The Devil Made Me Do It

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Maybe Not Brilliant, But Definitely Beautiful

Thanks to Entertainment Weekly, I'v been reminded of a weird, beautiful quirk of musical art. A few years back, Coldplay had a thoughtful little video for their song, The Scientist, where the protagonist, Chris Martin, journeys backward, while singing forward, to the moments preceding a car crash:



When played in reverse, it is visually more sensical (despite no explanation in either as to why he walked away from the crash). But the resulting song - in reverse - is as hauntingly beautiful as the the original:



Coldplay is a brilliant live band - it's a small dream of mine to see them play The Scientist forward, and the segue right into doing it backward. Chris Martin can sing the nonsense to make it sound like the backward version, or make up lyrics that sound like the backward vocals - I'll let them surprise me.

The Budos Rise Again

If you haven't heard of The Budos Band, I'll forgive you.

But if you read this, listen, and don't go out and buy a Budos Band record, I'll question your judgment.

Supported by Brooklyn-Based indie label, Daptone Records, The Budos Band (along with other great talent from that label) are proving that the sounds of funk, jazz, and afro-beat are far from dead.

Their first album, self-titled, opened with the killer track, Up From the South, and explored these sounds with such skill and grace, they make you wonder why this stuff isn't still in the forefront of mainstream music today.

With their upcoming release, The Budos Band II, it looks like these guys are going to prove all the more how the jazz band kids from your high school are actually much cooler than you. Head over to their MySpace page to check them out.

The first track from the new album, Budos Rising will, like all other Budos songs, have you bobbing your head and aching for some outdoor summetime concert party (where they're playing, of course), with a drink in your hand, dancing with a scantily clad gorgeous member of the opposite sex.

To put it another way, as the folks at Audiversity did, "you almost want to make a movie inspired by this soundtrack because it will inevitably be one badasssss film."

All hail the return of the Budos Band, August 7.

I Said Yes to the Mighty Smashing Pumpkins

I'm a lucky bastard. I had the opportunity to see the Smashing Pumpkins at their CD release party at the 9:30 Club in Washington this Tuesday.

Reviews for both the new album, Zeitgeist, and the show have not been too good. I'm wondering about the critics' expectations, though. Mostly, I've read that the major problem is that Billy Corgan & Co. haven't changed much even after reforming with two new members.

OK, so let me figure this out. The Smashing Pumpkins of today sounds too much like the Smashing Pumpkins we loved 10 years ago?

I'll do some math, here: (a) we liked Siamese Dream and Mellon Collie, (b) Zeitgeist sounds like both. (a) squared + (b) squared = only a jackass would try to be so high-handed as to be disappointed in a new album of a sound they love.

OK, sorry. Got a little frustrated, there. Really, though, the Smashing Pumpkins are flawed, like all great musicians. But that doesn't change that they're great. In the words of a friend of mine, Zeitgeist is "a tad overindulgent. Although, when have the pumpkins not been overindulgent?"

Exactly. Remember "Porcelina of the Vast Oceans"? Remember "Silverfuck"? Zeitgeist has songs like that. But it also has rockers like "Zero" and "Hummer."

In short, you take the Smashing Pumpkins for what they are - good and bad. And then, you let them rock you. They rocked us at the 9:30 Club on Tuesday night.

Check out "Hummer," from the show:


Also, they opened with the new oh-so-Pumpkins 9-minute-guitar-bass-and-drum orgy, "United States." Check it out.

Fratboys & Injuns

I had a dream last night that I was at a summertime fraternity party. Upon my arrival, just after dark, there was a commotion on the property of the fraternity house. It was on a corner lot, and there was a group of trees right up at the corner. The main fraternity activities were to take place out on the lawn - a pig roast, beers, music, and other summertime outdoor activities.

There were a number of lights in the trees, though. A couple guys came and ased me to go talk to some people there. Once I got to the trees, I saw that one had fallen. Around it stood a number of native-looking fellows in grass skirts, with weird sticks through their ears, noses and lips, holding torches.

Apparently, the fallen tree had been the tallest of the bunch, and these natives, who lived across the street, had worshipped it from afar like it was a god. Now that it had fallen, they wanted to all come over to the fraternity property that night and hold some big ceremony.

So, now that I had arrived, the fraternity guys wanted me to sort the whole thing out. They didn't want anything getting in the way of their fraternity party, and they weren't about to share their celebration activities with the natives' funeral for their god.

So, I took the natives back across the street and tried to talk sense to them. This wasn't easy. Their religion demanded that they hold this ceremony on the night that their god-tree fell. They spoke perfect English (and even offered me a soda). They were insistent. I asked them more about the ceremony, and they explained that it entailed music, drinking their native fermented drink, dancing and a celebration of the god-tree's life.

Needless to say, I was struck with inspiration. I ran and grabbed two of the fraternity guys and brought them across the street to the natives' home. I explained to everyone there that they all, in essence, had the same the same plans for the evening. Why not share the fraternity lawn for it? All the better to get to know your neighbors.

The fraternity brothers and the natives agreed. That night, they drank, and they danced. The fraternity guys bid a respectful farewell to the god-tree. The natives learned new dances from the college girls. They partied late into the night and were friends forever after.

There I go, creating world peace, one effed up boozy dream at a time.

Thanks to An Old Single Serving Friend

This is random. I was just cleaning out some old papers when I found a poem a girl wrote for me in high school. Don't worry, this won't get sappy, lame, or gross.

I'll call this girl Maggie. She sat behind me in English class. If not for that, we'd have never spoken. She was cool and nice, and she ran with the hippie crowd, and even they were cooler than me.

One day I walked into class in a miserable state. I had just experienced a classic high school overly dramatic, artifically devastating breakup. My girlfriend had insulted me, embarassed me, and ditched me. I was heartbroken.

Maggie asked what was wrong. I gave her a quick outline of the breakup, and class began. 42 minutes later, as the bell rang, she handed me a piece of paper and said, "Keep this around for a while. If you find yourself wondering how you should feel, this is the answer. Have a good one." And she walked away.

The poem wasn't great art or stunning literature. But it was a declaration of independence. A condemnation of past wrongs. And, most of all, a funny reminder that moving on can be its own adventure. It was a creative act of kindness from a single-serving friend that I never forgot. Here it is:

Dear ------,
In case you haven't noticed, in case you haven't heard,
I find you quite repulsive, I think that you're a turd.
Sometimes I think I miss you, but then I catch myself:
"Hey, I don't like that chick; I'd rather date a warty elf!"
I'm sure you didn't mean to hurt me, but you've done a real bad job.
You my have killed my tender being and ALMOST made me sob.
So go on with your measly life and don't you worry about me.
You haven't murdered my morale as far as you can see.
But the whole point is, I'm over it.
In fact, my love, I give less than a shit.
Because you're a no good, rotten, stinkbug of a thing.
Find someone else's bell to ring.
Beaver.