I Hate Sum 41

There I was, minding my own business, trying to find a reasonably priced copy of Mitch Easter's newest release "Dynamico" (no luck) at our local hipster record chain when I realized I was being assaulted by truly horrible emo. The culprit, the new release from Sum 41, "Underclass Hero".

I guess one of the benefits of being as terribly terribly old as I am (wait, let me put my teeth in for writing the rest of this post) is being able to remember when Emo actually had real feeling attached to it, and was not just a predictable array of skateably soaring chords accompanied by trite hollered lyrics scrawled in CVS notebooks by white upper middle class boys whose greatest pain to date was buying their IPod right before the new one with the video came out for the same price. Oh did that hurt your tiny little heart? Owsie-wowsie emo-boy. Maybe you should go get more fuel for your revolution at the local Hot Topic?

Needless to say I was suitably chased from the store after about 3 songs. I thought of telling the cashier how much the music currently on blows, but then I remembered when I worked at Strawberries and was forced to listen to The Cover Girls 20 times a day. Most of what is played in stores is a paid cross-promotion with labels. Pay to play. It's 'illegal' on the radio, but thank god not in record stores. But how much would I charge to listen to this record again? Hmmm...

Gene Simmons Family Jewels

And since I have nothing musical to talk about lately except my minor obsession with 'reality shows' about washed up rockstars... I did give in to watching a few episodes of Gene Simmons Family Jewels, a show I swore I wouldn't give in to because I've heard over and over what a jerk this guy is (regardless of how lovely a song Rock and Roll All Night is). Weirdly the show doesn't show Simmons to be as much of a jerk as just an old pain in the ass. Rather than exposing a softer side to a celebrity known for their darkness and outrageous behavior as The Osbornes did so many moons ago, Family Jewels just exposes the nebbishy grump behind the darkness and outrageous behavior. Oy oy oy. After watching a few episodes it's not hard to imagine the real life Simmons and the make believe character of George Costanza's father spending time together complaining about the price of quality footwear. But the qustion is, would I like to see that on TV? The answer is a resounding "NO". There is hope for Simmons' son, but the rest? I find it hard to believe this is a show about a man who once was part of a band who said they wanted to rock and roll all night and party every day.

Who's House? Who Cares!

Lets be honest, I only made it through about 15 minutes of Run's House before I got so bored I decided it would be more fun writing here. I know Christianity and rock can sometimes coexist peacefully, but in this case the BET reality show which chronicles goings on in the house of Run from RUN DMC is about as interesting as a visit to your great aunt's house. Sure she'll let you drink all the Shasta you want, but that's still not great TV

I was surprised that the theme song to the show was not the classic hit Run's House (I bet there's some copyright story there...) but a boringed-up cover. However, compared to the theme of the Bret Michaels Rock of Love theme it's not really a tune I find lacking. Or maybe, to be clearer, both songs are lacking.

The bigger question raised by all of these shows is, if a celebrity is washed up, by having a new show about their life, are they now by definition not so washed up anymore? It seems unlikely the answer is yes, yet for the celebs on these shows it seems unlikely they have any idea this is the case. Oscar Wilde may have said the only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about, but Oscar Wilde never met the cast of The Surreal Life.

Bret Michaels: Rock of Love - Baldness Debate Continues

I attended a party this weekend where I met a guy (the boy hired to run the BBQ if you must know) who insisted he knew Bret Michaels personally and says he is not bald. The individual says that his basketball league hires a wide array of washed up metal bands including Poison and Ratt to do half-time shows, and thus had partied with Michaels (and his hair) in person on more than one evening. In response to my inquiry about why he's always wearing a bandanna or hat, Mr. BBQ replied that having your hair not in a bandanna "...is not very rock and roll, is it?". So anyway, if you want to take the word of a mysterious man I do not know, but who really seems to know his way around some wieners,...

Hallelujah, The Hills!

I was lucky enough to get to see just a few songs worth of local band Hallelujah The Hills when they played at the Artbeat festival in Somerville on Saturday.

With a trumpet, a wide array of guitarists, and nice little indie-rock vocals, they fell somewhere in the realm of The Apples in Stereo or maybe Ween (again, the brass, the brass!). Delightful in many ways. I'll be back for more.

These cats still need to work on the fact that they need better clothes (except multi-instrumentalist Elio, you look adorable); a move that would lend credibility to the idea that not only do they all know each other, but also are in the same band. Till then I'll just close my eyes and think of Elephant 6.

Murder Was The Case That They Gave Him

This week, Snoop Dogg was the guest star on USA's obsessive compulsive detective show Monk, portraying (what else) a wrongly accused rapper/label owner named Murderous. The moments when Snoop speaks to Monk of the shizzle etc. are beyond hilarious, but most fabulous of all, Snoop lays down his own version of the otherwise gawky Randy Newman penned theme song "It's a Jungle Out There" and shockingly, it works!

Bret Michaels - Rock of Love

In an amazing feat of multi-tasking I was finally able to see my first episode of Bret Michaels: Rock of Love while at the gym the other day. Our moment together was short, as there was someone waiting for the elliptical, and for a while there I was too engrossed in listening to The Editors on my mp3 thinga to even notice what was on the in-gym TVs. When I got the headphones off, I got to see Michaels with some young thing on his lap, the voice over said, "She was possibly the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen, but as I talked to her I had to think 'Do you understand what I am saying, is there some problem you have with hearing me, I'm about one foot from your face.'" Then we cut to Michaels telling the girl how he's done with the party life (and you know, since his band's heyday was 25 years ago, maybe it's time), he just wants to have quiet time and you, pretty young girl on my lap, do you like to party or have quiet time? You would think the answer would be obvious. Close up on pretty girls face.

Waiting.

Waiting.

No reaction. None at all. It is like she is in another world, a world where she is not on Michaels' lap. A world where she has not just been asked a question. A world where there is nothing but the cool crisp silence of what goes on inside the brain of a moron. Michaels' voice over then returned, assuring the audience then that although she was as dense as the matter at the heart of a dark star (I'm paraphrasing here) he would find a way to communicate with her, because she was extremely beautiful. I am sure you will Bret. I have all the faith in you that I have in all of the people I know who have serious addiction problems (and by the way, being a recovered alcoholic and childhood diabetic what up with all the boozing on the show?). Being the level headed cat you are, I'm sure you can get through to her and all will be ducky.

Just ducky.

But really now, why would any of these pretty young things really want to be with Michaels? He's paunchy, no longer pretty, no longer really a celebrity, and furthermore you're not fooling me with that hat and scarf you're always wearing - you're bald pal! Why can't they get a celebrity chix actually want to meet, maybe one of those Interpol guys or something? I'd go on that show. And by the way, I like to party. And nap.

All Hail The Caesars

I was so happy to note adorable Swedish pop band The Caesars have gotten another venue for securing cash from their compositions, namely their song "We Got To Leave" is being used as the theme song for the totally addictive new A&E show "Confessions of a Matchmaker". This added to the time when "Kick You Out and Let The Sun Shine In" was used in an ad (for what I don't remember, but the premise involved kids dancing in a laundromat) and "Jerk It Out" being used in an IPod ad means that The Caesars are surely one of the most ad-friendly bands around.

When the band released "Youth Is Wasted On The Young" in 1998 it was one of my favorite albums of the year. But 9 years later I sadly can't report that musically things are much better for the lads. I was excited to catch the band a few years ago when they romped through town but the show was tired and the songs from Paper Tigers didn't have the same spark as older numbers. Then again, when you start your career quoting Russ Meyer movies ("She's such a groovy girl, I'd like to strap her on") and singing vicious little ditties about love and drug abuse ("I wanna smoke crack, 'cuz you're never comin' back, I wanna sniff glue, 'cuz I can't get over you") really, there's nowhere to go but down.

Together we are 1000 years old: The Psychedelic Furs, The Fixx, The Alarm

Thirty bucks for three bands whose heyday was 25 years ago. Who’s interested in going? Initially I was going to hold out, but eventually I gave in after remembering a few things about the bands playing tonight:

1. The Psychedelic Furs are cool, I have never seen them, and I could still rock out to “Soap Commercial” any day of the week.
2. There was a time that I loved The Alarm – this may have only been because they were friends of U2, and because they had some fine taste in civil war style clothes, but hey still that counts for something, doesn’t it?
3. A phone call to a high school girlfriend verified that she was eager to see The Fixx at last, after having missed them in 1983 due to a traffic jam on the way to the venue.

A call to Ticketmaster, and we’re off.

I know that I met the Alarm when I was about 18. I know this only because I have a photo of myself with singer Mike Peters, and I because still have his autograph pinned to my childhood bedroom wall. The thing is, I don’t remember actually seeing the Alarm back in the day. Did I? My copies of “Declaration” and the debut EP have been gathering dust in my record collection for years now, so tonight when the band stride across the stage (well, only Peters is an original member now, but recruits include ex-members of The Damned and Gen X so they come with a pedigree) I really don’t have many expectations. So, how shocked am I then when they totally nail it from minute one? Yep, I’m shocked.

The Alarm may have a lot less hair than they did 25 years ago, but from classics like “Where Were You Hiding When The Storm Broke” and “Absolute Reality” to newer tracks like “Superchannel” and “45 RPM” (a 2004 single released under the pseudonym The Poppyfields, along with a fake band bio and video to ensure there’d be no ageism to get in the way of the band’s success - it went top 30 in the UK) tonight they’re able to churn out a hand-clapping, foot stomping, playing card-throwing, sing-along set with the kind of energy bands half their age would be lucky to approach. Oh, and did I mention that Peters has just recovered from leukemia? So make that a healthy un-ravaged by leukemia band half their age. I now make the following apology: Alarm, I have underrated you. I had written you off as a band I loved only because you knew Bono’s home phone number, but I was wrong and I apologize. For tonight Alarm, you rock.

It’s fair to say I was never a particularly big fan of The Fixx. I never owned a copy of Shuttered Room nor Reach the Beach, but somewhere in my teenaged cassette collection is “Lost Planes” dubbed off the radio. After sitting through nearly an hour of the band’s current set though, I think it’s OK to tape over that cassette now.

The Fixx are in good physical shape. Singer Cy Curnin’s pumped pectorals look terrific and guitarist Jamie West-Oram’s punk-plaid pants and Blondie T-shirt fit just right. If only that were enough. Although these two still have the bods to be aging-yet-hot on stage, what they seem have lost is the ability to make music anyone is particularly interested in hearing. The badly planned set forced the crowd of 30- and 40-something’s sit through 4 interminably long (new ?) songs before getting around to single “One Thing Leads To Another”, delivered with only intermittent vigor. All hope seemed to be lost as the band noodled their way through a set that seemed to serve only to entertain Curnin’s fantasy of being Brian Ferry, but thank God there was one thing that could save the band’s set – booze. Unscrewing the caps of a series of tiny wine bottles and dispensing them into a small plastic glass, it seemed the more Curnin swilled the better he got. By the time the band wound up their set with a deluge of the songs the now visibly bored audience had been waiting for all along – “Deeper and Deeper”, “Red Skies”, “Saved By Zero” – the band had finally found their groove. Alas a little too late.

Unlike the Fixx, the drink of choice for The Psychedelic Furs is Coke and Red Bull – and it shows. Being the only band tonight who got the memo titled “When on a reunion tour OPEN WITH A FUCKING SINGLE” they bounded onto the stage to the sound of a honking saxophone (remember when everybody had a sax in their new wave band?) and kicked their set into gear with a spirited version of single “Heartbeat”. Maybe it’s the nearly 30 years doing this under their belts, maybe it’s the amount of success they’ve had in the past, but it’s plain from the outset that The Furs are stars, and on stage they never forget that. Singer Richard Butler in his signature loose-fitting but smartly-tailored trousers, shirt, and oddly Lisa-Simpson-esque giant grey pearl necklace bounces, swoops, flails, spins, kicks, and skips his way through the set; grabbing audience members’ hands, sitting on the monitors and stage floor, and doing his trademark crossed-leg crouch while snapping jazzily and refining that stellar David Bowie impersonation he started working on years ago. His croon is as strained and perfect as ever, and the band pull off seemingly endless string of hits from their gigantic catalogue including “Into You Like A Train”, “Heaven”, “Dumb Waiters”, “Until She Comes”, “Love My Way”, “Pretty In Pink”, and “Heartbreak Beat” all without a hitch. By the time that the band arrive at their encore of “Sister Europe” – complete with impressive sax solo - and “President Gas” – a song whose lyrics could have been penned yesterday rather than 25 years ago – the crowd is at last sated.

Now, back to suburbia with the lot of you. And for the bands, a nice nap.

Obscure factoid of the night: Adam and the Ants bassist Gary Tibbs now plays in The Fixx, but sadly he now looks less foxy and more like Phil Collins.