Guess who's back?
Yes. We. Are.
The Ironclads are playing Neumo's on December 8th. We'll be sharing the stage with We All Have Hooks for Hands and one of my favorite Seattle Bands, Doctor Doctor. I don't know about the rest of you, but the absence of the Ironclads in my life has made me somewhat of a bitter recluse. Some people might just call that November in Seattle but in my case, I'd have to completely disagree. I can do endless amounts of rain with no sunshine with the greatest of ease. What I can't do is go months without playing music with Thom, Nora and Jamie as a collective unit. What I can't do is forget about all the fun I've had with the those three aforementioned souls since the I moved out here like two years ago. It'll feel good to reunite in the upcoming weeks and have it be just like old times. Singing the Ponyo theme song and talking about the impending social dominance that'll take place after the release of the film here in the United States. Talking about the many weird moments on tour. Such as when I pretty much had a breakdown and made us pull over so I could go running on the side of the road amongst a field of orange trees. Or that one time in San Diego where the dude with all the neo-nazi tattoos almost got into a fight with two middle-aged couples that were playing Bocci Ball on the beach. Or that one time we wanted to beat the shit out of everyone in the Locust. There will be laughter, there will be tears. We'll struggle to remember how to play our songs. We'll say fuck it and get Diplo to remix them.
But above all this, we'll be looking forward to seeing your pretty faces once again. Showering you with compliments. I like that new haircut. Oh fuck, have you gotten hot in the past 3 months?!! Who's that new guy/girl you're boning? Good work! Yeah, I'm glad you got rid of your old boytoy/slut, they were total blockheads/socialists.
And the compliments will keep on coming. After all, you deserve it. Our last show at the High Dive was beyong amazing. And the best part about it was you. I'm not even kidding. We certainly weren't "on" that night (Are we ever?) But there you bastards were, making four twentysomethings feel good about themselves.
We love you. Let us love on you at Neumo's on December 8th.
-pdb
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Good Friends and a Bottle of Pills
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
last chance for a slow dance
last saturday night was magical. we, the ironclads, can't put into words the love and appreciation we feel for those who came out. those who cried during our set. the good folks that sang our songs and bum rushed the stage during "cape canaveral". my head was literally in the rafters as our set came to a close but it felt like i was much higher than that. there was even a momentum shifting slow clap that fixed jamie's equipment problem. it was one of those moments you wanted to capture like a ship in a bottle. fitting an unforgettable night into a cozy space on the bookshelf of your bedroom. living out an old glory before bedtime.
i don't know what else to say. um, thanks to doctor doctor (fuucking rad!) and we wrote the book on connectors (the captain's of the future!) for gracing the stage of the high dive with us. I'd never seen WE before and I must say they were incredibly good showmen and equally hilarious.
we are not dead. we're just on hiatus. come the grey gentle drizzle of november, we'll begin to remove the sleep from our eyes. scratch our aching bellies and let out a great yawn...leading up to that first piss after hibernation. that piss will be an ep of ironclads songs which we will begin working/fist-fighting/scheming the conception of. That is not to say it'll be recorded in the winter but come spring....we will give birth once more.
A wise man once said, "Get off the tracks when the trains coming through, butthead."
That man was Jack Parkman and that movie was Major League 2.
The line is fitting of our band because when we come back, we're going to run you over. Make no mistake about it, these blog threats are real. The songs on the ep are going to outshine the old ones and they're going to be sonic examples of our new found self-indulgence. We're going to enlist the Boston pops to emulate a swarm of bees on "killer bees". Jamie is going to have 14 vocal tracks, 3 of which are auto-tuned, 2 of which are chopped and screwed and 1 of which is actually Christopher Walken doing a David Bowie impression on the song "aye, aye, aye". I'm going to borrow all 92 Boredoms drummers from that one insane rhythmic concept album for the song "trees". By then Nora will have completed her vocal training from the girl who's in Evanescence for our erotic cover of "O, Fortuna". Thom is going to play our next 3 shows dressed as Ace Frehley.
bootleggers get stitches.
just kidding.
that would be an honor in a weird way, maybe?
don't forget about the 'clads. we won't forget about you.
-pdb
i don't know what else to say. um, thanks to doctor doctor (fuucking rad!) and we wrote the book on connectors (the captain's of the future!) for gracing the stage of the high dive with us. I'd never seen WE before and I must say they were incredibly good showmen and equally hilarious.
we are not dead. we're just on hiatus. come the grey gentle drizzle of november, we'll begin to remove the sleep from our eyes. scratch our aching bellies and let out a great yawn...leading up to that first piss after hibernation. that piss will be an ep of ironclads songs which we will begin working/fist-fighting/scheming the conception of. That is not to say it'll be recorded in the winter but come spring....we will give birth once more.
A wise man once said, "Get off the tracks when the trains coming through, butthead."
That man was Jack Parkman and that movie was Major League 2.
The line is fitting of our band because when we come back, we're going to run you over. Make no mistake about it, these blog threats are real. The songs on the ep are going to outshine the old ones and they're going to be sonic examples of our new found self-indulgence. We're going to enlist the Boston pops to emulate a swarm of bees on "killer bees". Jamie is going to have 14 vocal tracks, 3 of which are auto-tuned, 2 of which are chopped and screwed and 1 of which is actually Christopher Walken doing a David Bowie impression on the song "aye, aye, aye". I'm going to borrow all 92 Boredoms drummers from that one insane rhythmic concept album for the song "trees". By then Nora will have completed her vocal training from the girl who's in Evanescence for our erotic cover of "O, Fortuna". Thom is going to play our next 3 shows dressed as Ace Frehley.
bootleggers get stitches.
just kidding.
that would be an honor in a weird way, maybe?
don't forget about the 'clads. we won't forget about you.
-pdb
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
48+ hours of self-preservation
friday is a good movie.
friday is favored by more americans than any other day. (this information brought to you by the make believe blogspot data collection agency)
friday has more full moons than any other day. (according to m.b.b.d.c.a)
friday is the best day for peer-to-peer copulation between strangers. (m.b.b.d.c.a)
friday is the day when "good friday" happens.
this friday at the blue moon (frank sinatra's favorite bar) is the three year anneversary party for sound on the sound. the ironclads will be there playing songs we wrote and some songs we didn't. it is one of our last shows before we enter the cave known as "hiatus".
caves are a scary place. i don't mean to offend any spelunkers or cavers that may have stumbled upon this tiny plot of html here in cyberspace. i'm talking about how you might have thought about caves as a kid. you know, the ones that had vampire bats and whatever the fuck else that made you so afraid that you might pee your pants. caves like the one in that teddy ruxpin movie that had mud-people with intentions so ill it turned their eyes fire truck red. nobody wants to be enslaved by mud people.
if you miss friday's show, i'll do everything in my power to make sure that enslavement by mud people is in your near future. there are really no excuses for missing the show. navigator vs. navigator will be there rocking and playing one of my fave tunes hopefully (screams from the city! play it fuckers!). alligators will be there...eating people. when i listen to alligators i think of afternoon delight (dirty boy|girl. you know what i'm talking about. skyrockets in flight...), then taking a nap, then waking up and getting really stoned and then going to some park...spacing out to my bloody valentine, prince and kayo dot. am i the only one who gets this vibe? not that these musical reptiles sound like the aforementioned acts....i dunno. i'm chillin' on it, what else can i say?
come to the blue moon. i know there's a vicious summer cold going around but that's no fucking excuse. you tough it out asshole. i know 94% of my being is filled with snot and phlegm. the other 6% percent is self-doubt and sparse brain activity but i'll be there...playing drums if i remember how (dude, i'm a guitar player).
before i sign off, i'd like to say "welcome back" to mr. sun who left seattle for a week and left us with november. i'd also like to say give a warm welcome to shakira who left us for a while but is now back in music video medium at least. i'm pretty sure she hibernates inside volcanoes between albums to maintain her "hotness" only to arise once again killing all of us with staccato body gyrations. we're all better for it.
-pdb
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
there are three things that hold true
they say death + taxes are two constants in life. but what if you don't pay taxes? and what if you never die? *cough* amelia earhart *cough* then the supposed 'law of life' doesn't hold true. let me tell you what does hold true...for everyone on earth. and it's three things, not two:
1) at one point you'll say or do something like your parents.
2) at one point you'll look at yourself in the mirror and actually tell yourself that you..would probably have sex with you..if you were a different person.
3) all good bands must die or go on hiatus
everything else is in god's hands. however, even god can't control all things...god can't control the aforementioned. it's your destiny as a human being to fate fail (ie. what you ultimately try to avoid ends up happening in the end. it doesn't mean the 'great' event is the end all occurrence. it just means that no matter what level, you're going to end up doing something you've been trying avoid for whatever length of time. it could be something as small as taking out the trash. it could be as big as killing your arch-nemesis (ie. wolverine v. sabretooth or superman v. lex luther or ric flair v. terry funk). some of us spend an unncessary amount of time trying to avoid sounding or ending up like our parents, but the odds are against us thanks to dna/nature v. nurture/the cruel world of inheritance. i was one of those at one point..."fuck, there's no way i'm going to end up doing anything involving communications and networking...who do i look like!?!?! my fucking father!?!? i'm not oedipus!"
and then i end up going to school for mass communications. *sigh* curse you irony. just like i've spent the majority of my life playing guitar in hardcore bands (the ironclads = my first "pop" band, first band playing drums.) trying to grind out my musical ambition in a sandpaper like fashion. but in the end, i'm going to reach a point when i'm in a band that sounds like sea and cake. i'm just going to have to come to grips that you can only play blast beats for so long and feedback isn't as welcoming to the thirtysomething circuit...rock n' roll retirement looms around the corner. scary and i'm not even that old. ps. the sea and cake are a really good band that you should check out. make love to them. get high to them. whatever.
secondly, everyone has good days. it doesn't matter if you're feeling the blackest period of depression or you're prometheus and you get your organs and flesh eaten everyday by a monstrosity of a raptor sent by zeus. even he who discovered fire had to have had a good day somewhere in there. and on one of those good days prometheus undoubtedly thought, "if i weren't the prey of a bird as big as mt. olympus, i'd hella copulate with me if i were someone else...for sure." and you've done the same thing, i know you have...don't lie to me. i know i have. even when i was an awkward depressed teen with manboobs big enough to breast-feed myself at any given moment. there were a handful of times where i thought "if i drank enough...i'd totally fuck me with the lights off if i were some random girl." and i continued to sporadically repeat the same soliloquy in the mirror until i got my first girlfriend. you have a story not unlike mine..probably without the sucking on your own manboobs part...but still. (editor's note: i never actually took part in the sucking thy own teet. sorry to get your hopes up.)
thirdly, all of us have seen the demise of our favorite bands. if that's not the case, then chances are you got into a band after they had already broken up and kicked yourself for not getting into them when they were still around. and i'll talk more about this for my next post...probably this weekend or something. but the ironclads are going on a hiatus. we still love you, don't worry. we're still going to play shows, just not as frequently. and we're still going to record our new songs that will launch into outerspace in terms of popularity...much like craig david. mr. jamie cotton, singer/songwriter/great roommate/friend is moving to Denver (sweet city! go broncos!) to attend grad school. he's going to be studying foreign affairs. wish him well. buy him a drink at our upcoming shows. tell him what's he meant to you as a friend. in the words of al sharpton, "love on him if you will." (editor's note: al sharpton never actually said that...but that sounds like something he'd say.)
in other news, i'd like to tell all of seattle to shut the fuck up and stop bitching about the weather. you assholes complain all year about waitiing for summer and then once summer gets here you can't take it. sure, it's hot, i get it. shut the fuck up and go for a swim. make yourself a goddamn smoothie. i'm going to tell you like i tell my summer camp kids "complaining about the weather doesn't make it any colder."
-pdb
1) at one point you'll say or do something like your parents.
2) at one point you'll look at yourself in the mirror and actually tell yourself that you..would probably have sex with you..if you were a different person.
3) all good bands must die or go on hiatus
everything else is in god's hands. however, even god can't control all things...god can't control the aforementioned. it's your destiny as a human being to fate fail (ie. what you ultimately try to avoid ends up happening in the end. it doesn't mean the 'great' event is the end all occurrence. it just means that no matter what level, you're going to end up doing something you've been trying avoid for whatever length of time. it could be something as small as taking out the trash. it could be as big as killing your arch-nemesis (ie. wolverine v. sabretooth or superman v. lex luther or ric flair v. terry funk). some of us spend an unncessary amount of time trying to avoid sounding or ending up like our parents, but the odds are against us thanks to dna/nature v. nurture/the cruel world of inheritance. i was one of those at one point..."fuck, there's no way i'm going to end up doing anything involving communications and networking...who do i look like!?!?! my fucking father!?!? i'm not oedipus!"
and then i end up going to school for mass communications. *sigh* curse you irony. just like i've spent the majority of my life playing guitar in hardcore bands (the ironclads = my first "pop" band, first band playing drums.) trying to grind out my musical ambition in a sandpaper like fashion. but in the end, i'm going to reach a point when i'm in a band that sounds like sea and cake. i'm just going to have to come to grips that you can only play blast beats for so long and feedback isn't as welcoming to the thirtysomething circuit...rock n' roll retirement looms around the corner. scary and i'm not even that old. ps. the sea and cake are a really good band that you should check out. make love to them. get high to them. whatever.
secondly, everyone has good days. it doesn't matter if you're feeling the blackest period of depression or you're prometheus and you get your organs and flesh eaten everyday by a monstrosity of a raptor sent by zeus. even he who discovered fire had to have had a good day somewhere in there. and on one of those good days prometheus undoubtedly thought, "if i weren't the prey of a bird as big as mt. olympus, i'd hella copulate with me if i were someone else...for sure." and you've done the same thing, i know you have...don't lie to me. i know i have. even when i was an awkward depressed teen with manboobs big enough to breast-feed myself at any given moment. there were a handful of times where i thought "if i drank enough...i'd totally fuck me with the lights off if i were some random girl." and i continued to sporadically repeat the same soliloquy in the mirror until i got my first girlfriend. you have a story not unlike mine..probably without the sucking on your own manboobs part...but still. (editor's note: i never actually took part in the sucking thy own teet. sorry to get your hopes up.)
thirdly, all of us have seen the demise of our favorite bands. if that's not the case, then chances are you got into a band after they had already broken up and kicked yourself for not getting into them when they were still around. and i'll talk more about this for my next post...probably this weekend or something. but the ironclads are going on a hiatus. we still love you, don't worry. we're still going to play shows, just not as frequently. and we're still going to record our new songs that will launch into outerspace in terms of popularity...much like craig david. mr. jamie cotton, singer/songwriter/great roommate/friend is moving to Denver (sweet city! go broncos!) to attend grad school. he's going to be studying foreign affairs. wish him well. buy him a drink at our upcoming shows. tell him what's he meant to you as a friend. in the words of al sharpton, "love on him if you will." (editor's note: al sharpton never actually said that...but that sounds like something he'd say.)
in other news, i'd like to tell all of seattle to shut the fuck up and stop bitching about the weather. you assholes complain all year about waitiing for summer and then once summer gets here you can't take it. sure, it's hot, i get it. shut the fuck up and go for a swim. make yourself a goddamn smoothie. i'm going to tell you like i tell my summer camp kids "complaining about the weather doesn't make it any colder."
-pdb
Saturday, July 11, 2009
show tonight @ the mars bar
the subject line says it all. we're rocking out with the beats, man and the hands tonight @ the mars bar. I'm pretty sure that the show "starts" at 9. If you're an adult in age only..you should probably be there. Yeah yeah...there's about a billion shows going on tonight...and you're probably thinking about weeping quietly with a loved one during Iron & Wine's No Depression Festival set or maybe you'll be kicking it in West Seattle for the Summerfest...letting the sun bring out all those freckles that you were embarrassed about as a kid. Throwing your boy briefs on stage for Robin Pecknold @ neumo's, many a fan-boy asking Mr. Pecknold if they shampoo his beard, well they inherit his sense of melody. Maybe you'll be getting a skinny jean erection for Mad Rad @ The Chapel (keep in mind, no skinny jeans, no admission). Or maybe you'll be at the Gorge falling asleep to Radio..errr...Blur..no that's not it...Oasis...no...Pulp...no that's not it either...Stereophonics? No..that's not it either...oh yeah U2! No wait...that's not right. Oh fuck I got it! Gwenyth Paltrow's husband's band! You know..Coldplay! (editor's note: if you're paying that much to see Coldplay, then clearly you have enough money to "waste" and buy a couple of our albums.)
I'm gonna throw this out there and let it wash over you. Real scensters (hipsters) support bands that get no press. We're a band that gets no press. You want to be hip? You want to be "in the know"? Do you want to impress your friends with your knowledge of Seattle bands that are "below the radar"? You're an elitist, I know you do! Come to our show. Here's why...in no particular order:
The Hands are so good. You already know this, but maybe with all the shit that's going on in your life (Sarah Palin resigning, Iranian protests, new season of The Real World) you forgot for a couple of moments. You definitely need to refresh your memory..the Hands are here for you.
Jamie Cotton's insanely funny onstage banter. Yeah Jamie plays guitar and sings and skateboards and creates t-shirts and makes mean dumplings and owns a snake..but did you know that he is really fucking funny? His banter sometimes outshines our set. Joke! Joke! Joke! Joke!
You can see the fireworks perfectly from the Mars Bar! Sure, you may have arrived a week late..but if you drink enough/do enough drugs...you can visualize what it would've been like to watch July 4th fireoworks at the Mars Bar!
Remember the Pleasureboaters!?! They were a riot live. The Beats, Man are some of them! but they but a bit more like Nas than The Plot to Blow up the Eiffel Tower.
These are tough economic times. There are nights where you really want to go to a rock n' roll show but you also want to do yoga...but you also want to get your picture taken and you can't do all 3 things due to the hole that's been in your wallet/purse/manpurse these last couple of months. Well, I've got news for you! If you come to an Ironclads show...you can do all 3 for the price of one!
You get the rock n' roll via us and whoever is playing.
Thom Strub, photographer genius is now doing family photos/glamour shots before and after our set.
Nora Dummer is now doing hot yoga during our set! This is revolutionary because she sings and plays bass...while in various yoga positions! We like to call Nora...amazing!
You already know what my gimmick is..I take my shirt off. I'm contractually obligated to entice women/men with my fratboy antics. But did you know that my dad kinda looks like Mr. October...that's right Reggie fucking Jackson! If you want my genes..the genes of my father (who may or may not be Reggie Jackson) then I'll be donating sperm all night! In a cup or otherwise. I'm just saying...I can also do plasma if need be.
-pdb
I'm gonna throw this out there and let it wash over you. Real scensters (hipsters) support bands that get no press. We're a band that gets no press. You want to be hip? You want to be "in the know"? Do you want to impress your friends with your knowledge of Seattle bands that are "below the radar"? You're an elitist, I know you do! Come to our show. Here's why...in no particular order:
The Hands are so good. You already know this, but maybe with all the shit that's going on in your life (Sarah Palin resigning, Iranian protests, new season of The Real World) you forgot for a couple of moments. You definitely need to refresh your memory..the Hands are here for you.
Jamie Cotton's insanely funny onstage banter. Yeah Jamie plays guitar and sings and skateboards and creates t-shirts and makes mean dumplings and owns a snake..but did you know that he is really fucking funny? His banter sometimes outshines our set. Joke! Joke! Joke! Joke!
You can see the fireworks perfectly from the Mars Bar! Sure, you may have arrived a week late..but if you drink enough/do enough drugs...you can visualize what it would've been like to watch July 4th fireoworks at the Mars Bar!
Remember the Pleasureboaters!?! They were a riot live. The Beats, Man are some of them! but they but a bit more like Nas than The Plot to Blow up the Eiffel Tower.
These are tough economic times. There are nights where you really want to go to a rock n' roll show but you also want to do yoga...but you also want to get your picture taken and you can't do all 3 things due to the hole that's been in your wallet/purse/manpurse these last couple of months. Well, I've got news for you! If you come to an Ironclads show...you can do all 3 for the price of one!
You get the rock n' roll via us and whoever is playing.
Thom Strub, photographer genius is now doing family photos/glamour shots before and after our set.
Nora Dummer is now doing hot yoga during our set! This is revolutionary because she sings and plays bass...while in various yoga positions! We like to call Nora...amazing!
You already know what my gimmick is..I take my shirt off. I'm contractually obligated to entice women/men with my fratboy antics. But did you know that my dad kinda looks like Mr. October...that's right Reggie fucking Jackson! If you want my genes..the genes of my father (who may or may not be Reggie Jackson) then I'll be donating sperm all night! In a cup or otherwise. I'm just saying...I can also do plasma if need be.
-pdb
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
How the movie SLC Punk predicted my inevtiable attachment to my blackberry phone
"I didn't sellout son, I bought in."
Judge me if you wish, but SLC Punk is one of those movies that never gets old to me. It's like Slapshot for hockey fans, only it's music...but it's not about music at all. It's an exercise in social science but even that is far too scholastic for a movie that has more in common with Can't Hardly Wait than it does Waking Life. Honestly, I just made the aforementioned comparisons to fill up space, I don't know what I'm talking about. Is Waking Life even a movie? I probably just made it up.
But what I do know is that when I was running the other day I thought of some of the funnier moments in SLC Punk and how people grow out of certain aspects of their lives, no matter what kind of people/lifestyle we are talking about. And as the title of the blog indicates, I am the new owner of a Blackberry Curve. I didn't plan on becoming one of you (and by you I literally mean you, because you probably have a blackberry or iphone or fancyphone) but thanks to my clumsiness...the process is complete.
Me and my old phone had been through a lot. I dropped her at least 20291 times, she dropped my call maybe a dozen times. I spilled coffee on her. She did nothing. I got gum in her crevices. Once again, no complaints. Then I drop her casually and suddenly it's time for a dreadful visit to the Verizon store. The cellphone store is the retail equivalent of getting a broom shoved up your ass against your will for at least an hour.
When I entered the store, I just wanted to get an identical replacement for my phone. I ended up talking to two dudes who somehow convinced me that this was impossible. My old phone no longer existed. They made me feel old-timey. It was like my phone was the first phone invented by Alexander Graham Bell. Suddenly my surroundings became black and white, everyone had funny moustaches and top hats..I even saw a few monocles.... And at the end of this imaginary time travel I was left with two choices...Blackberry Storm/Curve. No other options. It wasn't until yesterday I remebered these snakes work on commission. I'm a genius. I owned the first phone remember...
And at first I pretended to putz around with my Blackberry. I'd shake it like a piggy bank to see if it were turned on. I faux complained to my mom that I didn't know how to dial her number and that though I am the fruit of her loins, our relationship would be reduced strictly to texting. I even threw it at the wall because the phone started talking to me without being prompted...'Please say a command' I thought there were spirits in my phone. But now me and my Blackberry have formed a mutually beneficial symbiotic relationship. It feels so good in my hands. I can have newsfeeds delivered to my phone. The Curve camera isn't half bad. When I lick my phone, it tastes just like blackberries...freshly picked. I am applying for a marriage license next week. I'll be marrying my phone.
So maybe Steven's dad in SLC Punk was right. Maybe you don't always sellout, (read: eschew old habits for supposed greener pastures) sometimes you buy in. (read: put yourself into an undesirable situation and the only way out is numbing obliviousness, a faked indifference to the decision making process)
Check it out, I just made buying a cellphone deep. Your mind is blown. You're thinking "OMG. I go through life just kinda making decisions just to make it to the weekend/(insert whatever short-sighted or long-term pleasure here)." And sometimes it pays off, other times you pray you won't remember your error a year from the moment you were faced with your decision. I have just accurately defined your life in a blog post.
I know what it's like to be you because I am you. I'm the owner of a Blackberry.
-pdb
(ps. i can't find my SLC Punk DVD so if I lent it out to you waybackwhen..holla at me.)
Judge me if you wish, but SLC Punk is one of those movies that never gets old to me. It's like Slapshot for hockey fans, only it's music...but it's not about music at all. It's an exercise in social science but even that is far too scholastic for a movie that has more in common with Can't Hardly Wait than it does Waking Life. Honestly, I just made the aforementioned comparisons to fill up space, I don't know what I'm talking about. Is Waking Life even a movie? I probably just made it up.
But what I do know is that when I was running the other day I thought of some of the funnier moments in SLC Punk and how people grow out of certain aspects of their lives, no matter what kind of people/lifestyle we are talking about. And as the title of the blog indicates, I am the new owner of a Blackberry Curve. I didn't plan on becoming one of you (and by you I literally mean you, because you probably have a blackberry or iphone or fancyphone) but thanks to my clumsiness...the process is complete.
Me and my old phone had been through a lot. I dropped her at least 20291 times, she dropped my call maybe a dozen times. I spilled coffee on her. She did nothing. I got gum in her crevices. Once again, no complaints. Then I drop her casually and suddenly it's time for a dreadful visit to the Verizon store. The cellphone store is the retail equivalent of getting a broom shoved up your ass against your will for at least an hour.
When I entered the store, I just wanted to get an identical replacement for my phone. I ended up talking to two dudes who somehow convinced me that this was impossible. My old phone no longer existed. They made me feel old-timey. It was like my phone was the first phone invented by Alexander Graham Bell. Suddenly my surroundings became black and white, everyone had funny moustaches and top hats..I even saw a few monocles.... And at the end of this imaginary time travel I was left with two choices...Blackberry Storm/Curve. No other options. It wasn't until yesterday I remebered these snakes work on commission. I'm a genius. I owned the first phone remember...
And at first I pretended to putz around with my Blackberry. I'd shake it like a piggy bank to see if it were turned on. I faux complained to my mom that I didn't know how to dial her number and that though I am the fruit of her loins, our relationship would be reduced strictly to texting. I even threw it at the wall because the phone started talking to me without being prompted...'Please say a command' I thought there were spirits in my phone. But now me and my Blackberry have formed a mutually beneficial symbiotic relationship. It feels so good in my hands. I can have newsfeeds delivered to my phone. The Curve camera isn't half bad. When I lick my phone, it tastes just like blackberries...freshly picked. I am applying for a marriage license next week. I'll be marrying my phone.
So maybe Steven's dad in SLC Punk was right. Maybe you don't always sellout, (read: eschew old habits for supposed greener pastures) sometimes you buy in. (read: put yourself into an undesirable situation and the only way out is numbing obliviousness, a faked indifference to the decision making process)
Check it out, I just made buying a cellphone deep. Your mind is blown. You're thinking "OMG. I go through life just kinda making decisions just to make it to the weekend/(insert whatever short-sighted or long-term pleasure here)." And sometimes it pays off, other times you pray you won't remember your error a year from the moment you were faced with your decision. I have just accurately defined your life in a blog post.
I know what it's like to be you because I am you. I'm the owner of a Blackberry.
-pdb
(ps. i can't find my SLC Punk DVD so if I lent it out to you waybackwhen..holla at me.)
Thursday, July 2, 2009
rock n roll is war
so it's july and the last couple of days my eyes have been tracing the contents of "best of 2009 so far" music lists. as a fan of music, i've got my own list and it's certainly quite different from the ones i've read. as a musician in a band, you certainly want to see your band on one of those lists. you want to see your band on any kind of list, with the exception of "worst album/show/band of..." lord knows i actually saw one of my old bands on a similar list and it was titled "worst richmond (va) bands ever." brutal. we were sloppy but i never thought we were that bad. i thought the sloppiness paid off because we were a pretty noisy band...that was our jam.
but in the end, what do journalists know? they are just writers. and what do musicians know about journalism? we're just people with vices who have stumbled upon instruments. most of us don't use correct grammar. i went to school for journalism and i still don't know what the fuck is happening on either side of the coin. this all leads me to something i feel both sides can understand.
rock n roll is war.
whether you're in a band or you just write about them. this is 100% true and it will be until the end of time.
sure, if you want to speak of old cliches then rock n' roll is about having a good time. maybe drugs, sex if you're lucky, teenage rebellion, janis joplin, david yow, iggy pop...it's not elvis. fuck that guy. he's definitely not the "king of rock n' roll".
but it's really about war. it's about fighting on the same side with a couple of people, trying to get past obstacles that keep you from reaching your goal. a broken down van while on tour. sound/gear problems during a set. an apathetic crowd. stupid journalists that won't give you press when you send them like 40 copies of your album. rumors. personal conflict. fatigue. addiction. infighting. other bands who you feel aren't as deserving as you. shitty booking agents. crappy billings. egodriven club promoters. name dropping hipsters. hecklers. hanger-ons. the outside/real world. superlame bloggers. whatever.
these are all things that are going to bring you down. but you fight because at one point in your young life, you realized this is all you can do or it's all you'd like to do. maybe it's both. the euphoria you get from living.breathing.music. is worth all the other bullshit that you have to deal with.
so when you're in a band and you feel that you've put on something worthy of someone's top ten of whatever list and your name isn't there...you wonder what you have to do to get your name on there, regardless of whose list it may be. and at first you might blame them, but if you're smart you internalize your resentment and come out shooting. you play more passionately. you think about songwriting so much that you almost daydream your way through the process. you figure out ways how to make your presence known. you battle because you want blood. you want people to feel the sacrafice in that cymbal crash. they need to feel the same ache that you feel in your bloody whittled down fingers because you've dropped your pick so many times during shows over the years. and you laugh at those who stand there with their arms crossed, beer in one hand with a gaze that says "i don't understand it."
fuck them. the spectators don't see the bodies around them. so many good bands that folks should've heard but never did. every bar you play those ghosts are there and they are waiting for you to come join them.
fuck them. you exorcise any doubt you may have and keep fighting. rock n' roll is war.
-pdb
but in the end, what do journalists know? they are just writers. and what do musicians know about journalism? we're just people with vices who have stumbled upon instruments. most of us don't use correct grammar. i went to school for journalism and i still don't know what the fuck is happening on either side of the coin. this all leads me to something i feel both sides can understand.
rock n roll is war.
whether you're in a band or you just write about them. this is 100% true and it will be until the end of time.
sure, if you want to speak of old cliches then rock n' roll is about having a good time. maybe drugs, sex if you're lucky, teenage rebellion, janis joplin, david yow, iggy pop...it's not elvis. fuck that guy. he's definitely not the "king of rock n' roll".
but it's really about war. it's about fighting on the same side with a couple of people, trying to get past obstacles that keep you from reaching your goal. a broken down van while on tour. sound/gear problems during a set. an apathetic crowd. stupid journalists that won't give you press when you send them like 40 copies of your album. rumors. personal conflict. fatigue. addiction. infighting. other bands who you feel aren't as deserving as you. shitty booking agents. crappy billings. egodriven club promoters. name dropping hipsters. hecklers. hanger-ons. the outside/real world. superlame bloggers. whatever.
these are all things that are going to bring you down. but you fight because at one point in your young life, you realized this is all you can do or it's all you'd like to do. maybe it's both. the euphoria you get from living.breathing.music. is worth all the other bullshit that you have to deal with.
so when you're in a band and you feel that you've put on something worthy of someone's top ten of whatever list and your name isn't there...you wonder what you have to do to get your name on there, regardless of whose list it may be. and at first you might blame them, but if you're smart you internalize your resentment and come out shooting. you play more passionately. you think about songwriting so much that you almost daydream your way through the process. you figure out ways how to make your presence known. you battle because you want blood. you want people to feel the sacrafice in that cymbal crash. they need to feel the same ache that you feel in your bloody whittled down fingers because you've dropped your pick so many times during shows over the years. and you laugh at those who stand there with their arms crossed, beer in one hand with a gaze that says "i don't understand it."
fuck them. the spectators don't see the bodies around them. so many good bands that folks should've heard but never did. every bar you play those ghosts are there and they are waiting for you to come join them.
fuck them. you exorcise any doubt you may have and keep fighting. rock n' roll is war.
-pdb
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