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I just realized that, had he not been murdered, today (Feb. 20th) would have been Kurt Cobain's 40th birthday. Without regard to the quality of his music, the man was and is a cultural icon, for better or worse, and it makes me feel old that I still have and wear my Nirvana shirt from 5th grade that talks about how seahorses reproduce on the back of it. Wherever did the last 13 years go?

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My mother once bought me a Kurt Cobain shirt under the pretense that it was Brad Pitt, because she knew I liked Fight Club. Which brought me to the question of why my mother would buy me a Brad Pitt shirt.

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Guest Tzar Lysergic

I don't think I've listened to an entire Nirvana album in at least five years.

 

I'll give Kurt Cobain credit for being best friends with Dylan Carlson, the man who puchased for Cobain the gun that killed him.

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It's just my opinion, but I think it's difficult, if not outright impossible, for most people to discuss Nirvana rationally. Indie elitists trash Cobain for swiping from the Pixies, emo haters blame Cobain for popularizing angst-ridden lyrics, and a whole bunch of folks that don't fall into either of those groups piss all over Nirvana because Cobain "glorified" suicide, Courtney Love's a crazy bitch, and because MTV drove the Unplugged performance into the ground, all while forgetting what the musical landscape looked like before Nevermind came around.

 

Frankly, the fact that "You Know You're Right", a mediocre-at-best leftover from '93, landed as a #1 hit on the Modern Rock charts nine years later says everything that you need to know about Nirvana and the state of rock music after Cobain killed himself. They weren't innovators and they weren't remarkably proficient musicians, but they managed to incorporate all of their influences into a mix that was both accessible and challenging to listeners. They deserve a lot better than they get around here, in my opinion...but that's just me and I'm the guy who still spins through In Utero once or twice a month.

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I like the perspective coincidence has afforded me on Nirvana. Being born in 1983, I was at just the right age to be a few years too young to really connect with the music while they were blowing up. I had little to no awareness of them outside of "Smells Like Teen Spirit" and "Heart-Shaped Box" until 1995 or so, and I don't think I actually listened to any of their albums in full until I got to college. Great band, and the fact that (merely by disastrous occurrence) they have such a tight body of excellent work makes me look on them fondly even though I don't have any of the nostalgia.

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Cracker/Camper Van Beethoven acoustic duo (Lowery and Hickman) this Saturday night. At a place called the Moose Lodge. In a town called Doylestown.

 

 

Yeah, I'm overly excited. This one has potential to be up there with the best experiences I've had at concerts.

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I want to punch Jack Ingram for making an even shittier version of Lips of an Angel that country stations around here are now playing about once every 2 hours. I hate Thursdays with a passion because the guy that cooks at work listens to Country all day.

 

UGH

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There's an EP on ITunes of just some guy on an acoustic guitar warbling Hinder songs. I don't know if it's supposed to be a joke or not but it's awful.

 

 

 

Hopefully it doesn't get played on the radio....

 

 

 

Don't even ask me why I was looking up Hinder on ITunes.

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So I won six free tickets to REO Speedwagon.

 

Don't ask me why I got REO Speedwagon tickets.

 

 

I somehow got free tickets to last year's Taste of Chaos tour.

 

 

Every band was completely and utterly forgettable.

 

 

I also won free tickets to a forgettable music festival (Headlined by Roseanne Cash and MCd by G.E. Smith for some reason) and a charity concert headlined by Blues Traveler.

 

 

Man, why can't I win some good free tickets for a change?

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Guest Tzar Lysergic
So I won six free tickets to REO Speedwagon.

 

Don't ask me why I got REO Speedwagon tickets.

 

Nice guys. I briefly worked security at the Memorial Coliseum in Ft. Wayne and met them and most of Styx and Journey. They were on some cutoff t-shirt greybeard tour of america.

 

Most insane fans I saw at that job: Cher.

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Saul Williams @ St Olaf college, Northfield MN, Feb 21 2007

 

Gale Sayers, the legendary Chicago Bears running back of the 1960s, asked only for 18 inches of daylight to work with en route to yardage and touchdowns. This was not some kind of baseless made-for-sportscenter nonsense dredged from the bottomless caverns of a fat ballooned ego. When Sayers was granted his foot and a half of space the qualities that his legs could take on were those of the magician; ready for grasp and tackle one second, the ass-end of a football jersey the next. On Wednesday night, February 21, even Gale Sayers in his prime would have struggled to maneuver to the other end of the St Olaf auditorium between Saul Williams and his audience.

 

We made the trip from La Crosse to Northfield in good time and were early enough to take a quick unguided tour of St Olaf's Buntrock Commons. At around six a fellow took a few of us early arrivals' money, a paltry five dollars for the experience we were about to receive, and allowed us to take our seats on the metal folding chairs inside the auditorium. We sat down in the first row directly below the microphone stand. It would turn out that we admitted an hour early and while we whittled away the time with books & cellphone bowling a massive line was forming outside the doors.

Before Saul Williams took the stage a group of 4 local and Minneapolis poets opened the show. Toki Wright of the Cities brought the hiphop vibe with two songs rapped over a PA beat. Unfortunately I didn't catch the names of any of the other three but each was memorable and noticeably passionate. Off to the side of the stage, reclining against the wall of the wing, was a grinning Saul Williams taking in all of the other poets' words.

A young woman with the kind of eyes that bring out the best in a very short haircut introduced Saul Williams. But, missing his cue due to a last-second bathroom break, he was slow to his appearance. When he finally did escape the backstage commode he approached the mic stand with a slide that would have turned Pete Rose's jaw heavenward with pride. It was an initial signal that gave tingling realization of the passion that this Poet brings to his craft and to the souls of his Readers. Seeing an artist so eager to share that he covers at least five wooden feet of stage on his right hip from a running start is like looking up on a clear night to see a shining comet dart across the sky, stop, then just sit there glimmering a magic smile for whomever stood outside and looked up.

Turned out the mic, and the stage itself, wouldn't be necessary after all. Saul Williams hopped down onto the floor where all four legs of our metal chairs were sitting and spoke his first poem of the evening loud with no need for electrical devices to carry it. And it wasn't some kind of get-the-crowd-excited gimmick neither. He would perform his entire show there, inches from the front row dwellers, hovering over upturned faces to speak to the back rows, and literally tapping toe to toe with my friend & I sitting beneath the forgotten microphone stand.

Saul mentioned that he likes to answer questions from the crowd in between poems...another form of connection between mouth and ear, soul and soul. After explaining his latest book, The Dead Emcee Scrolls, without giving away the story to those that had yet to read it, he went into an excerpt like a dynamite stick losing the last of its wick. It was from a part of the book that featured its best line, “Not until you've listened to Rakim on a rocky mountaintop have you heard hiphop.” He finished the piece with a recitation of heroes from Paul Robeson to Allen Ginsberg to Biko and ended with three chilling memory words, “two rappers slain.”

He then shared a 5 or 6 page poem that he had written for his father's funeral. It was emotionally moving stuff and it was easily believable when Saul said before reading it that it had taken him a few years to feel like sharing it with the crowds he met out on tour. He also discussed the impact on his life of his father being a Baptist minister. The questions started flowing after that. A girl several rows back asked him if he ever felt 'voiceless'...and he answered “yes”, that on tour he often finds himself doing his most talking when he's actually at the auditoriums & theatres and, with so much current focus on his next record, he zones into that often as well. Sometimes he just plain loses his voice.

The next question asked him how he was inspired by growing up in New York and it took a considerable time to fully answer. He told his story of childhood in Newburgh, about an hour north of The City, of the bourgeoning hiphop scene seeping into his life, and going record shopping with his mom & sisters. Eventually this led to his teenage anectdote of being told he was 'pretty cute for being so dark' by the girlies. And, with that, came an a capella version of 'Black Stacey' that was interrupted only by a couple jokes at the beginning about the pillow humping part.

 

“I was Black Stacey.

the preachers' son from Haiti

who rhymed a lot and always got the dance steps at the party.

I was Black Stacey.

you thought it wouldn't phase me, but it did 'cause I was just a kid.”

 

The next question asked for Saul's take on the State of Hip Hop. His diagnosis was mixed optimism and hope as a means of looking beyond the more stagnant and putrid elements of the genre. He reminded us all that that though the 50s and Nellys of the world seem more than happy to bend over for MTV & radio they are no more than danceable backgrounds to the Lauryn Hills and Outkasts that sell the most records and win the most trophies. While the pop-gangstas stand out most prominent like warts it is the passion bubbling up from the underground that maintain the heartbeat driving hiphop forward. And, he related an observation from a friend, if one looks at hiphop on a timeline similar to jazz we see that we are still at the toddler stage. The future of hiphop holds another Bitches Brew.

Someone asked him what it was like to work with Rick Rubin. Saul explained that, though the bearded wizard of the soundboard is a hands-off producer, he learned a lot about the music business, about creating songs, and about developing an essential confidence in front of music. He told a story of when he first met Rick Rubin being asked what first piqued his interest in hiphop music. Saul answered that it was 'Its Yours' by T La Rock & Jazzy Jay. Rubin responded that it was the first track he ever produced and was the first basement brick in the skyscraper that would become Def Jam. Saul extrapolated from his Rick Rubin experience to discuss his current work with Trent Reznor. With that lengthy response to a short question behind him he segued into a lengthy oration from said the shotgun to the head. It was the book that showed me who The Poet of my generation is.

An extended rant on religion tied up Easter, going back to its origins of fertility, with George W Bush, violence, Saints, and what seemed with a million other things dotting the universe of the Saul Williams mind. At the peak of this rant, with the spit finding final resting places on the clothes and skin of the nearest listener, he came to a sudden wide-eyed and sheepish stop and asked, “Oh, wait, is this one of those...” as he realized where he was, a private Christian college named for the patron Saint of Norway. Brushing that fact aside with a quick 'oh fuck it' he continued on with his words until they culminated by touching on various stories about his own children and his openhearted views of family life.

Saul Williams finished his set by reciting a few poems from a stack of papers culled from a folder that looked like it had seen many good days. As he hopped back onto the stage to collect his sweater & papers the crowd stood up to applaud for several minutes. The ovation was only broken by the organizers returning to the stage to present Saul with a portrait drawn by a St Olaf student in honor of his appearance.

We waited in line for about a half hour, surrounded by a wide range of weirdos, to meet Saul. We finally did and he was as cool and down to earth as we could have possibly hoped. He signed our books, took a photo, and shook hands. When asked he mentioned that he really enjoyed performing at the Bonnaroo festivale in 2005 before the Mars Volta's instant-legend set. And here it was again, another instant-legend moment imprinted on the scrapbooks of our memories.

 

An incredible night is behind but its ghost will stick to skin forever. From a distance barely able to fit a juking Gale Sayers, the first black NFL player to room with a white, we saw & felt one of the best minds of our generation speak out absolutely undestroyed. If, beyond the pure greatness of the experience, there was anything at the bottom brass tacks to be learned it was that there are no colors to define us. No blacks and whites or greens and pinks. We are merely all human split into two groups; the soulless, those that sit in the rock shows and clubs, and the soulfull, those that can dance even when sitting.

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Remember the band The Ataris? They had the Boys of Summer remake? Well they released a new CD. It's definitely different. Doesn't even sound like the same band.

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Remember the band The Ataris? They had the Boys of Summer remake? Well they released a new CD. It's definitely different. Doesn't even sound like the same band.

 

They are HORRIBLE live. They sound completely bored, refused to sing any of their older songs, and pimped the CD by playing some of it which sounded worst than bad. I've heard garage bands at local shows perform better.

 

I had the misfortune to see them before Yellowcard. But thankfully a thunderstorm came and saved me from Yellowcard.

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Was surfing around YouTube and I found this piece of shit. Apparently this is Avril Lavigne's new single. So much for not selling out, eh?

 

 

Yeah and Avril was so such a great indie artist, too. :rolleyes:

 

yeah, really. well, I didn't hate everything she had before this (kind of like the lesser or many evils) but I guess someone must have told her "hey, you want another huge hit? then please do the following things please..."

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all while forgetting what the musical landscape looked like before Nevermind came around.

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IN 1991 THE ROCK N' ROLL SCENE WAS ALL ABOUT BIG HAIR, POWER BALLADS, AND SPANDEX, BUT THEN THREE GRUNGY GUYS FROM SEATTLE GAVE MUSIC A BREATH OF FRESH AIR.

 

"You know, before Nirvana all you saw on MTV was Bon Jovi, Poison, Warrant and then you see 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' and it's like BAM - this is the real deal."

 

"I just want to say - THANK YOU NIRVANA - thank you for saving us from hair metal."

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