the Slide it In lineup. The change did them good, however, with the addition of guitar genius John Sykes, whom I can't say enough about.

I realize this review sucks, but I just listened to the whole album all the way through and felt the need to write one out at the end of it. And if you gave enough of a smidgen of a shit to make it this far through an album review of a record that came out 30 years ago... you don't mind. I guarantee it.

80's Action-Style Review: Breakin'

* Author's note: The format for this and subsequent movie reviews is directly stolen from RuthlessReviews.com, a hilarious and incredibly intelligent movie and music review site that I truly admire.

* Rocky IV is a fantastic movie and is the best Rocky film. I allude to it in this review in a comparative sense with the film I'm reviewing here, but I do not in any way mean to assert that the films are even close to equal. They are not.

Breakin' (1984)

Tagline:

Push it to pop it!

Rock it to lock it!

Break it to make it!

(uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh)

Entire Story in Fewer Words than are in this Sentence:

Street dancers win over Shooter McGavin.

Homoeroticism:

Where the FUCK do you begin? First, let's get this out of the way: this IS the movie where that dancing Jean Claude Van Damme GIF comes from. And yes it's hilarious as hell when it goes down. Aside from spandexed Belgians, there's a whole truckload of gay going on in this delightful caprice of a film. First of all, our heroine (Kelly)'s best friend Adam is just ON FIRE. With his whispy pencilstache, wardrobe consisting entirely of pink shorts and legwarmers, his completely unconcealed lispy voice, and the simple fact he takes ballet, Adam just screams out gay. Interestingly enough he appears to have a romantic interest in Kelly early on, the viewer quickly finds out he's perfectly willing to let others step in front of him, so maybe he's just a switch-hitter.

Our two heroes, Turbo and Ozone fare a little better but not by much. They're break dancers, but still spend an alarming amount of time in each other's arms, high fiving, thrusting at each other, and hugging passionately. In fact, at one point, Ozone actually grabs another man on the dance floor, then proceeds to absolutely RAM his pelvis into the other guy's.

Although Ozone pines for Kelly's affections throughout, he ultimately settles for simply being able to dance with her as opposed to going any further. Huh? The manliest guys in this movie are the fruity ballet instructor and Shooter McGavin.

Corpse Count:

A big shitty turd of a zero. Technically this isn't 80'S ACTION, but there literally wasn't even a fistfight in the movie (I guess some rednecks get in a fistfight at one point, but it's such a damn lame scene I literally forgot about it until I was just about to publish this review), which qualifies as a huge letdown, considering this film was made in the midst of the bloodiest decade of films on record. The closest you'll find is Ozone getting real pissed that some phonies got up in his grill and pushing them. Take that, Pink Floyd Hat Guy (greatest attire in the movie btw).

How Bad is it Really?

Awful by all rights and standards, and doesn't even qualify as an action movie...more like a really lightweight version of a John Hughes movie. But still, there's lots to like. The dance sequences are actually pretty mesmerizing, and the film features the screen debut of ICE-T, motherfucker. Long before he needed a god damn gyno and walked around with Mariska "I look like I just smelled someone drop a deuce" Hargitay, ICE-T was about as hard as it got. Some nice close ups of the Technics "Wheels of Steel" turntables too.

But back to the film, it's horrible and the acting is a shitpile. Not as bad as The Last Dragon by a longshot, but the film definitely felt like it was made in that same vein. There really wasn't a Shogun of Harlem character, which the film was crying out for...just a tall black guy (the victim of the aformentioned pelvis assault) and his shifty looking Chicano partner who lamely try to outbreakdance our heroes and only initially win because they literally throw a Jersey girl onto the dance floor and win by...having...more...dancers..than the other team? It's never really explained.

Best Post Mortem One-Liner:

Considering no one actually dies in the film this category is pretty fucking worthless. There aren't even that many good quotes in it, to be honest. It's sort of like the Rocky IV* of breakdancing movies in certain ways: dialogue then montage, dialogue then montage...repeat until final climactic battle scene.

I suppose this would be the best one liner:

Turbo: You owe me seven dollars man.

Franco: For what?

Turbo: For teaching you how to dance sucker.

Stupid Political Content:

Hard to tell. If there is any it's definitely unintentional. Perhaps the entire movie could be seen as a thumb in the eye of Reagan's America, what with its homosexual overtones seeping into many of the scenes and the complete disregard for mainstream fashion, even by 80's standards. Still, at the end of the day this is a PG movie with a plot so thin you probably couldn't wrap sushi with it, so it's probably best left at that.

Novelty Death:

Damn. Next.

What You Learned:

1. The best way to impress Shooter McGavin is to successfully breakdance while Ice-T raps about being a great rapper in the background.

2. In Venice beach, there are people breakdancing ALL THE TIME. I have a feeling Vanilla Ice watched this film and took thorough notes before making Cool As Ice.

3. If you want a free hamburger in California, all you have to do is be gay and CLAIM that you have a relative that works for the health department.

Oh and there's a breakdancing cripple.

Record Review - Whitesnake: Saints an' Sinners

Recently, I decided that with my LP collection now numbering over a thousand albums, it was time to start going through and spinning some of them from top to bottom, and while I’m at it, review them. This is one such review.

Whitesnake’s 1982 album ‘Saints an’ Sinners’ was released during the Micky Moody era of the band, and as such is less akin to the more mainstream metal sound associated with the Coverdale/Sykes/Murray lineup of the mid 80’s and closer to straight-ahead blues rock. Not that this is a bad thing mind you, as the band at this point still had the services of Deep Purple keyboard great Jon Lord.

Saints an’ Sinners would be the last album released before the Slide It In album in ’84. As such, we begin to see the transition from the thinner, bluesier sound of early Whitesnake into the fuller, more monstrous sound associated with the WS albums of the late 80’s. In fact, two of the tracks on this album would be re-recorded for the 1987 self-titled supersmash album for reasons still unclear to me. This album also marks the most times you will ever see the semi-contraction “an’ “ used in song titles. FOUR tracks on the album have “ an’ “ in the title, and that’s obviously in addition to the album’s title. I imagine Coverdale looking back at this and wondering why the hell they didn’t spread those out a little.

On to the actual tracks.

SIDE 1

Young Blood – The album opens with this radio-friendly rocker which is at once a well-constructed pop song and at the same time completely forgettable. Typical Coverdale lyrical themes…you’re a young piece of ass and I’m an older gentleman who’s willing to keep you sheltered from the cold with my cock.

Rough an’ Ready – The immediate thought I had when hearing this was something like ‘Aerosmith could have easily done this song and it would have sounded about the same.’ The inescapable 12-bar blues makes its presence known early and assertively on the album via this song. This is the shortest song on the album (it doesn’t even break 3 minutes) and I get the impression this was a nod to the roadhouse crowd, a fast paced song meant to be played in places where they ‘sweep up the eyeballs at closing time.’ Again, relatively forgettable but enjoyable all at once.

Bloody Luxury – I had no fucking clue what to make of this shit. This sounds nothing like what you’d expect any Whitesnake song to sound like…ever. It’s a major-key exercise in complete debasement of the band’s signature sound. The first song to liken it to in my head was Queen’s “Tie Your Mother Down.” It’s a lively boogie but the upbeat piano part and definite NON BLUES vocals that nearly made me completely facepalm. And just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, Coverdale goes one further than the horrible tradition of lead singers yelling “GUITAR!” before a guitar solo…he triumphantly shouts into the microphone with horridly concealed glee, “THE BOYS ARE GONNA PLAY IT!” before a startlingly lame guitar solo. Barf.

Victim of Love – This song is proof that you can do a lot with a little. The verse is two power chords that are just nailed over and over, but the song is definitely a standout album track. The KISS-esque verse leads into a chorus that jars you away from the monotony of the preceding lines, while overlaid with a tasteful rolling bass line. The bass track on this song is just bad ass. Lyrically it’s an obvious Coverdale song with typical “oooh that god damn woman she done me wrong ooooOoOooOhhh yeah” connotations, but I’ve never faulted him for it. The man can write a damn good song when he wants to. By the time the solo kicks in you realize the guitar tone is straight out of 1978 Jacksonville, Florida…definite southern rock flavor to that solo. I highly recommend this one for a listen.

Crying in the Rain – Yes, the same song from the 1987 album. Now that that’s out of the way we can actually analyze this shit. Easily the most well-constructed song (and the longest) on the album, it’s a Whitesnake staple that’s still played at every live show and has appeared in one form or another on all Whitesnake compilations over the years. I actually enjoy this version more than the 1987 re-record, simply because the emphasis is more on the vocals than on shooting your brain stem out the back of your head with boner-inducing guitar tone. The vocals here are more soulful and bluesy, as are the main riffs. The harmony guitar during the chorus is a nice touch. During the verse, the sort of creepy blues atmosphere is enhanced by a nice keyboard arrangement courtesy of the aforementioned Jon Lord. Gotta love this one…hard to argue with a big hit like this in any context.

SIDE 2

Here I Go Again – This song became Whitesnake’s biggest hit when they re-recorded it in 1987, but ironically I think it’s this version that sounds more like a pop song. This is the version in which Coverdale uses the word “hobo” which later was changed to “drifter” on the 87 version because apparently ‘hobo’ sounded far too much like ‘homo.’ That last sentence was not a joke; I think drifter sounds better anyhow, but that reasoning still makes me laugh, especially considering David Coverdale is like top 5 of all time in terms of writing songs about getting laid. This version is slower, sludgier, and less pleasing to the ears in most places. The tempo makes the song seem to drag, especially when contrasted with the re-record, which is much faster and better arranged. Still, this has never been a favorite of mine from the WS catalog…this is more of a museum piece than anything, just an interesting listen to contrast with the more popular version.

Love an’ Affection – Probably intended to be a party song and little more, it relies on a FUCKING annoying descending blues riff for the chorus. It’s repetitive, it’s meaningless, and the keyboard, for once, is actually OVERstated (people bitch constantly about Jon Lord being underused in this band and if this song was his idea I can see why. I’ve never been a big fan of overemphasizing keyboards). Listened to in the context of Whitesnake’s large library of songs about love, all of which happen to contain the word love in the title, this one just seems like they weren’t even fucking trying.

Rock an’ Roll Angels – The “An’ “ songs continue to roll at you, dear listener. My mental image when listening to this was of some 50’s diner with waitresses on rollerskates, douchebags in Hanes t-shirts and jeans, and Wurlitzer jukeboxes. Needless to say, that’ll piss a man off when he remembers he’s listening to a WHITESNAKE ALBUM. Fuck.

Dancing Girls – Finally returning to an aggressive rock beat, we get this track. I can’t really decide if I want to pick this as a suggested cut or not. The verse chord progression (anchored by another god damn brilliant bass line) is awesome, but the chorus is almost a bit too major-key at times to fit in the overall structure. I guess coming off the heels of the shitty abortion of a track that came before this it’s a welcome change, so I’ll give it a thumbs up. The song definitely contains some of the coolest riffs of the album and a tasteful, enjoyable keyboard solo that doesn’t seem excessive. Lyrically, the meaning of the song is astutely explained in the title…let’s bring out the strippers and go balls out wild, etc. etc. I have a feeling this one will grow on me.

Saints an’ Sinners – Based on the title I was almost expecting a bit of a Black Sabbath doom vibe but that was pretty unrealistic now that I think about it. Still, the synthesis of a dark atmosphere for the verse with a MASSIVE blues riff that anchors both the verse and chorus gives this song a thumbs up from me. If you had to play someone a song to illustrate the early-era Whitesnake sound, you’d pick a track like this. Coverdale does some bizarre shit where he fills in some spaces after the chorus by essentially saying grace…a nod to the semi-religious theme of the song I guess, but it doesn’t ruin it, amazingly.

Overall rating: 7/10. Not a bad album by any means, but a couple of the songs were just so atypical of Whitesnake’s style that I couldn’t really go higher than this, despite the recommended tracks being truly excellent. This is a great snapshot of the band at the time, as they transitioned towards a more mainstream metal sound that allowed them to ride a wave of success in the late 80’s. The follow up album would see the introduction of the METAL GOD John Sykes, and there was no looking back from there.