This morning I was enjoying a mug of Water Street coffee at a quintessentially Kalamazooian breakfast nook. This the kind of place that namedrops a specific grandmother for her sausage-gravy recipe on the menu, and has historic photos of prominent local buildings tacked onto the exposed-brick walls; the kind of place where the employees know nearly everyone who comes in, including myself and my breakfast companion, by name; the kind of place where the mailman strolls in to leave the mail by the register and you hear a disembodied (but sincere) "THANK YOU!" emanate from across the restaurant.
After Manfred Mann's cover of "Blinded by the Light," (which plays, inexplicably, at some point during every single visit to said breakfast establishment) we hear the first jingly chords of Hootie and the Blowfish's "Only Wanna Be With You." There's a palpable buzz in the air and I overhear a waitress singing along; looking across to the opposite row of booths, I see a hippie couple smile, nod, and begin to jam.
Fun fact: Hootie and the Blowfish's 1994 debut Cracked Rear View is currently the 15th best-selling album of all time in the United States. It went platinum a mind-boggling 16 times. So, chalk it up, if you will, to this: that Cracked Rear View was a 90s phenomenon, filled with laid-back, singalong-ready singles designed to not only appeal to the masses but to allow Yuppie white-collar types a chance to fulfill, if only for the 45-minute duration of the album, the hippie fantasies that abounded so readily in the 90s, when late-60s-style counterculture was experiencing a revitalizing gasp of fresh air (thanks, Phish). The 90s Yuppie patted himself on the back for digging such breezy tunes, as it felt for him that this was his way of getting in touch with his Earthy, soulful side, and his way of exorcising the specific brand of mania that only 9-to-5 office rats experience. This phenomenon would later reach new heights with the release of Dave Matthews' Crash.
Somewhere in between the shimmering major-chord progression and one of Ruckers' infamously non-enunciated choruses ("Ah-onleh-wanna-be-wi' YOUUUUU") the waitress returns to take our order: for me, a veggie "Smothered and Covered"-- a delicious dish including a glorious hash of veggies, eggs, and potatoes, and perhaps an allusion to to HATB's compilation of almost the exact same name? Very provocative indeed.
So, not unlike the many, many albums just like it (in terms of popularity), Cracked Rear View-- and its signature singles, still in fairly regular rotation on pop stations today (like my personal favorite, the innocuous "Hold My Hand")-- is just another boom-and-bust pop album that most people don't even know by name, and HATB, as a band, is all but forgotten by music lovers, and music likers, everywhere. Right? Right.
Well, clearly, except for West Michigan.
You may or may not have noticed that an unusual number of people in the greater Kalamazoo-Grand Rapids have an unusual fondness for Hootie and the Blowfish. I have been lucky enough to have lived a couple of places overseas, have done a little bit of traveling, and can be, at times, a known talker-to-strangers. And while the subject of Hootie and the Blowfish doesn't always come up, it is an observable fact that, although a couple of the singles from HATB's debut album are still a part of the mainstream pop canon, most of the 'outside' world has forgotten HATB and, as a result, all but completely forsaken Darius Rucker's solo career. Still, here we are in Kalamazoo, still diggin' HATB and keeping their singles in the rotation just as strongly as any new single. But why?
I've spoken with many people since I first began noticing this trend, and the theories are sundry. First and foremost is the obvious explanation that Michiganders are notoriously unhip: why shouldn't we cling to Hootie's wholesale pop skylarkings? We are a very "If it ain't broke, don't fix it" culture, after all. Isn't it still 1995 in Michigan anyway?
Less snarky explanations also abound among some theorists, and many simply don't even believe that we are the last culture who still thoroughly enjoys Hootie.
Another theory, popular among many studying the Hootie/Kzoo correlation phenomenon is that a female host of the 90s morning show from Kalamazoo's Top 40 Station, WKFR, was rumored to have had a fling of sorts with Darius Rucker himself. Subscribers to this theory maintain that because of her affinity for Rucker, HATB received even more air time in the Kalamazoo area than he did in other parts of the country; in time, it became so ingrained within us that we began to crave Hootie's charming ditties hourly. Supposedly this claim is rooted in truth, but I am yet to discover any indisputable evidence to support this claim.
Whatever the case, this is a phenomenon that, had you not noticed it before, you will probably observe yourself from time to time. Regardless of how crazy I may or may not sound, I still maintain that at any point in time in Kalamazoo, there is at least one public establishment somewhere in the city in which you can hear one of Hootie's blissfully noncontroversial tunes that we Kalamazooians will probably argue shaped the entire 90s pop-music paradigm.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Tuesday, March 08, 2011
Kalamazoo Destruct: the 'Alternative' Alternative
[Ed. note: a version of this story ran in the Feb issue of West Michigan NOISE!; here is the full story, and a reminder that KD is still throwing parties/ shows almost every week... so get out and shake that moneymakah]
“I just wanna dance. Is that a crime?” –J.Lo (2002)
I admit: I thought I knew the Kalamazoo scene. But after an in-depth interview with some of the folks behind Kalamazoo Destruct—a new event series sweeping Kalamazoo, featuring a kaleidoscopic array of dance-oriented music—I discovered not only an entire enclave of music in Kalamazoo’s past and present, but the passion of the artists who make it happen.
It would be easy to call it “electronica” or even “techno,” but the deejays I spoke with, the brains of the Kalamazoo Destruct operation—Alexander Roelandt (Mr. Shed), Dustin Alexander (Baby D), and Tahif Attiek (Nunca Duerma)—are not your stereotypical “techno deejays:” the white sunglasses; the flashy outfits; the frosted hair. These are not only professional, but truly smart dudes—and not just about music. They ruminated on the history of electronica in the Kalamazoo scene and abroad; they’ve organized a series of hugely successful events that not only create an alternative party scenario to the average, rock-dominated “bar scene,” and used these events to give back to the community (the guys of KD recently discounted cover charges at a show in exchange for canned goods, which they donated to the Food Bank). They schooled me on everything from Kzoo’s warehouse-rave days to their methods of onstage mixing, and in the end, Roelandt, Alexander, and Attiek gave me an entirely new perspective on a scene I thought I knew.
On behalf of the Kalamazoo Destruct crew, Roelandt prefaced the interview by making sure we were on the same page with term usage: “When asking questions just for clarification purposes, we would rather you use the words ‘electronic music’ or ‘EDM’ instead of words like ‘electro.’ That usually refers to a specific type of electronic music and we want people to know that our shows contain all types of electronic music.” It became immediately clear to me that these guys meant business.
As well they should. All three of these guys have studied the art of mixing and have a rich array of influences—between the three of them, they list a staggering variety of artists from Detroit and Chicago house artists to P-funk to Claude Von Stroke and J Dilla—that make the Kalamazoo Destruct shows not only unique, but truly entertaining. “My grandfather gave me a large collection of music he used to listen to when he was my age,” said Attiek. “He gave me his crate of vinyl that he never listens to and I’ve been slowly working through that.” Alexander notes that
his musical career began when he played violin, guitar, and upright bass as a kid.
“Kalamazoo Destruct, as a reoccurring event, really took off in June of 2010,” explains Roelandt. “From there, Tahif and I agreed we worked well together and had the resources to throw quality events in our city. Fortunately for us, we had a lot of support from the start. It can be said that many people were waiting for this to happen in Kalamazoo. After the first couple of shows, we brought in our third member, Dustin Alexander who recently moved here from the Detroit Metro Area. Having three members [who were] into different types of music has helped us achieve our initial goal of creating a multi-genre electronic music night that appeals to a lot of people in Kalamazoo that would normally only be involved with their own cliques.”
As a result of the shows’ popularity with both fans and artists, the Kalamazoo Destruct series has fostered a growth within the local electronic “scene” which no one had anticipated. “Our initial goal was to bring a successful electronic music night to Kalamazoo, not the whole scene. Not because we didn’t want to, but because we didn’t think we had the ability to. Now we see that we can act as a catalyst to keep the scene alive with everyone’s help. It’s our future goal to keep this night alive and well as long as possible, and our even bigger goal [is] to keep the scene alive and well as long as possible,” says Alexander.
As it turns out, Kalamazoo is actually the perfect place for a thriving electronic music scene. “Kalamazoo is right in the middle [of] Detroit and Chicago, the two most important cities for electronic music,” explains Roelandt. “It’s the perfect place to combine the influences of house and techno. The thing most people don’t realize is that Kalamazoo has a rich history of electronic music. In fact, to many record collectors, ‘Kalamazoo Techno’ is known as a subgenre in its own right.
Roelandt then dives into an impressively detailed history lesson about a record label established in Kalamazoo, Black Nation Records, which would become an important part of techno history. “Black Nation Records was established in 1992 in Kalamazoo by Jay Denham after completing several original productions and remixes for Detroit’s Kevin Saunderson and Derrick May,” Roelandt said. “The records released on this Kalamazoo label gained worldwide attention, and allowed some of Black Nation’s artists to tour over the world.”
“Black Nation… spearheaded the scene, but many extremely reputable artists have come and gone through the underground scene here in Kalamazoo,” added Alexander. “Many people have tried to throw parties in Kalamazoo with some really great artists and great intentions, but they didn’t quite take off because of the volatile and ever-changing vibe of the music community here. We would really like to see a more reciprocal approach to the electronic music party scene; we’d
like to see a lot of cross influencing going on and less competition, and I think Kalamazoo is really on its way to exactly that.”
Alexander, who opened for legendary hip-hop deejay Afrika Bambaataa in January, performs on an analog system, spinning actual vinyl as opposed to a digital setup. He notes the importance of recognizing that the purpose of Kalamazoo Destruct is to unify a wide variety of artists and sounds for which “electronic music” is too broad a term: “It’s like saying ‘I like rock.’ The next question would be ‘what kind of rock?’ The same goes for electronic music… you probably wouldn’t see the same crowd at a Death Cab for Cutie show as you would for a band like Poison
or Nickelback. So what usually happens is that there are many different factions of electronic music that are just as divided as in any other broad musical form.
What Kalamazoo Destruct is trying to do is bring them all together to highlight the one thing that really does set them apart from fans of other music. They dance more, fight less, and party harder.”
“I just wanna dance. Is that a crime?” –J.Lo (2002)
I admit: I thought I knew the Kalamazoo scene. But after an in-depth interview with some of the folks behind Kalamazoo Destruct—a new event series sweeping Kalamazoo, featuring a kaleidoscopic array of dance-oriented music—I discovered not only an entire enclave of music in Kalamazoo’s past and present, but the passion of the artists who make it happen.
It would be easy to call it “electronica” or even “techno,” but the deejays I spoke with, the brains of the Kalamazoo Destruct operation—Alexander Roelandt (Mr. Shed), Dustin Alexander (Baby D), and Tahif Attiek (Nunca Duerma)—are not your stereotypical “techno deejays:” the white sunglasses; the flashy outfits; the frosted hair. These are not only professional, but truly smart dudes—and not just about music. They ruminated on the history of electronica in the Kalamazoo scene and abroad; they’ve organized a series of hugely successful events that not only create an alternative party scenario to the average, rock-dominated “bar scene,” and used these events to give back to the community (the guys of KD recently discounted cover charges at a show in exchange for canned goods, which they donated to the Food Bank). They schooled me on everything from Kzoo’s warehouse-rave days to their methods of onstage mixing, and in the end, Roelandt, Alexander, and Attiek gave me an entirely new perspective on a scene I thought I knew.
On behalf of the Kalamazoo Destruct crew, Roelandt prefaced the interview by making sure we were on the same page with term usage: “When asking questions just for clarification purposes, we would rather you use the words ‘electronic music’ or ‘EDM’ instead of words like ‘electro.’ That usually refers to a specific type of electronic music and we want people to know that our shows contain all types of electronic music.” It became immediately clear to me that these guys meant business.
As well they should. All three of these guys have studied the art of mixing and have a rich array of influences—between the three of them, they list a staggering variety of artists from Detroit and Chicago house artists to P-funk to Claude Von Stroke and J Dilla—that make the Kalamazoo Destruct shows not only unique, but truly entertaining. “My grandfather gave me a large collection of music he used to listen to when he was my age,” said Attiek. “He gave me his crate of vinyl that he never listens to and I’ve been slowly working through that.” Alexander notes that
his musical career began when he played violin, guitar, and upright bass as a kid.
“Kalamazoo Destruct, as a reoccurring event, really took off in June of 2010,” explains Roelandt. “From there, Tahif and I agreed we worked well together and had the resources to throw quality events in our city. Fortunately for us, we had a lot of support from the start. It can be said that many people were waiting for this to happen in Kalamazoo. After the first couple of shows, we brought in our third member, Dustin Alexander who recently moved here from the Detroit Metro Area. Having three members [who were] into different types of music has helped us achieve our initial goal of creating a multi-genre electronic music night that appeals to a lot of people in Kalamazoo that would normally only be involved with their own cliques.”
As a result of the shows’ popularity with both fans and artists, the Kalamazoo Destruct series has fostered a growth within the local electronic “scene” which no one had anticipated. “Our initial goal was to bring a successful electronic music night to Kalamazoo, not the whole scene. Not because we didn’t want to, but because we didn’t think we had the ability to. Now we see that we can act as a catalyst to keep the scene alive with everyone’s help. It’s our future goal to keep this night alive and well as long as possible, and our even bigger goal [is] to keep the scene alive and well as long as possible,” says Alexander.
As it turns out, Kalamazoo is actually the perfect place for a thriving electronic music scene. “Kalamazoo is right in the middle [of] Detroit and Chicago, the two most important cities for electronic music,” explains Roelandt. “It’s the perfect place to combine the influences of house and techno. The thing most people don’t realize is that Kalamazoo has a rich history of electronic music. In fact, to many record collectors, ‘Kalamazoo Techno’ is known as a subgenre in its own right.
Roelandt then dives into an impressively detailed history lesson about a record label established in Kalamazoo, Black Nation Records, which would become an important part of techno history. “Black Nation Records was established in 1992 in Kalamazoo by Jay Denham after completing several original productions and remixes for Detroit’s Kevin Saunderson and Derrick May,” Roelandt said. “The records released on this Kalamazoo label gained worldwide attention, and allowed some of Black Nation’s artists to tour over the world.”
“Black Nation… spearheaded the scene, but many extremely reputable artists have come and gone through the underground scene here in Kalamazoo,” added Alexander. “Many people have tried to throw parties in Kalamazoo with some really great artists and great intentions, but they didn’t quite take off because of the volatile and ever-changing vibe of the music community here. We would really like to see a more reciprocal approach to the electronic music party scene; we’d
like to see a lot of cross influencing going on and less competition, and I think Kalamazoo is really on its way to exactly that.”
Alexander, who opened for legendary hip-hop deejay Afrika Bambaataa in January, performs on an analog system, spinning actual vinyl as opposed to a digital setup. He notes the importance of recognizing that the purpose of Kalamazoo Destruct is to unify a wide variety of artists and sounds for which “electronic music” is too broad a term: “It’s like saying ‘I like rock.’ The next question would be ‘what kind of rock?’ The same goes for electronic music… you probably wouldn’t see the same crowd at a Death Cab for Cutie show as you would for a band like Poison
or Nickelback. So what usually happens is that there are many different factions of electronic music that are just as divided as in any other broad musical form.
What Kalamazoo Destruct is trying to do is bring them all together to highlight the one thing that really does set them apart from fans of other music. They dance more, fight less, and party harder.”
Wednesday, March 02, 2011
On Blowing My Interview With SPIN Magazine.
"…that’s what Einstein said, if it has a flaw and its irreparable turn it into a feature. If you’re always burning the pancakes, put it on the marquee. Burnt Pancakes, 99 Cents." --Tom Waits
“…That’d be like staking my entire career on rolling a six right now.”
I imagined my expression, like a 6-year-old kid amazed at some mundane but no less miraculous wonder of life. I had rolled a six. I had been calculating my odds aloud, slouched over my friend’s ash-covered coffee table and nervously toggling the stray objects with my fingertips.
When the six hit the table I met his expression, which was slightly less exuberant than mine. I believed in superstition and, above all things, I believed in signs. He, always the realist, just saw a six.
I’ve always believed that if there is a hell, each person perceives it specifically to his or her own worst possible scenario. And I discovered on the night of my phone interview with SPIN magazine that my own personal “hell scenario” will be the following: Groundhog’s Day-style, I will be perpetually stuck on the snowy evening of Friday, January 14th ; on which I will leave my terrible and cruelly-located office job, sliding through the hazardous sludge and the even more hazardous winter drivers, sick with the weight of my entire future in the pit of my stomach. My dream job. A music editorial writer with SPIN magazine.
The cool Rolling Stone.
The phone call to determine whether or not I would get the job I had been dreaming of since I had seen Almost Famous when I was fifteen.
I fishtailed up my icy driveway and scurried up the slumping wooden stairs to my bedroom, checking the time on my phone. He was late-- the ‘associate editor’ with whom I would interview-- and I spent the last remaining minutes ratting off cool albums that I’d need to say that I liked; reasons why I liked them; my ‘impressive’ interview and editorial history.
The truth was I had only been writing for a couple of years. I started my blog as an anonymous and somewhat sharp-tongued shock-critic who hid behind not only my anonymity, but the harsh honesty for which I would come to be known. This made me fewer friends than enemies in my small local scene, and I had paid for it on more than one occasion. But in that time, I had not only started cultivating a narrative voice on which I hope(d) to build a career, but soothed the scathing rhetoric that I had hoped would come off as wit, and the result was a body of work of which I was fairly proud.
So, for some reason, I had felt that I was ready. I had sent my SPIN Internship Application pack (clips; cover letter; resume; etc etc) several months before and, truth be told, I had completely forgotten about it when I got the e-mail that I was a finalist for the internship. The editor said that we, the finalists (seventeen, including myself), were to be issued a “test” within the next three days, which we would have “a couple days” to complete. It was a simple test: three story pitches; one of which we had to actually write.
After much deliberation, I chose the following three pitches: one, a retrospective photo gallery of the life and times of Dr. Dre in celebration of his February album debut; two, coverage of Social Distortion’s new release “Hard Times and Nursery Rhymes;” and three, a tour photo gallery of the then-touring indie quasi-supergroup Bad Books. Naturally, the piece I wrote was the Dr. Dre one.
Miraculously, SPIN loved it and, a couple of e-mails later, set up an interview with me.
I had been streetviewing NYC apartments on Google for about a week, calculating feasible bus-and-subway commuter routes to downtown Manhattan from nearly all corners of the city, when William called me for the first time. I kept it surprisingly cool for the first half or so of the interview. I had been thinking endlessly about angles to take (I work in marketing, after all) for days and, weighing the options (should I be the “I’m cool enough to be in New York” Midwesterner, or the “I’ve been dreaming of this my whole life” Midwesterner?) decided to play it cool-- “just be yourself” was the only winning argument in every self-debate, in that frustratingly rational and yet impossible way.
After a few predictable questions, my decidedly “natural” and, yet, awkwardly formal responses (“Well, I like to think that many of my story ideas are not just focused on the subject itself, but more ruminating on the larger ideas of…”) I felt my words palpably slipping off of my tongue and had a sort of out-of-body experience. What was I doing? I was on the phone with fucking SPIN magazine. This was it. I was rolling the dice.
And that’s when I lost it. I think I blacked out a little bit, because I don’t remember most of the conversation. I remember him asking me the question that was my undoing. “What were your favorite albums of 2010?”
Truth was, it was a simple enough question. And the truth was that I not only had legitimate answers-- I really did listen to music! I really did like it, too!-- but I had backup answers too, just in case. Still, all that came out was, “Uhhh… um…..” and after several seconds I managed to begin to talk about Gorillaz’ “Plastic Beach,” and, just in the nick of time, uttered “Broken Bells… you know, that project with (gulp) Danger Mouse and…”--what the fuck was that guy’s name?!-- “James Mercer…”
The rest of the interview was excruciating, and the truth was I came off like a pathetic fucking townie. After my pathetically trite namedrops and mumbling something about local bands, I knew it was over; I could see New York in the distance, Lady Liberty waving goodbye from deep within a cloud of smog.
So even if I had rolled a six, it was still just a six-- just a number like the other five... not the right one. And yet I was somewhat hopeful. Those I had told about the possibility of my employment with SPIN (very few, “just in case”) were supportive and lent a million much-appreciated “their loss” hugs, sentiment, empathic proverbial claps on the back. All the same, I sunk into a deep creative depression which affected every aspect of my artistic life-- my music writing, my poetry, prose, and music itself took the brunt of the pain of my rejection, and, though I brushed it off with that same prescribed disaffected attitude that I had hoped would land me the job, I couldn’t help but feel like I was nothing more or less than the pathetic fucking townie that SPIN Magazine didn’t want to hire.
But it’s been a couple of months, and I’m fine. I took a step to renew the lapsing domain on TVJ and that simple act has given me a new lease on life: I’m finally ready to accept that, townie or not, I had a shot at my dream. I missed-- fuck, I blew it; no way around it-- but I’ve finally taken the steps to move on, to brush myself off and really-- actually-- be myself. No… just be. The rest will come as it may.
Burnt pancakes. 99 cents.
“…That’d be like staking my entire career on rolling a six right now.”
I imagined my expression, like a 6-year-old kid amazed at some mundane but no less miraculous wonder of life. I had rolled a six. I had been calculating my odds aloud, slouched over my friend’s ash-covered coffee table and nervously toggling the stray objects with my fingertips.
When the six hit the table I met his expression, which was slightly less exuberant than mine. I believed in superstition and, above all things, I believed in signs. He, always the realist, just saw a six.
I’ve always believed that if there is a hell, each person perceives it specifically to his or her own worst possible scenario. And I discovered on the night of my phone interview with SPIN magazine that my own personal “hell scenario” will be the following: Groundhog’s Day-style, I will be perpetually stuck on the snowy evening of Friday, January 14th ; on which I will leave my terrible and cruelly-located office job, sliding through the hazardous sludge and the even more hazardous winter drivers, sick with the weight of my entire future in the pit of my stomach. My dream job. A music editorial writer with SPIN magazine.
The cool Rolling Stone.
The phone call to determine whether or not I would get the job I had been dreaming of since I had seen Almost Famous when I was fifteen.
I fishtailed up my icy driveway and scurried up the slumping wooden stairs to my bedroom, checking the time on my phone. He was late-- the ‘associate editor’ with whom I would interview-- and I spent the last remaining minutes ratting off cool albums that I’d need to say that I liked; reasons why I liked them; my ‘impressive’ interview and editorial history.
The truth was I had only been writing for a couple of years. I started my blog as an anonymous and somewhat sharp-tongued shock-critic who hid behind not only my anonymity, but the harsh honesty for which I would come to be known. This made me fewer friends than enemies in my small local scene, and I had paid for it on more than one occasion. But in that time, I had not only started cultivating a narrative voice on which I hope(d) to build a career, but soothed the scathing rhetoric that I had hoped would come off as wit, and the result was a body of work of which I was fairly proud.
So, for some reason, I had felt that I was ready. I had sent my SPIN Internship Application pack (clips; cover letter; resume; etc etc) several months before and, truth be told, I had completely forgotten about it when I got the e-mail that I was a finalist for the internship. The editor said that we, the finalists (seventeen, including myself), were to be issued a “test” within the next three days, which we would have “a couple days” to complete. It was a simple test: three story pitches; one of which we had to actually write.
After much deliberation, I chose the following three pitches: one, a retrospective photo gallery of the life and times of Dr. Dre in celebration of his February album debut; two, coverage of Social Distortion’s new release “Hard Times and Nursery Rhymes;” and three, a tour photo gallery of the then-touring indie quasi-supergroup Bad Books. Naturally, the piece I wrote was the Dr. Dre one.
Miraculously, SPIN loved it and, a couple of e-mails later, set up an interview with me.
I had been streetviewing NYC apartments on Google for about a week, calculating feasible bus-and-subway commuter routes to downtown Manhattan from nearly all corners of the city, when William called me for the first time. I kept it surprisingly cool for the first half or so of the interview. I had been thinking endlessly about angles to take (I work in marketing, after all) for days and, weighing the options (should I be the “I’m cool enough to be in New York” Midwesterner, or the “I’ve been dreaming of this my whole life” Midwesterner?) decided to play it cool-- “just be yourself” was the only winning argument in every self-debate, in that frustratingly rational and yet impossible way.
After a few predictable questions, my decidedly “natural” and, yet, awkwardly formal responses (“Well, I like to think that many of my story ideas are not just focused on the subject itself, but more ruminating on the larger ideas of…”) I felt my words palpably slipping off of my tongue and had a sort of out-of-body experience. What was I doing? I was on the phone with fucking SPIN magazine. This was it. I was rolling the dice.
And that’s when I lost it. I think I blacked out a little bit, because I don’t remember most of the conversation. I remember him asking me the question that was my undoing. “What were your favorite albums of 2010?”
Truth was, it was a simple enough question. And the truth was that I not only had legitimate answers-- I really did listen to music! I really did like it, too!-- but I had backup answers too, just in case. Still, all that came out was, “Uhhh… um…..” and after several seconds I managed to begin to talk about Gorillaz’ “Plastic Beach,” and, just in the nick of time, uttered “Broken Bells… you know, that project with (gulp) Danger Mouse and…”--what the fuck was that guy’s name?!-- “James Mercer…”
The rest of the interview was excruciating, and the truth was I came off like a pathetic fucking townie. After my pathetically trite namedrops and mumbling something about local bands, I knew it was over; I could see New York in the distance, Lady Liberty waving goodbye from deep within a cloud of smog.
So even if I had rolled a six, it was still just a six-- just a number like the other five... not the right one. And yet I was somewhat hopeful. Those I had told about the possibility of my employment with SPIN (very few, “just in case”) were supportive and lent a million much-appreciated “their loss” hugs, sentiment, empathic proverbial claps on the back. All the same, I sunk into a deep creative depression which affected every aspect of my artistic life-- my music writing, my poetry, prose, and music itself took the brunt of the pain of my rejection, and, though I brushed it off with that same prescribed disaffected attitude that I had hoped would land me the job, I couldn’t help but feel like I was nothing more or less than the pathetic fucking townie that SPIN Magazine didn’t want to hire.
But it’s been a couple of months, and I’m fine. I took a step to renew the lapsing domain on TVJ and that simple act has given me a new lease on life: I’m finally ready to accept that, townie or not, I had a shot at my dream. I missed-- fuck, I blew it; no way around it-- but I’ve finally taken the steps to move on, to brush myself off and really-- actually-- be myself. No… just be. The rest will come as it may.
Burnt pancakes. 99 cents.
How to Deal with the Musician in Your Life
So you’ve got a musician on your hands. And it’s not so bad… he’s always toting his guitar to backyard barbeques and beach bonfires; he’s always in the mood to party; he tells cool stories, like that time his band opened for that one band who’s actually kinda famous now (and how they were huge jerks). He’s actually pretty fun to be around.
But sometimes it gets to be a little much. He’s always making noise—sit still, dude!— he’s always wasted (or hungover), and he won’t stop telling that same story about that time he played with that one band who’s not really that big of a deal.
As someone who was mesmerized by music from the time I first grasped the concept of sound, I myself couldn’t help picking up instruments and, after several petty dabblings, set up camp with a cheap acoustic guitar I bought on QVC (thanks, Esteban!) in my early teenage years.
Since then, I’ve not only upgraded my gear (thankfully), but have picked up a little wisdom on interactions between us musicians and, well… normal people. Here’s a handy guide on how to deal with any musician you might have in your life.
Your significant other. Let’s face it: musicians are sexy. There’s a mystique unmatched by any other breed of human. So it’s no surprise you were attracted to your musician. And kudos! We’re not always easy to land—commitment tends to freak us out. And rightfully so; many of us bounce from one city to the next night after night—whether to play our own shows, or follow whatever band we’re obsessed with at the moment—and it can be difficult to… er… keep track of us.
But relax: musicians are among the most passionate people in the world, which means that when we love you, we really love you. Hell, we’re swarmed with fans after our shows (at least in our own minds) and we still go home to you at night. But the thing you have to understand is that we are at our most sublime with our arms wrapped around our favorite six-string. And even if you’re feeling “second fiddle” (pun intended) hopefully, it will all be worth it when you hear those words you’ve been dying to hear, the reason you put up with us in the first place: “I wrote this song for you.”
Your employee. Congratulations! You’ve moved up in the corporate world and you’re looking to fill that entry-level position. Odds are, you’ve got broke musicians lined up around the block, desperate for a steady paycheck.
After what seems like a million interviews with a billion red flags (“Uhhh, do you guys drug test?”) you’ve found a soft-spoken gal who plays banjo in a bluegrass band and loves Phish. What a sweetie!
You’ll be pleased and surprised to know that musicians are highly employable! Playing in a band requires an unbelievable amount of dedication, perseverance, and hard work. It is truly the epitome of teamwork: long nights of band practice mean that we’re experts in the art of trial-and-error, and masters of the everlasting problem of compromise. We’re well-versed in patience, communication, and time management (hey—being in a band really is another job!).
The bottom line: once you weed out the scumbags, getting a musician to work for you is one of the smartest business decisions that you’re going to make this year (yes—this is likely temporary. As aforementioned, we’re not big on commitment.)
Your roommate. Oh, now you’ve done it. You moved in with a musician. It was super at first! He was throwing the best parties, bringing home some really nice ladies (and their friends) and you totally dug it.
But it’s been awhile and it’s gotten old. He’s always sloppily “shredding” in the next room when you’re trying to enjoy your Dexter (Gilmore Girls) marathons. He’s always coming and going through the house at all hours, banging his way up the stairs with armfuls of gear, and, instead of ladies all the time, he’s bringing home increasingly shady jam-mates and you just generally have no idea what his deal is.
But, you have to admit: he’s really kinda nice. He knows when he’s doing you wrong and always makes up for it somehow: he gets you into shows—usually his shows, where you’re cool by association (and isn’t it fun when you’re one of the five people who knows the words to his band’s songs?). He knows every bartender in town (“Did I order a double? Oh wait…”) and has more friends than you dare to try to remember. And there were the parties… and the ladies… and their friends. And even if you had to “f’in work in the morning, bro!”…you know you had fun last night.
The main thing to remember about your musician roommate is even when it seems like he’s being shady… he’s just oblivious.
The bottom line: we’re not normal, and we certainly take some getting used to. But on behalf of musicians everywhere, to the people who put up with us: thanks. You are the reason for our music, and we love you for it.
But sometimes it gets to be a little much. He’s always making noise—sit still, dude!— he’s always wasted (or hungover), and he won’t stop telling that same story about that time he played with that one band who’s not really that big of a deal.
As someone who was mesmerized by music from the time I first grasped the concept of sound, I myself couldn’t help picking up instruments and, after several petty dabblings, set up camp with a cheap acoustic guitar I bought on QVC (thanks, Esteban!) in my early teenage years.
Since then, I’ve not only upgraded my gear (thankfully), but have picked up a little wisdom on interactions between us musicians and, well… normal people. Here’s a handy guide on how to deal with any musician you might have in your life.
Your significant other. Let’s face it: musicians are sexy. There’s a mystique unmatched by any other breed of human. So it’s no surprise you were attracted to your musician. And kudos! We’re not always easy to land—commitment tends to freak us out. And rightfully so; many of us bounce from one city to the next night after night—whether to play our own shows, or follow whatever band we’re obsessed with at the moment—and it can be difficult to… er… keep track of us.
But relax: musicians are among the most passionate people in the world, which means that when we love you, we really love you. Hell, we’re swarmed with fans after our shows (at least in our own minds) and we still go home to you at night. But the thing you have to understand is that we are at our most sublime with our arms wrapped around our favorite six-string. And even if you’re feeling “second fiddle” (pun intended) hopefully, it will all be worth it when you hear those words you’ve been dying to hear, the reason you put up with us in the first place: “I wrote this song for you.”
Your employee. Congratulations! You’ve moved up in the corporate world and you’re looking to fill that entry-level position. Odds are, you’ve got broke musicians lined up around the block, desperate for a steady paycheck.
After what seems like a million interviews with a billion red flags (“Uhhh, do you guys drug test?”) you’ve found a soft-spoken gal who plays banjo in a bluegrass band and loves Phish. What a sweetie!
You’ll be pleased and surprised to know that musicians are highly employable! Playing in a band requires an unbelievable amount of dedication, perseverance, and hard work. It is truly the epitome of teamwork: long nights of band practice mean that we’re experts in the art of trial-and-error, and masters of the everlasting problem of compromise. We’re well-versed in patience, communication, and time management (hey—being in a band really is another job!).
The bottom line: once you weed out the scumbags, getting a musician to work for you is one of the smartest business decisions that you’re going to make this year (yes—this is likely temporary. As aforementioned, we’re not big on commitment.)
Your roommate. Oh, now you’ve done it. You moved in with a musician. It was super at first! He was throwing the best parties, bringing home some really nice ladies (and their friends) and you totally dug it.
But it’s been awhile and it’s gotten old. He’s always sloppily “shredding” in the next room when you’re trying to enjoy your Dexter (Gilmore Girls) marathons. He’s always coming and going through the house at all hours, banging his way up the stairs with armfuls of gear, and, instead of ladies all the time, he’s bringing home increasingly shady jam-mates and you just generally have no idea what his deal is.
But, you have to admit: he’s really kinda nice. He knows when he’s doing you wrong and always makes up for it somehow: he gets you into shows—usually his shows, where you’re cool by association (and isn’t it fun when you’re one of the five people who knows the words to his band’s songs?). He knows every bartender in town (“Did I order a double? Oh wait…”) and has more friends than you dare to try to remember. And there were the parties… and the ladies… and their friends. And even if you had to “f’in work in the morning, bro!”…you know you had fun last night.
The main thing to remember about your musician roommate is even when it seems like he’s being shady… he’s just oblivious.
The bottom line: we’re not normal, and we certainly take some getting used to. But on behalf of musicians everywhere, to the people who put up with us: thanks. You are the reason for our music, and we love you for it.
Five Lost Arts of Music
Let’s face it. It’s the future.
It’s crazy to think, but we’re already a whole decade into the New Millennium (which might have been true last year, too, depending on how you look at it). And that has meant some really cool things, especially in the way of technology; it’s easier to communicate than ever, and for the most part, that is a wonderful thing. Imagine going back in time, and telling people even two generations ago that you can access the internet (good luck explaining that one), store every document on your computer, take pictures and videos, and even make a phone call, all with one device. Imagine telling the first generations of music nerds that we can have our entire music library in our back pocket at any given time… Pretty crazy.
Still, while 21st century living has its perks—when was the last time you had a problem that your cell phone couldn’t solve?—it’s not without its consequences: there are some beautiful traditions that have definitely been lost in translation. While most of us music lovers are still very in touch with the past (such as the new generation of vinylphiles arising in the past five years or so) some traditions—and downright art forms—have been lost to time.
For example:
1.) The mixtape. Long gone are the days of painstakingly patching a true mix tape together; more recently, the Napster days ushered in a new tradition: the mix cd. Generation X is known for its passion and skills in the art of the mixtape (you remember “High Fidelity”). It was more than just choosing the perfect blend of songs; it was piecing them together in an artful order, with graceful genre-crossing and careful transitions, and even designing their own album artwork for the jewel case. The mix not only showcased old faves, and highlighted new or obscure music for the mix’s recipient to discover (or, at the very least, be impressed by) but also, ideally, conveyed a message: anything from “it’s summer; let’s party!” or “I like you like you.” At its best, the mix is a thing of true beauty.
2. )The flyer. Gone are the days of hundreds of flyers plastered on the cork boards of community centers and coffee shops, advertising upcoming shows. These days, bands can simply make a Facebook or MySpace invitation, and send it to their friends, whose friends (and their friends) will inevitably see it too. While this is arguably a more effective means of communication, there is something about the design of a flyer that says a lot about the show and the band who distributed it. Thankfully, some bands are still taking the time to design flyers and using social networking sites to post them, but for the most part, true flyers are mostly a thing of the past.
3.) The secret song. In the old days, it was not uncommon for bands to stick a short “secret” song on an album—usually at the end, long after the last song on the album had faded out—that was not on the album’s track list. While some bands still do this from time to time, it is far less common as bands cope with the reality that many of their fans are downloading their music a song or two at a time rather than purchasing the album itself.
4.) Onstage choreography (especially men). This is taking it waaaay old school. But part of me wishes that some bands still worked that oh-so-subtle choreography into their live show (a la The Temptations). While some of the showboaty rock bands of the 70s and 80s often featured some synchronized thrashing of their guitars (notably, KISS) band choreography is probably destined to stay a long-gone doo wop relic.
5.) Music on TV. People complained for years that MTV and VH1 didn’t show enough music videos. Then, they showed them only at night—in the “wee hours,” when the rest of the networks were playing infomercials and M*A*S*H* reruns. Now, there is rarely a mention of music on MTV, VH1 or any of their many offspring networks. Music videos were once a genre all their own, creating a new level on which to interpret a song. Who could forget the trippy sketch-animation of A-Ha’s “Take On Me” or the epic theatricality of “California Love” (and dare I mention “Thriller”)? Or Blind Melon’s lovable “No Rain?” While the rise of online video media like YouTube has created a new incentive for bands to create memorable videos (OK Go, I see ya’ll) it would still be cool to have a real music TV network.
The best part about lost arts? Lost arts only mean one thing: the potential for revival. So don’t be afraid to use the “Burn Disc” feature on your iTunes (I know you have a dusty stack of CD-Rs somewhere) and make a mixtape for your guy or gal (Valentine’s Day is coming up and mix CDs are a free thoughtful gift!). Don’t be afraid to design a cool flyer to promote your band’s next show. And definitely don’t be afraid to switch off Jersery Shore and cruise music videos on YouTube—they’re still out there!
It’s crazy to think, but we’re already a whole decade into the New Millennium (which might have been true last year, too, depending on how you look at it). And that has meant some really cool things, especially in the way of technology; it’s easier to communicate than ever, and for the most part, that is a wonderful thing. Imagine going back in time, and telling people even two generations ago that you can access the internet (good luck explaining that one), store every document on your computer, take pictures and videos, and even make a phone call, all with one device. Imagine telling the first generations of music nerds that we can have our entire music library in our back pocket at any given time… Pretty crazy.
Still, while 21st century living has its perks—when was the last time you had a problem that your cell phone couldn’t solve?—it’s not without its consequences: there are some beautiful traditions that have definitely been lost in translation. While most of us music lovers are still very in touch with the past (such as the new generation of vinylphiles arising in the past five years or so) some traditions—and downright art forms—have been lost to time.
For example:
1.) The mixtape. Long gone are the days of painstakingly patching a true mix tape together; more recently, the Napster days ushered in a new tradition: the mix cd. Generation X is known for its passion and skills in the art of the mixtape (you remember “High Fidelity”). It was more than just choosing the perfect blend of songs; it was piecing them together in an artful order, with graceful genre-crossing and careful transitions, and even designing their own album artwork for the jewel case. The mix not only showcased old faves, and highlighted new or obscure music for the mix’s recipient to discover (or, at the very least, be impressed by) but also, ideally, conveyed a message: anything from “it’s summer; let’s party!” or “I like you like you.” At its best, the mix is a thing of true beauty.
2. )The flyer. Gone are the days of hundreds of flyers plastered on the cork boards of community centers and coffee shops, advertising upcoming shows. These days, bands can simply make a Facebook or MySpace invitation, and send it to their friends, whose friends (and their friends) will inevitably see it too. While this is arguably a more effective means of communication, there is something about the design of a flyer that says a lot about the show and the band who distributed it. Thankfully, some bands are still taking the time to design flyers and using social networking sites to post them, but for the most part, true flyers are mostly a thing of the past.
3.) The secret song. In the old days, it was not uncommon for bands to stick a short “secret” song on an album—usually at the end, long after the last song on the album had faded out—that was not on the album’s track list. While some bands still do this from time to time, it is far less common as bands cope with the reality that many of their fans are downloading their music a song or two at a time rather than purchasing the album itself.
4.) Onstage choreography (especially men). This is taking it waaaay old school. But part of me wishes that some bands still worked that oh-so-subtle choreography into their live show (a la The Temptations). While some of the showboaty rock bands of the 70s and 80s often featured some synchronized thrashing of their guitars (notably, KISS) band choreography is probably destined to stay a long-gone doo wop relic.
5.) Music on TV. People complained for years that MTV and VH1 didn’t show enough music videos. Then, they showed them only at night—in the “wee hours,” when the rest of the networks were playing infomercials and M*A*S*H* reruns. Now, there is rarely a mention of music on MTV, VH1 or any of their many offspring networks. Music videos were once a genre all their own, creating a new level on which to interpret a song. Who could forget the trippy sketch-animation of A-Ha’s “Take On Me” or the epic theatricality of “California Love” (and dare I mention “Thriller”)? Or Blind Melon’s lovable “No Rain?” While the rise of online video media like YouTube has created a new incentive for bands to create memorable videos (OK Go, I see ya’ll) it would still be cool to have a real music TV network.
The best part about lost arts? Lost arts only mean one thing: the potential for revival. So don’t be afraid to use the “Burn Disc” feature on your iTunes (I know you have a dusty stack of CD-Rs somewhere) and make a mixtape for your guy or gal (Valentine’s Day is coming up and mix CDs are a free thoughtful gift!). Don’t be afraid to design a cool flyer to promote your band’s next show. And definitely don’t be afraid to switch off Jersery Shore and cruise music videos on YouTube—they’re still out there!
Funktion: So Good It'll Flip Your Lid
In the music-journalism world, we’re obsessed with fads. We love passing trends and emerging styles and we love-- love-- being the first person EVER to be into a new band. We love it. So what do we do, then, those times when we don’t want to be “trendy?” Some of us were never meant to be cool in the first place, and simply aren’t equipped to keep up with the ebb and flow of the scene-- whether it be local, national, whatever.
But every once in awhile a band comes along that transcends the need to be everywhere at once and have their name on every flyer in town. These bands are usually a little older-- sorry, more mature-- with gigging savvy and true musical chops. Timeless influences, true musicianship, propensity for evolution as well as that sought-after Originality: these are the rudiments for a veteran band. These are the bands on which any music scene-- in any place-- is built. These are the bands on which younger, more transient bands (the college-radio-played, namedropped venue/critic darlings) come and go, passing over the surface of a scene, forgoing stability for flashpaper fame. But when there’s a band that does stick it out, that manages to retain an identity while continuing to interest their audience, and becomes part of the musical identity of a city, it’s a magical thing. Right now, in Kalamazoo, that band is Funktion.
With several years of shows, minor lineup changes and countless shows under their belts, Funktion is looking pretty good these days. With a tireless gigging schedule, these boys have made their presence known nearly everywhere in southwest Michigan and throughout the Midwest, and though they only played one hometown show in October (which, as of press time, had not occurred), you can usually find them onstage somewhere in Kalamazoo at any given time, and they will be all over Michigan (and beyond) in November and December.
And if you’ve never seen Funktion play… you’re missing out. Funktion has an incredible ability to light up any room they play. Their watertight funk is the ultimate blend of skill and soul, and is sure to rock you inside and out. When they play their home-base venue Union Cabaret & Grille in Kalamazoo, it’s not uncommon to find the otherwise-stuffy “nice bar in town” packed full of people ready to jam, and the four- or five-foot walkway behind the bar transformed into a makeshift dance floor. And if you don’t find yourself at least nodding along, if you don’t feel at least a little loose and funky in your neck and shoulders, and if you’re not kicking up your heels after a Soft Parade or two, then… I don’t know what to tell you.
With a blend of classic New Orleans jazz, ’60s funk and soul, and the rawness and presence of modern-day hip hop and rock, there’s still a magic ingredient in Funktion’s music that makes it irresistible to love, which I am yet to determine. I think it’s drummer Sean Reisig’s flawless urban-jazz flow (think ?uestlove in a super funky mood) or Andrew Schrock’s butter-smooth croon (or how he can still turn it out on a rap from time to time) or, quite possibly, Neal Conway‘s chillingly-smooth basslines. whatever it is, whether or not they choose to remain on the local scene in the future, this is a truly timeless band.
So what the funk are you doing this weekend? These cats are getting their jive on at a variety of venues in November, so grab your flyest chick or daddy-o and go out and swing. Don’t forget your fedora (is it still ironic if you’re actually wearing it to a jazz-y show?).
But every once in awhile a band comes along that transcends the need to be everywhere at once and have their name on every flyer in town. These bands are usually a little older-- sorry, more mature-- with gigging savvy and true musical chops. Timeless influences, true musicianship, propensity for evolution as well as that sought-after Originality: these are the rudiments for a veteran band. These are the bands on which any music scene-- in any place-- is built. These are the bands on which younger, more transient bands (the college-radio-played, namedropped venue/critic darlings) come and go, passing over the surface of a scene, forgoing stability for flashpaper fame. But when there’s a band that does stick it out, that manages to retain an identity while continuing to interest their audience, and becomes part of the musical identity of a city, it’s a magical thing. Right now, in Kalamazoo, that band is Funktion.
With several years of shows, minor lineup changes and countless shows under their belts, Funktion is looking pretty good these days. With a tireless gigging schedule, these boys have made their presence known nearly everywhere in southwest Michigan and throughout the Midwest, and though they only played one hometown show in October (which, as of press time, had not occurred), you can usually find them onstage somewhere in Kalamazoo at any given time, and they will be all over Michigan (and beyond) in November and December.
And if you’ve never seen Funktion play… you’re missing out. Funktion has an incredible ability to light up any room they play. Their watertight funk is the ultimate blend of skill and soul, and is sure to rock you inside and out. When they play their home-base venue Union Cabaret & Grille in Kalamazoo, it’s not uncommon to find the otherwise-stuffy “nice bar in town” packed full of people ready to jam, and the four- or five-foot walkway behind the bar transformed into a makeshift dance floor. And if you don’t find yourself at least nodding along, if you don’t feel at least a little loose and funky in your neck and shoulders, and if you’re not kicking up your heels after a Soft Parade or two, then… I don’t know what to tell you.
With a blend of classic New Orleans jazz, ’60s funk and soul, and the rawness and presence of modern-day hip hop and rock, there’s still a magic ingredient in Funktion’s music that makes it irresistible to love, which I am yet to determine. I think it’s drummer Sean Reisig’s flawless urban-jazz flow (think ?uestlove in a super funky mood) or Andrew Schrock’s butter-smooth croon (or how he can still turn it out on a rap from time to time) or, quite possibly, Neal Conway‘s chillingly-smooth basslines. whatever it is, whether or not they choose to remain on the local scene in the future, this is a truly timeless band.
So what the funk are you doing this weekend? These cats are getting their jive on at a variety of venues in November, so grab your flyest chick or daddy-o and go out and swing. Don’t forget your fedora (is it still ironic if you’re actually wearing it to a jazz-y show?).
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