Circle Of Fits

Wilco's New "Popeye" Video

noreply@blogger.com (Seano) — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 12:05:00 +0000

Wilco bring Popeye back from the animation graveyard, with their new video for "Dawned on Me". If you haven't gotten their latest album The Whole Love yet, then you must feel like you haven't eaten your spinach...all of the time. It was in Circle of Fits Top 5 Albums of 2011. Bluto ain't got nuthin' on Wilco.

The Star Spangled Banter

noreply@blogger.com (Seano) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 20:14:00 +0000

There seems to be a ridiculous amount of armchair fuss and disgust over Steven Tyler's performance of The Star Spangled Banner before yesterdays AFC Championship game. From the internets, tweets and newsrooms I've been privy to words like "TRAVESTY", "disgrace", "butchered", atrocity", even "tasteless" to describe his take on this atrocious song.

Yes, I said atrocious song. I have a lot to say about it, but I may morph back and forth between into some sort of veteran huggin', beer slingin' good ole boy full of lung butter and adrenaline....and yours truly. Because for some reason, this song is sacred. It is symbolic of the good old USA, so you better remove your hat and slap that hand over your heart and pay attention, boy. Because it's the most important song that ever glorified war.

"Because the game wont be the same without it, man. The goddamn game wouldn't even be being played if it weren't for the good old righteous wars. We won the right to play it. Now hear me. We won the right to come into your country when you don't want us to, take over your governments and turn your country into a police state until order is restored and your terrorist leader is punished, killed or driven out of power. Freedom ain't free. Ain't nothin' like a good old war song to get those colors flying, that pride bursting, and heart a poundin'. Ain't nothin' like getting all big chested and misty eyed with a good old outdated, imperialistic sing a long that most of the offensive linemen ignore while they adjust their jocks. And nobody who has the privilege of an invitation to sing it, better sing it off key, off color or whatnot because that'd be a goddamn sacrilege. An abomination. And goddamnit, you better have a fuckin' tear in your eye when those fireworks drop and drape over the fighter plane flyin low and slow over the stadium. You'd better straighten up while flyin' right."

Hey, butterbean, listen to the words. Your sentiment is disguised by your pride. War has never been the answer to anything through history but rather a disagreement of religion and false gods, and a pursuit of land, power and money.. But now people are pissed off, being civilly disobedient, distrusting their leaders, and the act of being patriotic falls somewhere between cutting back on high fructose corn syrup and Tivo-ing The Bachelor. And you soldiers? Bless your hearts for what you do, even when you don't know why you do what you do, or no longer believe in what you do.

May I suggest an upgrade to Woody Guthrie's "This Land is Your Land" to be performed in lieu of the Elitist Anthem. A true panorama and pastiche of what America truly symbolizes-inclusion.

Steven Tyler is still a rock star. Even after having to take the Idol job to fund his various alimony escapades, and his ridiculous Oprah interview, the guy is still a Toxic Twin. He's still the guy who wrote the words to Sick as a Dog and Lord of the Thighs. And that's enough for me. I've been in his company while in his dressing room with my late sister and he was the coolest, intuitive, non self- serving celebrity I'd ever been around.

What he's absurdly up against in this PR debacle, for which I'm convinced that he doesn't give a shit about is the ABOVE played out national SENTIMENT.... PLUS his much higher profile. Due to his appearance 2x a week on a massively popular faux- starmaking show which is shoved down the throats of a general public who know next to nothing about music, he's a CELEBRITY, now. A 40 second soundbite at the end of every fly- over city's six o clock news broadcast. These couch proud cretins and pasty tweens have most likely never heard a fucking Aerosmith song. Therefore, they would never know that Mr. Tyler sounded exactly like Mr. Tyler SHOULD sound , while singing the NATIONAL ANTHEM. IN BOSTON, WHERE HE'S FROM. He sounded like a ROCK STAR. A 63 year old rock star who can still hit the high notes on this notoriously difficult song to sing. So many vocally white washed or melismally mutilating understudies have tried to go where Steven went and failed by falling off the edge of the key or being a sonic gymnast and rappelling down the ends of the phrases.

If you wanted the slick operatic white bread take on this song, you should have waited for Kristen Chenoweth's sparkly clean version before the Giant/49er game. Her teeth were shining through the misty rain, her vibrato was Rogers and Hammerstein strong and pitch perfect. Shit, I was waiting for jazz hands.We did get the Miss America wave, though.

I was personally much more offended with the New England Patriots who were handed the game with a dropped pass and missed kick. And now that sneering thankless snob Tom Brady gets to dirty up my Super Bowl again. Now that's a travesty.

The Darkness Returns

noreply@blogger.com (Seano) — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 21:41:00 +0000

The Darkness Returns! No, not a common go to theme of dread and depression that runs rampant on this blog, but the UK BAND- The Darkness. Remember them? Need help? Just think of the last time you heard Thin Lizzy glam- dipped guitars and outrageous falsetto on rock radio. In 2003, not 1973. Catchy melodies, guitar solos. and the glitter drenched, Mercury-lite vocal stylings of Justin Hawkins. You know, Rock! From back in the days of yore.... before your Instamatic Idols and Idiots.

Most of you will reluctantly reach back to 2003 to bring their catchy glam rock single " I Believe in a Thing Called Love" to the surface. It was an insanely infectious tune for the time, even soccer moms were scat singing it in their Voyagers. They were massive in England from 2003-2005 and even made a dent here with their Permission To Land album. But with their outrageous and dentally challenged videos and the penchant for shiny pinstriped jumpsuits, nobody knew whether to take the band seriously or not. Surprisingly enough, the Hawkins brothers (Brother Dan on guitars as well) were virtuosos as well as great songwriters.

The second album from 2005, One Way Ticket to Hell and Back, had the boys even nicking Queen producer Roy Thomas Baker, yet it made no dent and hardly a ding, and the fun began to fade. After the obligatory saturation with fame and the maddening crash into the drugs/rehab/obscurity wall, the band split in 2006, with Justin leaving to regroup and eventually form the one album long project called Hot Leg. The remaining members fumbled along with a new front man in an ensemble called the Stoned Gods. Neither outfit made any real rock traction, and here it is a short two years later, and with the quids running low the world gets a big whiff of reunion.

With Justin and Dan having realized that a grand glam sum is better then their bland glam parts, the band has regrouped in 2012 and are well into writing and recording a third album. A US tour has been announced with the dates listed below.

2/1 – Toronto, ON @ Phoenix – SOLD OUT
2/3 – Boston @ Paradise Rock Club – SOLD OUT
2/4 – New York @ Irving Plaza – SOLD OUT
2/6 – New York @ Irving Plaza
Currently on sale: http://bit.ly/tmgRoG

2/7 – Philadelphia @ Trocadero
Currently on sale: http://ticketf.ly/vfqHUW

2/8 – Washington DC @ 9:30 Club – SOLD OUT
2/10 – Detroit @ St Andrew’s Hall – SOLD OUT
2/11 – Chicago @ Metro – SOLD OUT

2/12 – Minneapolis @ First Avenue
Presale tickets still available: http://www.thedarknesstix.com/
Currently on sale: http://bit.ly/u9YFea

2/15 – Denver @ Summit
Presale tickets still available: http://www.thedarknesstix.com/
Currently on sale: http://bit.ly/vHQnub

2/17 – Las Vegas @ House of Blues
Presale tickets still available: http://www.thedarknesstix.com/
Currently on sale: http://bit.ly/tNIaxN

2/18 – Phoenix @ Celebrity Theatre
Presale tickets still available: http://www.thedarknesstix.com/
Currently on sale: http://bit.ly/s2gjQV

2/19 – Los Angeles @ House of Blues – Sunset Strip – SOLD OUT
2/21 – San Francisco @ Fillmore
Currently on sale: http://bit.ly/rG3I4C

2/23 – Portland @ Roseland Theater
Tickets onsale Friday Jan 13, 2012.

2/24 – Vancouver, B.C. @ Commodore Ballroom
Tickets onsale Friday Jan 13, 2012.

2/25 – Seattle @ Neptune Theater
Tickets onsale Friday Jan 13, 2012.

I've got glitter on my fingers as I type this, and my jumper is at the cleaners! See you there!

TattOOFAH : New Van Halen Song

noreply@blogger.com (Seano) — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 18:05:00 +0000

Well. The world has its new Van Halen Song called Tattoo.. which was spliced together from a Diver Down outtake and the yuk- yuk yuckiest part of a deep cut off of Eat Em and Smile. Complete with the best of wordy uber- cornball Hot For Teacher/Just a Gigolo aftermarket inspired lyrics from Conductor Roth, an Eddie solo with all of the cliche parts of an Eddie solo( kinda nice to hear them, but I already did about 7 million times thanks to mid- market rock radio)...and balloons. Plus we don't get to see how sparkly and outlandish Alex's drum set is in B&W. And Wolfie, you kind of look like Chaz Bono, but with more dancing talent and better man boobs.

Hey guys in the video booth or guys on the stage.. Howsa bout synching up your words to the video, or learning the words, even. The album, called A Different Kind of Truth, comes out Feb. 7.

Oh, well,I'll still go see them just in hopes of Eddie bringing out Frankenstein Kramer for one song.

Partially Deaf In Depth

noreply@blogger.com (Seano) — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 13:42:00 +0000

For the last three months or so, I've struggled with a nasty concoction of recurring bronchitis, two asthma attacks, super resistant ear infections and cracked ribs from a machine gun body mantra of coughing fits.

I have improved for the most part. Except for my ears. As of right this minute, my hearing is at least 50 percent gone. For someone whose life nucleus is music and the appreciation or evisceration thereof, this puts a huge auditory damper on my day to day. Yeah, I can't hear shit. Which is good if what I'm listening to clearly contains some sort of half thought out sonic feces, but really horrid if its solid gold sound.

I have had a lifetime of hearing problems. You see, my Eustachian Tubes are deformed. For those of you saying, huh?, well, you've got them too, but yours most likely function properly, so that every time you swim, shower, congest, sneeze or produce something waxy, your eustacian tubes drain that foreign matter right down the back of your throat for proper expulsion ,like good internal plumbing should. Mine are closed tight, backed up like a toilet in the ladies room at a Britney Spears show. So, I have years old fluid, wax, scar tissue, first drafts of bad reviews, pixie dust, and well fed ear mites just chillin' back there. As a child with chronic ear infections, the standard procedure to alleviate these non stop symptoms was to to do a myringotomy, which is basically shove a tiny tube into the ear drums that assists with ventilation and drainage. LONG STORY SHORT, I had many of those damn myringotomies (,7x by age 12) have had my eardrums replaced twice, because the holes left would not close. The eardrums are new, but the drainage problem ain't going away. And my recent health issues have made it worse than ever.

Next week, with the assistance of some very temporary Medicaid, I'm getting another adult myringotomy done, more little tubes to help with drainage.Unfortunately, this was an inconclusive option given to me by kind Dr. Wilcox, whom after reviewing my prior medical history, told me that this may or may not work. It may be scar tissue and not old fluid, hard wax and other foreign entities that reside behind my fucked up eardrums, in which case, my only other option is equivalent to a total restoration of that favorite room you lay around in, gut it and start over. The problem with that is clear. A much longer recovery, without any chance of going to whatever job I may have. And with this Medicaid, drugs are not covered. Yes, believe what I say. I can get either operation, but I can't get the painkillers to go with it.

I have come to the conclusion, that I may have limited auditory function for the rest of my life. Dr. Wilcox was very matter of fact, backing up his inquiry into my condition with a disclaimer that there is no cure or operation to "replace eustacian tubes", and that I was a "very difficult case".

I have lived this long with a moderate 30% loss of hearing in my right ear and 20% in my left ear. It has come in handy at times in my life. I never really needed ear plugs at Judas Priest shows, never once had a case of tinnitus(ringing) and it was a built in bullshit meter and filter for many unwanted conversations.

This moderate loss has been a hindrance as a performer and singer as my monitors always had to be jacked up so loud that the guitarists didn't even need me included in their stage mixes. And the few times I used in ear monitors, I was lost in the cacophony of instruments.

But this may change everything. I really cannot hear right now. Everything sounds like a whisper or a dull thud. The treble and some midrange in my life is gone. I have recently been digitally converting some of my favorite albums from 128 kbps to 320kbps to see if it may make a difference, and it really has not.

This morning I converted Crosby Stills and Nash's debut album from 1969. One of my favorite songs from CSN is "You Don't Have to Cry". On a weird side note, I never knew until today that this was the very first song they sang together in Joni Mitchell's Laurel Canyon living room. Graham Nash was looking in on an a Stills Crosby sing- a- long , he heard a run through of this song(written by Stills and about Joni) and asked if he could join in with a high harmony. The rest is history. And I'll still have history, and most likely will have to rely on audio memory. I couldnt tell the difference between the 128 and 320 bit versions, and both of them ended up sounding like I was not sitting cross legged with my poncho on in that living room basquing in some hashish drenched acoustic bliss but rather hearing it underwater from the shallow end of Joni's pool.

Maybe this operation will act as some serious Drano for my ears.

Maybe I will have to get used to being more than partially deaf in depth.

Brilliant Bowie Birthday Piece from The Guardian

noreply@blogger.com (Seano) — Sat, 07 Jan 2012 14:40:00 +0000

I came across this super article by Alexis Petridis from The Guardian, in celebration of Bowie's proper retirement birthday upon turning 65, this Sunday.

David Bowie: myth-maker turns 65 away from limelight

By Alexis Petridis

m.guardian.co.uk

David Bowie in the 1970s, not a man destined to make old bones - or so we thought. Photograph: Michael Ochs Archives

It's a cliche when a rock star reaches 65 to mention the time when it didn't look like they'd make pensionable age, but with David Bowie, who marks the milestone on Sunday, it's almost unavoidable. Look at a picture of him in the mid-70s, when he was ravaged by cocaine, living off a diet of red peppers and milk and so paranoid that he apparently kept his own urine in a fridge lest persons unknown steal it: this is not a man destined to make old bones.

It wasn't just the drugs: there was something about the intensity with which he worked during that decade - the scarcely-believable ten-year creative streak that begins with the 1970s The Man Who Sold The World and ends with the 1980's Scary Monsters And Super-Creeps – that suggests an early demise. Someone that burns that brightly probably isn't going to burn for long.

Under the circumstances, it's hard to begrudge him his ongoing semi-retirement: he last made an album in 2003, and for the best part of a decade has made only sporadic public appearances, the odd special guest spot here and there. It was precipitated by emergency surgery on a blocked artery, and lurid rumours about the state of his health have abounded ever since.

Ill or not, having achieved more in one phase of his career alone than anyone can hope to in a lifetime – so much that it's literally impossible to imagine what pop music would be like if he hadn't existed – he's entitled to take early redundancy from pop stardom.

You can mourn the loss of more music if you want, but in a sense, his absence feels strangely right. Before his retirement, he'd begun down the path taken by most august rock legends: having bullishly announced in 1990 that he'd never return to his most famous songs, he began playing the hits again – he performed Low in its entirety in 2002 – tacitly acknowledging that his best work was probably behind him. It's a pragmatism that has served everyone from Paul McCartney to Iggy Pop well, but the all-our-yesterdays approach somehow didn't suit Bowie.

The artist who drew a decisive, iconoclastic dividing line between the 60s and the 70s in the lyrics of All The Young Dudes ("my brother's at home with his Beatles and his Stones … what a drag"), Bowie's music was never about nostalgia, always the present, or, even better, the future. Furthermore, the playing the-big-hits gigs are about creating a warm, communal glow of recognition among the audience and Bowie's music was never about that either. There was almost always something distant, aloof, other about it, even when it sounded like it was speaking directly to the listeners. "You're not alone, give your hands, you're wonderful," he cried at the end of 1972's Rock 'N' Roll Suicide, the collective we're-all-in-this-together sentiment undercut by the fact that it was sung by Bowie in the guise of someone else: he's playing a role.

His music could certainly move you, but the main emotion it instilled was a kind of boggling awe, not least 1976's Station To Station, made at the height of the wee-in-the-fridge era and yet - incredibly given that Bowie claimed to not actually remember making it - arguably his best album. You listen to it, or Low, or Diamond Dogs in the absolute certainty that the person who made it was not like you or anyone else, no matter how much anyone else claimed to identify with him: not the gay kids who sat thunderstruck in front of Top Of The Pops as he casually slipped his arm around his hapless guitarist Mick Ronson ("people used to stop my sister on the street and say 'is that Mick of yours a poof?'", he later protested), not the fanatics who dressed up like him, not the legions of other artists who tried to imitate him and always fell short.

Bowie was an early adopter of the internet, but he didn't really fit with the notion of a star in the 21st century, an era when the manufacturing of pop music has been laid bare on the TV and where stars are perpetually available on Twitter and Tumblr. Rock music currently exists in a world of 360 degree connectivity that's supposed to bring the artist and the fan closer and reveal the real person behind the myth. But as the best of his umpteen biographers David Buckley pointed out, with Bowie, revealing the real person behind the myth is missing the point: "the myth has far greater resonance and is far more intriguing than stolid attempts to identify a 'true' essence … his appeal has lain in the generation of myths." Those myths look likely to remain intact forever, which seems perfectly fitting.

I've no bones about Bowie finally "making old bones". I miss him(well...maybe I miss him as a 30 year old) but completely respect his will and desire to laze on the chaise, wrapped in a glitter Snuggie watching old Benny Hill reruns and eating kippers. I mean, he sold that back catalogue for a cool billion with a reason, right? I wonder if he's a closet gamer? Or has an ant farm/toy train/Dark Shadows memorabilia collection in his penthouse. Maybe he's the guy who bought all of Elton John's wacky glasses from the 70s. Perhaps an arcade size Dance Dance Revolution game is set up in one of his den's, and he just hits, pops and jiggers on the lit up dance floor in his Let's Dance era grey silk suit (that's been taken out a few inches), Maybe he knits colorful scarves or is making plans to launch his own line of Make Up. Ham radio?

It is quite unbelievable that his son (once Zowie, now Duncan Jones: Director of the films Source Code and Moon), gets more media play than dear old dad these days . Hell, even Iman doesn't know where he is. So many rooms, so little time to look.

Happy Birthday Bowie....here's to becoming the real life Thin White, Wrinkled, Constipated and Cranky Duke.

An Unbelievable Guitar Story starring Peter Frampton

noreply@blogger.com (Seano) — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 21:20:00 +0000

From the New York Times :Peter Frampton Reunited With ‘Best Guitar’ After 31 Years

By James C. MCKinley Jr.

Peter Frampton has been reunited with the Gibson electric guitar he played on “Frampton Comes Alive,” three decades after it was presumed destroyed in a plane crash.

Peter Frampton’s favorite guitar, presumed destroyed in 1980, was returned to him last month.

It turns out the guitar did not burn up in November 1980 when a cargo plane crashed on takeoff in Caracas, Venezuela, on its way to Panama, where Mr. Frampton was to perform. Instead someone plucked it from the burning wreckage and later sold it to a musician on the Dutch Caribbean island of Curaçao.
The guitar was returned to Mr. Frampton in Nashville last month after a two-year negotiation involving the local musician who had the guitar, a customs agent who repairs guitars in his spare time, a diehard Frampton fan in the Netherlands and the head of the island’s tourist board.

Last month, the tourist board official, Ghatim Kabbara, bought the guitar with public funds and traveled to Nashville to hand it to Mr. Frampton in a tattered gig bag. Mr. Frampton said he knew as soon as he picked the instrument up that it was the same 1954 Gibson Les Paul with customized pickups that he had played for a decade. It was an emotional moment, he said.
“For 30 years, it didn’t exist – it went up in a puff of smoke as far as I was concerned,” Mr. Frampton said in a telephone interview.
Mr. Frampton said he was given the guitar by a man named Mark Mariana in 1970. Mr. Frampton had been playing with his band Humble Pie at the Fillmore West in San Francisco, and he borrowed the guitar from Mr. Mariana for a show because his own instrument kept feeding back when he soloed. He fell in love with it. Made of Honduran mahogany, it was light in his hands, and the neck was thin, the fretting action light, suiting his small hands.
“I used it for both sets and my feet didn’t touch the ground,” he recalled. saying he thought, “This is the best guitar I have ever played.”
After the show he tried to buy the instrument, but Mr. Mariana insisted on giving it to him. It became his favorite guitar. He played it on the Humble Pie albums “Rock On” and “Rocking the Fillmore,” and on all his solo records. He used it in sessions with George Harrison, Harry Nilsson and John Entwistle.
Perhaps most important, it was the guitar he played on the 1976 solo album “Frampton Comes Alive!” one of the best-selling live albums ever and the recording that established him as one of the great rock guitarists of the 1970s. “It’s all I ever used for 10 years,” he said. “That was it. That was part of me.”
Mr. Kabbara said the guitar surfaced two years ago when the local guitarist, who has not been identified, took the instrument to Donald Balentina, a Curaçao customs agent who collects and repairs old guitars in his spare time. The musician had been using it for decades, playing in hotels and bars on the island, but did not know the instrument’s history, Mr. Kabbara said.

Asked to repair the guitar, Mr. Balentina noticed the unusual third set of pickups and burn marks on the neck, Mr. Kabbara said. The customs agent began to suspect the guitar might be the one Mr. Frampton had played on the “Frampton Comes Alive!” album. He consulted with another Frampton fan in the Netherlands, who confirmed it had all the earmarks of the missing Gibson. Mr. Balentina also sent photos of the inner works of the guitar to Mr. Frampton. Mr. Frampton said he was stunned when he saw the photos; it looked like guitar, he said, but he could not be sure.

For two years Mr. Balentina tried to persuade the local guitarist to sell the instrument, and finally, in November, facing a financial problem, he finally agreed. But Mr. Balentina did not have money and, afraid another buyer might scoop up the guitar, he approached Mr. Kabbara at the tourist board.
Mr. Kabbara, an amateur guitarist who admires Mr. Frampton, agreed to put up the board’s funds to purchase the guitar, on one condition. He and Mr. Balentina would take the guitar to Mr. Frampton as a gesture of goodwill. “I thought the right thing to do was to give him back his guitar,” he said. “This guitar was him. The whole 1970s was this guitar.”

Mr. Frampton, who is 61, said he hopes to play the guitar again when he appears at the Beacon Theater in New York in February. For now, he has left the instrument at the Gibson Custom Shop in Nashville to have some minor repairs made. The neck is still straight, he said, but he must replace old pickups with new ones, made to the same specifications as the original coils. But he said he will leave the burn marks and scrapes alone.

“I want it to have its battle scars,” he said.
.

This guitar can be heard on arguably two of the best live albums of all time : Humble Pie's Rocking the Fillmore AND Frampton Comes Alive. Just an unbelievable story. skb

Hello 2012 / Goodbye 2011 / Anticipation

noreply@blogger.com (Seano) — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 16:27:00 +0000

From 2011, I'd like to say goodbye to :

Anger without progress

Burning Bridges without building them.

Phantoms of Fear

Fluoxetine

Mediocre Radiohead albums. Blip is Dead.

Super hyped elaborate, expansive metal albums with unlistenable cookie monster vocals. Sing ,you pussies.

Any brand new band with a woodland or farm animal in their name. Getting my hunting license soon.

Any critic or snooty young music pundit who continues to say rock is dead. Can I punch you in the glasses?

Any hip hop track containing extreme self- fellating or a guest vocalist(this includes all of them)

The Tea Party-most of you are fucking insane, and need to leave your god fearing, militia led small towns and white bread enclaves and have a look around.

Ever hearing Knights in White Satin or Old Time Rock and Roll or More Than a Feeling again.

Any dimwitted, half human teen or housewife or gay man who gives any Kardashian another fucking dime. Put down the tabloids and read a book you traipsing, vapid numbskulls.

Any Twitter feed chock full of retweets,replies, thank yous, self promotion and not one living breathing original thought. Don't Tweet yourself, go fuck yourself.

Teen Moms. and most everyone south of Virginia and east of Philadelphia.Which is where teen moms are made.

The electoral college, the senate, the house of representatives, and all insurance and drug companies. Lets bring the War home and fight it out here.

Classic Rock acts that continue to cheat their fans by touring without the original SINGER.

The people that continue to buy tickets to see Classic Rock acts that tour without their original SINGER

Ticketbastard. Spotify. SOPA.

Stages that fall on people and kill them.

Pretentious, hipper than thou, literati- luring lyricists. Have some fun, bookworm.

Any movie with a rapper turned actor. Playing a drug lord, soldier, cop, side kick, or pimp.

Anything touched (even just brushed against) by Tyler or Katy Perry. Joe Perry is fine, unlesss the new Aerosmith album sucks ballz.

Any has been or never was that is regurgitated to do a national commercial or magazine cover via a reality show.

The next and any other subsequent tour by Bob Dylan, Steve Miller, Dave Matthews, Big Bad Voodoo Daddy, Big Head Todd, Reel Big Fish, Staind, Rusted Root, Boyz II Men, LA Guns or the reunited Spin Doctors.

Those last 15 pounds.

Doubt.

Isolation.

Divorce.

For 2012, I'd like to say Hello to:

My guitar and my Pen.

Any and all music reviews that may come the way of Circle of Fits.

More frequent posts and a new writer or two at Circle of Fits (submit your samples!)

New albums from Soundgarden, Queens of the Stone Age, The Mark Lanegan Band, Black Sabbath, Baroness, Heartless Bastards, Rush?, ZZTop?, Van Halen?, Tool, Kyuss Lives, Smashing Pumpkins?, U2, Nico Vega, Three Inches of Blood, Built to Spill, Deftones, Mars Volta?, Neil Young? and of course Willow Smith. Alice in Chains? Meh.

Hello SXSW. I promise to never miss you again. Lets hug it out, but first I'll put my Shiner Bock down.

Hello Bonnaroo? Hello Outside Lands? Hello Glastonbury? Hello Coachella I or II? Hello Comicon? Hello hotel room, goodbye campsite?

Hello press and photo pass to any Radiohead tour date in my tri-state area?

Hello Philly and NYC music scene again. I hardly knew ya.

Hello dark theaters in the summer and so on showing The Dark Knight, Spiderman, The Hobbit, Prometheus, Django Unchained, World War Z, John Carter, Brave, Savages, The Dictator, Haywire, The Chronicle and The Great Gatsby.

Hello pile of books that hold up my ipod and whatever beverage on my nightstand.

Hello acupuncture, cardiovascular activity, chiropractic facility, support groups, pilates, yoga, tai kwan do, meditation, nature, body of water, sunscreen, bench press. I'm coming for you. Rock critics need to be strong, calm ,focused. They're always running from angry publicists and brawling rabid clusters of fanboys and girls.

Hello Hello. I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello.

7th week of sickness

noreply@blogger.com (Seano) — Sat, 17 Dec 2011 20:41:00 +0000

‎2 hospital stays, 3 antibiotics(body resisted them) steroids, inhalers...and ribs are in excruciating pain from coughing(i hope) ears and sinuses completely full, bronchitis has returned, mucus varies from green to brown. Blood sometimes. xrays ruled out cancer and pneumonia, blood clot....but still no answers.no relief. Fun being a single dad on weekends like this. Send any and all painkillers my way. The advair inhaler I need is 314 dollars out of pocket. I love my country. Glad they passed that multi- trillion dollar defense budget. People are dying and suffering in every corner of the USA. Please, just one day of feeling better, Santa.

I'll do anything. I'll guide your sleigh, dude. I'll just use coughed up mucus as a sputem spotlight.... which varies from brown to green with specks of red bright enought to see through any Noreaster.

Seven Day Forecast

noreply@blogger.com (Seano) — Thu, 15 Dec 2011 20:50:00 +0000

Sky Blue Sky

The Top 10 Albums of 2011

noreply@blogger.com (Seano) — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 19:47:00 +0000

The end is near. The end of the innocents. The end of compromise. The end of occupation. The end of the season for the Eagles and Bills. The end of my transmission. The end of total lung capacity. The end of my 60th month in this undiscovered underachieving city. The end of the year.

I was off my game this year. The ebb and flow of input at Circle of Fits floated in static waves between tired sacrifice and burden. The reviews were few, the inspiration whittled down to ones and zeroes pushed through the shredder in some lawyer's office. Such is life, the steady see saw of disgust and excitability. I'll keep going, because music, love it or hate it, is essential. It will always be my go-to, when I'm unimpressed by or frightened by strangers, my something to talk about.

I had new music to listen to. Through headphones. The whole listening experience has changed for me..a parsed together, never planned, hunter/collector mentality has overtaken the place I had for the simple acts of stop, look and listen. Sometimes more than never, it is "used" merely used for a tool of distraction rather than escape. I don't use music to white boy dance or as a backdrop/beatbox for getting high or a metronome for jogging fucking calories away. I use music to change thought, channel moods and escape the monotony of whatever is safe. Escape whatever's cool. Escape whatever hell flicks its fucking flames at me.

These are my top 10 albums of the year. Some have been reviewed here. Some have not.

10. Radiohead- The King of Limbs. Meh. It never really knocked me flat the way In Rainbows did. I thought it was rushed, too short for the so called prolific tendencies of Thom and Co, and too many buttons and not enough sticks. But even a second rate album for the likes of Radiohead is a masterpiece for most any other band, so they make the list for not giving enough of a shit and still sounding like nothing else. Listen to Morning Mr. Magpie.

9) Steel Panther-Balls Out. Get out the Aqua net, the Charvel-Jackson, and the stretched out spandex from the basement..cuz yull need em. Sounds just like 1986 Sunset Strip, blow job in the back seat metal. Exquisitely played down to the power ballads and the shredding. But the lyrics.....a parody of everything that goes with the over the top-ness of the times tied to the entendres, sex and topics of today. It's supposed to be ridiculous. And it is. Listen to It's Not Gonna Suck Itself.

8) tUnE-yArDs-WHOKILL- A one of a kind project by ukelele wielding New Englander Merrill Garbus. Taking equal parts tapeloops, chants and the funkier side of afrobeat, she has come up with a truly mesmerizing original sound. She sounds like a husky black woman who's been done wrong and about to head out on a baby daddy rampage but then again...no. Listen to Gangsta.

7) Beastie Boys- Hot Sauce Committee Pt. 2- I don't like hip hop. But I like the Beastie Boys. They can play. They record mostly live. Their posturing is playful, their braggadocio is hilarious. They're not selling Vodka or Headphones. They give back. They put their causes out there. The beats are still space rock solid. They MC old school and aren't ashamed of it. They've been around for decades and still nobody sounds like them. And guess what...this album sounds like it could have snuck out right before Hello Nasty and right after Check Your Head and it still rocks. Listen to Nonstop Disco Powerpack.

6) Blitzen Trapper-American Goldwing. Portland's perennially overlooked and under appreciated real rock band. All the ingredients have been there like the perfect meal in a hidden restaurant on each release. Fantastic vocals, well crafted melodic mini-masterpieces, rock-i-cana snappy crisp solos and so on. They haven't topped 2008's Furr but this one, albeit a bit mellower, comes close. Listen to Street Fighting Sun or Astronaut.

5) The Black Keys- El Camino. Three in a row for the Akronites, and the last release of the year to make it. As of press time, it was released TODAY. Dan and Pat found Danger Mouse to do their bidding again,(you can hear what he's famous for in the sprinkled key textures and the portable, mini wall of sound that traverses through a handful of tracks.) and the three of a perfect pair just murder the modern blues. Dan Auerbach rivals Jack White in write- ability. There, I said it. And he's a better singer. Yeah, he has been using that semi distorted vocal wash a bit too much, Yeah, Pat is the male Meg White. Yeah it veers into Fitz and the Tantrum territory in spots, but...its the songs, stupid. Danceable even in a two left foot sorta way, move-matic and eclectically dirty in all of the right places. Listen to the whole album, then go and listen to Little Black Submarines and Gold On the Ceiling over and over...Even in traffic, it will sho' nuff put a smile up on ya'.

4) Red Fang- Murder the Mountains. Is that not the best album title you've heard in a fuck of a decade? This album should be played on cue when magma rips and spurts from the hot scars in the earth and burns everything in its path only to form new landmasses from the smoldering piles. Or at every demolition derby, everywhere. Just nails it loud, hard and understandable in a more accessible, melodic Melvins sorta way. Two singers, one gruff and razor gurgling( Bryan Giles), the other (Aaron Beam) a crooner on steroids. Listen to Wires or Throw Up on your way to Asgard before walking up to Zeus and bitchslapping him before you take the throne.

3)Wild Flag -self titled The super group tag that gets fastened like a reflex to this band does not do this album proper justice. One half of Sleater- Kinney( Janet Weiss and Carrie Brownstein) would be enough, but add Mary Timony from Helium on vox and axe and the vintage thump and bass of Rebecca Cole on keys, and a joy filled post punk dance stratosphere hatched from the garage is reachable with every track. This album is completely buy-able for the super sexy smart( and almost predatory) lyrics fleshing out the murky side of relationships or shining hot light on the powerful force of how making music makes one feel.... from a female perspective...which after the first listen didn't matter anyway. This is a a rock album to the deep marrow. This album is dirty and fun and dripping with post gig sweat from the first needle drop. Listen to Glass Tambourine, Race Horse, Romance, Short Version...shit they're all real good.

2) Wilco- The Whole Love How do you describe an album that is a "return to form" when you love all of the said band's forms? Well, after two albums that toyed with a mix of folky laid backness and simplicity....we get everybody's Wilco on The Whole Love. The post modern folk swatches from A Ghost is Born (Born Alone), the lengthy sonic freakscapes of YHF (Art of Almost), the arena sing- alongs( I Might), and a multi-multi verse masterpiece of slightly somber repetitive reflection (One Sunday Morning). This is the Wilco snob's Wilco album. And I am one. Just listen............

1) Mastodon- The Hunter You gotta love a band of metal perfectionists and precision addicts that grew so tired of the concept of a concept album for the 4th time that they burned the blueprint and just jammed an album out born of newborn ideas and riff memory...and manage to make the best album of their career. Hardly a track over 5 minutes long, massive plate tectonic challenging riffage, and VOCALS...lots and lots of soaring, melodic (hey, I can understand these lyrics, what a fucking awesome story) VOCALS.. Nary a fucking growl....anywhere. This band is a trendsetter already, but you watch...for a post "The Hunter" world,.I predict a whole bunch of metal bands will hide the cookies and start hiring vocal coaches for their next time out of the gates of hell. Everybody sings, Brent and Bill are still paving the new metal high way with their inventive and earth shattering twin leads, and Brann Dailor has eased up on the fills and focused on rocket charged rhythm. Curl of the Burl is the best song of the year. Civilizations could be formed around it. But the track The Hunter(a thinly veiled tribute to Brent Hinds' brother who died while on a hunting trip a few years back) is hauntingly epic and poignant at the same time. I never ever tire of Blasteroids or Dry Bone Valley or Stargasm or All The Heavy Lifting or Octopus Has No Friends or Black Tongue or Spectrelight or Creature Lives either.

So there you have it. On to the next one. But first we have to get through the Grammys and Madonna at the fucking Superbowl.

Cheers, Jeers and hoppy beers, Seano

Bedridden and Bewildered

noreply@blogger.com (Seano) — Mon, 21 Nov 2011 20:48:00 +0000

Two days ago I had my first asthma attack in over 20 years. It was a bronchial shutdown of epic proportions brought on by a perfect storm of bronchitis, and two very resistant and painful ear infections and it landed me in the hospital, after the treatment in the ER did nada.

My admittance to this hospital comes at a time when I have no health insurance and this three day stint will cost me thousands that I don't have. Usually at this point of a post, sticking to the sarcastic banter that I'm often thrilled to demonstrate, I would ask you to send in a list of songs that reference breathing or the lack thereof, lungs, or airways of any kind., and I'll bet you I would have gotten a few Pink Floyd or Jethro Tull references thrown back at me.

I don't think I'll be doing that. I'm reflective of my life and where I've been as I've had this scare, this surprising health conscious downtime and silence in a beige room with country comfort wallpaper, the sounds of phlegm rattling behind the nebulizer/vader mask that I'm donning. I've been second guessing and sort of ashamed of the paths I chose into this adulthood, a bit non-conformist for the tastes of the good friends I grew up with, and most of my neighbors in this sleepy enclave of NW Philly.They love me or are amused by me anyway, but they could never do what I've done(or chosen not to do) The comforts of stability far outweigh the risks for most everyone I know. Comfort is conform. I sometimes think of my travels, my nomadic decades between 21 and now, the delicious, dysfunctional and dynamic of it all, and how, even though at some of the most creative and fulfilling times of my life, I was never able to turn that spark into something that would bridge a gap between dream and career.

Now at this time in my life, after a truly disastrous three years full of death, divorce and depression, I wonder if it all was worth it. Now, right now, when I can't pay my bill. I can't find steady work. Sure, I have many tales that I could tell of the experiences, but what is that worth? What is that worth on the scale of comparing it to what is really happening right now, right on the streets where we live... now that we are living in the midst of the most intense displays of mistrust, disgust, dissension and uprising throughout the world. And right here in America, as I lay here, budgets cant get passed, demonstrators are getting beaten, the middle class is gone, the jobs are outsourced, more tax dollars go to rebuilding Afghanistan and Iraq than go to rebuilding schools, bridges and roads right in our own cities. People no longer trust their banks, clergy, police or politicians unless they're comfortable or a constituent. The majority of the values and freedoms of living in the US have been raped, pillaged and sold off to the highest bidder and held hostage by big business. Mini revolutions are starting in back yards and basements, and citizens are frustrated, tired, unhinged and unruly. And they mean it.

Where should my energy go? One minute as I lay here, with what little money, possessions and patience have..my thoughts waver....... Should I join the 99 percent? Or should I get a job, I don't like, with no gap between career and dream even considered, with little pay and a health plan, so I can be healthy ...and unhappy. And save the stories for my grand kids, without living through new ones on my own...

The Fallon King Can Do Anything

noreply@blogger.com (Seano) — Sun, 13 Nov 2011 13:16:00 +0000

Just Phenomenal. Jimmy channels Jim doing a smattering of Bedtime Stories......

Ozzy, Geezer, Tony and Bill

noreply@blogger.com (Seano) — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 22:01:00 +0000

Black Sabbath fooled nobody today..11/11/11 and announced a reunion, a new album and a tour starting in 2012. But if you listen to fools...the Mob Rules!!!!!.(yeah, I know..Dio- era quote). I'm fairly excited, even though the median age of the band hovers around 62 and despite hearing that Rick Rubin will produce the album. Rubin to me is the Barbara Walters of Rock. It seems a given that everyone in music throws themselves at him to him when they have a reunion or comeback, much like everyone goes to Baba Wawa in exclusive interviews. Rick, don't fix it, it was never broke. You may have to punch in a few Bill Ward drum takes , but that's it, OK. Don't stick your beard where it don't belong.

I have heard that rehearsals have been going on for a while now, and Tony Iommi has written a shitload of material, plucked from the endless riff filofax in his grey matter...and that's along with putting out his memoirs. It will be their first album of all new material since Never Say Die in 1978...Here are a couple official announcement on Youtube(no actual press conference footage, just a couple photos.)

And For my 600th Post, A Short, Half-Assed Review of the New Lou Reed/Metallica Album "Lulu"

noreply@blogger.com (Seano) — Fri, 04 Nov 2011 20:07:00 +0000

I'm trying to like this. It's harder than I thought it would be. Fuck it, it's as impossible as passing a stone through staples.

First of all. Just so you know, almost everyone I know, and probably everyone you know... loves Lou Reed in some capacity....Velvet Underground and Nico, Loaded, Transformer, The Bells, Berlin, Coney Island Baby, New York....all in the rock pantheon. So with that said......

If you give this one a shot, don't be a die hard Velvet Underground fan, don't be a Transformer fan, don't even be a Songs for Drella fan. Be a Metal Machine Music or a ReLoad fan. A tone deaf, patient or medicated one.

You must know by now, if you are well schooled on Lou Reed, that Lou Reed doesn't give a shit about us, fans, critics, writers, bloggers, innocent bystanders, the guy that delivers Chinese to him and Laurie Anderson on a Friday night, pigeons, or anyone passing a disagreeable thought his way. He's the toughest interview in rock history, he's a curmudgeon's curmudgeon. The last time he smiled, it caused a quadruple rainbow and then a spike in worldwide births nine months later.

Quite simply, there's no need for this album in any capacity. THIS is the Metallica album they should have pumped through speakers in Afghanistan. Every terrorist would have ejected out of their ratholes instantly bawling their eyes out, laying down rifles and returning to their mountain side farms to raise cattle and garden for the rest of their lives. I could only get through CD 1 and that's under the influence of a strong anti- biotic/percoset cocktail and a shitload of time on my hands.

This album fits sonically snug as an open mike through dual ear infections.

It's the world's most expensive unorganized basement jam. The scenario probably went like this...Lou gets off the plane in San Francisco and is driven up in a limo to Metallica' studio in San Rafael. He stares out the window, dour faced and unfazed. Same flatlined expression through the rolling hills of wine country and the mesmerizing terrain of Marin, like it was raining piss on his best leather. The boys have not received anything in advance and when Lou gets there and sets up, he pulls out some dog eared legal pad, spends five minutes waxing with James and Lars about some prostitute named Lulu then immediately rolls tape.

Poetry in general is tough to transfer to tape, especially a poetic narrative about German Expressionist Theater barked out in monotone.

Yeah, I know, monotone is Lou's thing. But here, he's croaking and gasping in compressed spurts trying to half howl some kind of a story over that horrible Ulrich crummy crutch of Cymbal/Snare stoccato over and over and over. he can't keep up, even with Lars' lack of tempo,..its all brash and bash and I'm lost and distracted and running for vicodin to drop in my iced tea.

The Lowlights include "Pumping Blood" a dreary half stomp of stutter and start, half demolished meter with my favorite lines of verse from the entire album

"Blood in the foyer
The bathroom
The tea room
The kitchen, with her knives splayed

I will swallow your sharpest cutter
Like a colored man's dick"

Another crushing blow is a "song" called Cheat On Me. Its a 12 minute repetitive mess that plays out like some raspy old codger at a poetry slam, bleating out self deprecating verse next to a tunebox on a stool playing St. Anger with the treble up way too high.   "Why do I cheat On Me? Why do I piss my dreams.?" Fail to clear throat. Repeat.

"Iced Honey" is really the only thing I could get through without grinding my teeth and keeling over. Its the only track that has a semblance of melody and a beat that matches the meter.

The combo of Lou's voice and James Hetfield's background growls of the unintelligible come and go like shrapnel to the temple. I don't know why they're there. And I don't care. At one point he says..."I am the table" ?????? Makes me think he read Lou's chicken scratch wrong and they just kept it.

To summarize....No.   No means No. An Iron Maiden would be more pleasurable....not the band, a real iron maiden. Please don't let this pave the way for a Leonard Cohen/Slayer or Bobby McFerrin/Cannibal Corpse offering.

   Thank You and Goodnight.

Give It Up For the Black Keys' New one, "Lonely Boy"

noreply@blogger.com (Seano) — Wed, 02 Nov 2011 17:08:00 +0000

Well, The Black Keys are just about to enter another mammoth album cycle, with the upcoming release "El Camino" on Dec. 6. Hoo! Fucking! Rayy! Frankly, I can't think of a band that's had a more stellar run in recent years, and if this album( even with its "highly anticipated" tag attached) lives up to the hype, it could very well give both Wilco's The Whole Love and Mastodon's The Hunter a good jostle in my annual end of the year Top 10. Shit makes me wanna dance without moving my legs, makes me wanna shimmy different than my usual delerium tremens. Makes me wanna roll my nether-region in something freshly killed and rub up against you.

If there's anything better than the Black Keys that ever escaped from Akron, Ohio, I haven't seen it yet.

Scary F@#in" Songs 2011

noreply@blogger.com (Seano) — Thu, 27 Oct 2011 13:28:00 +0000

Its that time of year again. Helloween. The smell of Autumn, steamy cider, wet leaves on boots, molding pumpkins, older kids jacking younger kids candy.... angry 1 %-ers washing dried shaving cream off of their Bentleys. Always makes me think dark. Dream darker. In astonishingly realistic horrific scenarios. Creeping thoughts that cling to the dead rush of fear. Like Hayrides where someone lights the hay on fire with all of the riders in it. Pulling up floorboards and seeing a writhing sea of ravenous rats. The new Coldplay album. You know what I mean.

Fortunately there is plenty of music out there with contributing artists unknowingly creating soundtracks to ugly dreams and maniacal thoughts that may not have even happened yet. I try to do this every year and, to my surprise, keep discovering a dubious dearth of dark. A video or the song, and a one sentence first thought upon hearing it will follow each

Here's a few.
1) A Shaving of the Horn that Speared You- Sunn-O

In the woods behind your house amidst a Sunday morning mist, seven hooded figures standing silent in between the pines, facing your patio.

2) Little One- Elliott Smith

In a dank, druggy windowless basement, within a halo of spoon and newsprint, a troubadour can't find his guitar sitting next to him.

3) Night Goat- Fantomas/Melvins Big Band

Someone has poisoned the Bulls and Goats in the barn and they have bashed through their wooden holds and are stomping the chickens trying to escape.

4) Cafe- Tim Buckley

Bluured out flashback of a disheveled lonely old crone through a thunderstorm soaked window as the apocalypse approaches.

5) Terror Tram- Buckethead( Death Cube K)

The only rider on a monorail through the seventh level of hell.

noreply@blogger.com (Seano) — Thu, 20 Oct 2011 12:17:00 +0000

Got this from Buzzfeed

12 Extremely Disappointing Facts About Popular Music

1. Creed has sold more records in the US than Jimi Hendrix
2. Led Zeppelin, REM, and Depeche Mode have never had a number one single, Rihanna has 10
3. Ke$ha's “Tik-Tok” sold more copies than ANY Beatles single
4. Flo Rida's “Low” has sold 8 million copies – the same as The Beatles' “Hey Jude”
5. The Black Eyed Peas' “I Gotta Feeling” is more popular than any Elvis or Simon & Garfunkel song
6. Celine Dion's “Falling Into You” sold more copies than any Queen, Nirvana, or Bruce Springsteen record
7. Same with Shania Twain's “Come On Over”
8. Katy Perry holds the same record as Michael Jackson for most number one singles from an album
9. Barbra Streisand has sold more records (140 million) than Pearl Jam, Johnny Cash, and Tom Petty combined
10. People actually bought Billy Ray Cyrus' album “Some Gave All…” 20 million people. More than any Bob Marley album
11. The cast of “Glee” has had more songs chart than the Beatles
12. This guy exists.
That is all.

The world is full of shit and puke.

We're all stepping in it .

The 2012 Nominees for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame

noreply@blogger.com (Seano) — Wed, 28 Sep 2011 22:13:00 +0000

If you have not heard,( and until yesterday while plowing through a third Advil, I had not), the 2012 nominees for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame were announced. To be eligible, an artist must have either released their first album no sooner than 1987, been on the masthead at Rolling Stone or have been consistently passed over for people like Percy Sledge and Madonna. Let the teet suckling begin......

Here are the 15 Nominees with my comments following in Bold Type.

The Beastie Boys: No. See the nominees for Hip Hop Hall of Fame..right after Russell Simmons establishes it and names it after himself.

The Cure: The influence is there, as Mr. Smith inspired a "look" that got lifted and used by everyone from Ed Scissorhands to Ledger's Joker...but that's not in the music category...that's in the Slightly chubby ambiguous goth boy Hall of Fame category.... besides Love Song or even Love Cats...whaddaya got?

Donovan: Great choice, as far as folkies with a slight lisp and a penchant for smoking banana peels go, but methinks he'll get passed over.

Erik B. and Rakim- See number one, then add my rule. Nobody with One letter for a surname gets in. Ever. This includes titans like Kenny G, Jay Z, Ice-T, and Sheila E.

Guns N Roses- Yes. A no brainer. Even with only 4 albums and the one Mr. Rose blew a 13 million dollar wad on, they made hard rock, top hats and bloated videos with wind and white pianos cool again in the 80s. Besides, I'd like to see Izzy Stradlin have to leave the house for something. And Hey show producers! When you send Axl the invite, tell him the show tapes at 4, so when he shows up at 8, he'll be right on time.

Heart-Absolutely. An unstoppable female force, a shitload of hits, and the unmistakeable one of a kind voice of Ann Wilson. They always had a fantastic band. Just listen to the drums on Barracuda, that shit still holds up. Ok, so we'll let the aqua net schlock like" Alone and Never" slide, but they're in for being two bad ass babes bigger than just their boobs. I'm crazy on 'em.

Joan Jett and the Blackhearts- Hmmm. You want to induct Joan Jett and the Blackhearts before you induct the Runaways? Or even Suzi Quatro? Yeah, Joan was in both, but there's no "Blackhearts" without the all female, completely groundbreaking Runaways. Joan's biggest hit is a cover...Joan should get in, but if they give this to her and the Blackhearts(whose line up has changed a fuck of a lot since 1981)...i feel the Runaways will not get their due.

Freddie King- A monumental blues picker and fantastic showman, I say yes. But he'll get in as the token "old, lost in the shuffle" category.

Laura Nyro- Well, I'll be the first one to admit I know very little about Laura Nyro. So I have no opinion. I should offer her fans an idea. Enlist someone(in the music biz) with a high profile who really really gives a shit about her. Have that person gush over her in concert and in interviews.....it worked for Kid Rock having a hard on for Bob Seger and it will most likely work for Elton and his current raging one for Leon Russell.

Red Hot Chili Peppers- No.The Chilis are an amalgam of their influences..Fishbone, Funkadelic, Fear...but I don't think they've influenced anyone who didn't want to play anywhere but in a Fraternity basement in the Northeast. I think the high points of their legacy will include many references to socks, heroin and tattoos. Not much beyond Under the Bridge and Give it Away, really. Sure they've sold millions and have one of the best rhythm sections in modern rock history(when Flea isn't doing all of that white boy slapping). Sure they've stumbled onto a smattering of genius in the Frusciante years, I just don't think its time yet.

Rufus with Chaka Khan-Tell me something good besides "Tell Me Something Good".

The Small Faces/The Faces-Yes. Ron Wood. Ian Maclagan. Kenny Jones and fucking Steve Marriott. ....errr, and Rod Stewart. The Faces are responsible for everybody else that the Stones weren't responsible for. Immense influence and great hair that that pesky tool Liam Gallagher has been plucking for years. Steve Marriott is never going to get in on his own or with Humble Pie. Tragic. Steve Marriott is in the top five rock singers of all time. Steve Marriott makes Rod "soccer sperm and standards" look like a rank amateur. Plus he probably died passing out with a lit cigarette in his mouth and a guitar in his hand. That's hall of fame material right there. This is his one and only chance. For all of you idiot dreamers who keep thinking that those rock actors Kiss are ever going to make it in...put your energy here.

The Spinners- From the desk of Jann Wenner: Guys, who's left in the well dressed, uniformed soul groups with choreographed dance moves from the 70s category.? The Spinners. Ok lets put them in. Then we're done with that and we can finally start getting all of those festering prog rock fans off my back.

Donna Summer-No. Bad Girl. Bad Music. Bad choice. Don't Love to Love You Baby.

War-" What is it good for? Absolutely nothing. Say it again ."

So Five Will get in. I say The Faces, Heart, Freddy King, G and R, and The Spinners.

But the Chili Peppers have been on the cover of the rolling stone at least five times and will bump the Faces or Freddy King. Blood Sucking Suck Magnet.

Glaring omissions: Yes...cmon already. Cheap Trick..sure. The Smiths...hate them, but immensely influential. Thin Lizzy ...for the twin lead guitar harmonies alone. Gram Parsons.This guy was in the Byrds, the Flying Burrito Bros. and Keith Richards invited him everywhere. Oh yeah.. he was pretty much single-handedly responsible for country rock. All before his druggy death at AGE 26! Devo-massive influence and great hats. and Jethro Tull- because bringing the flute to rock and roll is an outstanding achievement.

noreply@blogger.com (Seano) — Thu, 22 Sep 2011 21:36:00 +0000

At a loss for words again...music will get me through...always does.......The new Mastodon album "The Hunter" comes out next week. ..If you want to start a militia or headbutt a blonde, this is the album for you. Gonna make my top ten for sure.

Here is their video for "Curl of the Burl".....but check out "Blasteroid", " Thickening " and "Spectrelight" if you wanna get all John Henry w/o a steam drill in some cave somewhere. As a matter of fact, I'm typing this with one hand. The album is in my headphones and I'm uppercutting a cinderblock wall with the other one. Have a great day.

George Harrison "It Don't Come Easy" Demo For Ringo Starr

noreply@blogger.com (Seano) — Fri, 09 Sep 2011 22:49:00 +0000

I just got my new Rolling Stone with George Harrison on the cover. Was digging around on the internetin super fanboy mode and found this. I had never heard George sing this nor did I know he wrote it. Wow.

Reflections on 9/11

noreply@blogger.com (Seano) — Fri, 09 Sep 2011 14:09:00 +0000

I plow the muddy run of a ten year retrospective of life packaged in a box set.
Covered in ash, pungent and flailing. Coughing through headphones
Battling ridiculous drums and bass in a coffee shop in this wretched city.
Not the city of my amorous arrows, not the daily thrill of the sleepless rush via girdered canyons of the behemoth 90 miles north.

The soundtrack has to spurn the words, the words have to come through the sounds.
Listening to the past and comparing it to life below 14th street
before a September morning that nudged the behemoth into a slumber of sadness.

Screwing zip screws into aluminum on a Guggenheim ramp, spiraled in angles, cacophony of hammer hits.
Rob the foreman whirling up the ramp in a blur of lanky, work belt red hair, protruding Adam's apple undulating
out the words.."Guysaplanejusthittheworldtradecenter".

Hammer stall, elders kept pounding having heard it all in Gotham within rent controlled tenement bubbles while they etch away at unseen art for a quarter century.
But the others pause, heads cocked like spaniels spying squirrels, huh,really? Rob careens up the ramp again repeating the phrase but adding "another" to the sequence. Terrorism. Silence. Echoes on marble. Work boots scatter bursting out the fifth avenue entrance on museum row. Straight sight shot to the rising tendrils of smokedustash 80blocks away.

Collapse. Chaos. Traffic subtle screech. Taxi clustered in capillaries.Cloud spreads shadows through the keyhole of the viewed valley of high rise.
Suddenly. Art doesn't matter. Tools left in a trail of chaos. Some have loved ones downtown and blitz the subways in vain. Down to the Guggenheim basement, viewing helicopter video of one trade center events. Tower down. Stick figures waving white flags from 90 stories up. Then screen falls out, no its the other tower, dropping from view, smoke swallowing widows, glass, concrete, people. Firemen climbing thousands of stairs elevator cables melted through, can't...reach..every...one. Won't return.

Everything stops. hearts bleed like syrup. nothing pumps. Air fails to move. Thousands on Fifth avenue. Blind rats in a shut down maze. Got to get to where I need to be. Walking in a cauldron of tears, stunned silence, anxious, hurried. Subways down. We walk so many blocks to the Queensboro bridge. Looks like a marathon photo. No cars, no horns bleating or rush of truck wheel..50 thousand souls walking blindly into Queens, then Brooklyn, like a melting pot of bleached out zombies to destinations, comfort, huddles of struggle.

Sitting in my apartment on Broadway in Williamsburg, steady flow of CNN, repeated videos, stories trickling in, statements from Bush/Guiliani, Osama finally chimes in from a dirt hole of a mansion somewhere claiming responsibility. His bullseyed face on the Post in the morning. We learn the scope, the pentagon, flight 93....the other half to this fearsome foursome. We rush to war rooms while families start posting fliers on every square inch of flat open surface in lower Manhattan over the next few days, pixilated faces of the disappeared....then, that smell...permeating..like burnt rubber, dust and gasoline...flakes of ash fall for days, Union Square a shrine of questions, pictures, candles sequestered on the front line of 14th street beyond and south quarantined, caution tape, cones and cops.

Why. it is always Why? The mix of a " death to infidels" battle cry from religious extremists, the symbols of the center of the financial universe, in a boastful 102 story stance for all to see , the perpetual superpower meddling in everyone's everything. The oil, the greed, the power, the money, the religion, the death, the hatred.

Not much has changed. There will always be greed, power, hatred, religion and FEAR.

We're building another.

Taller. Stronger. So full of determination, pride. Millions overbudget. Raise the tolls to pay for it. Responders dying from cancerous dust 10 years on. Never properly equipped for safety. Financial crisis of the century. Nobody responsible ever prosecuted. Bail outs. Tea parties. Stalemates. Death of the middle class. Foreclosures. And two parties that hate each other so much that a red/blue civil war is imminent. People building militias in their back yards. Middle management men working on landscaping crews. Racial/religious tension at an all time high. Two new wars that did nothing but cost billions and raise oil prices. Thousands more soldiers dead than the number of civilians that initially perished that day. Thousands of innocent civilians dead in countries of war.

Let's build it higher.

Tweedylicious

noreply@blogger.com (Seano) — Fri, 09 Sep 2011 12:49:00 +0000

Quite simply: Jeff Tweedy of Wilco, one of the great lyricists/songwriters of our time, jams on one of the worst songs of all time. I wasn't around long enough at this literary poetry jam, but I heard Dylan stopped by after getting a moustache wax to do "California Gurls" to rousing applause. Tom Waits, promoting a new album, dressed in drag, to look like a 14 year old girl with absolutely no talent, snuck in at the end and just killed it with his version of Rebecca Black's "Friday". Good times!

Dude In Guitar Center That Should Have Been In My Last Post

noreply@blogger.com (Seano) — Wed, 24 Aug 2011 13:56:00 +0000

Yeah, well he really is inside AN ACTUAL guitar center, this noodling nerd. What a champion! I mean, what's the fucking point.? I'll bet there is a row of skate rats butchering "Over the Hills and Far Away" in acoustic off key unison, right behind him.

You wont make it past the two minute mark. But let's do a checklist for fun!

Real tight Dream Theater ponytail? Check.

Glossy black guitar with more sharp points than a Mensa convention? Check.

Mathmatical, robotic playing with no emotion whatsoever? Check.

All practice, practice, practice, practice,practice... no playing? Check.

Big burly guy that looks like Peter Jackson with a rat tail, as an audience of one cheering him on? (can't see him, but I know he's there) His Tolkien wingman? Check.

Doesn't this dude watch Metalocalypse? Has it taught him NOTHING?

I wonder if he bought a new hard drive or rack system with the winnings?

Guitar Center: Six String Wal-Mart

noreply@blogger.com (Seano) — Mon, 22 Aug 2011 01:42:00 +0000

It had come to my attention while digging at a fungus on my heel, that I had not actively done anything musical in over a year. Live, in a studio...nada. After 25 years of being in original bands as a lead singer, songwriter and sometimes drummer, and cover bands as a singer, you would think it was in my blood. You would think after writing/cowriting a mother fuckload of songs, doing a handful of tours regional and one national, not really making it but certainly taking it and generally loving to death this thing called music, Umm, You would think the massive attack of art and creation and sound and finding a voice within woodshed and craft busting trial and error would be something that would freeze my blood and wither and hack my breaths to dust if I happened to just ..stop...doing..it..one..day.

Wrong Em Boyo.

I'm a single dad. I'm strung out punch drunk on a never ending..not even begun domestic split that takes every cognitive thought and cold cocks and cuckolds it into the stratosphere...nothing mattersphere. Yeah, meaculpa , motherfucker, whatever.

I've got drums molding in the basement in the house in which I once did reside. Yeah, fucking mold on em. Even when I lived in Brooklyn in the early aughts and kept that pathetic kit in a rat riddled basement of a former Hasidic school and played in a hipster Americana band that did 4 gigs total, they never had mold on them. rat turds, yea, but no fungus amungus. Saw it two days ago. Its like the fucking Swamp Thing's been practicing his paradiddles on em.

The guitar I used to strum on every other Tuesday every 4th month of every year was a nice acoustic...I was actually breaking bad past that pesky barre chord barrier that I failed to purge my digits thru, a fuck of a million times over....when the house of cards went up like a shit brickhouse. Poof. Poop. Yeah, and said axe happens to be my ex wife's. She claims to have been in a band for a half minute in NYC in the late 90s as a singer. I can vouch for her having a decent set of pipes, but I never once saw her pick that thing up and strum me some femme empowerment rock. So it sits there in that house. All covered in bitterness and cat hair. It's not even furniture. Its an accessory. Goes well with those nice hardwoods. Spider webs swinging from the neck and all.

I had another acoustic guitar in that moldy chasm of a basement, and I included it in my exit strategy. It was an Alvarez, late 80s, missing a tuning peg, needed an intunation fix, new strings and some TLC. I broke it out soon after I moved into my new place in Mar/Apr and figured I'd take it to....well, shit I'm in the Suburbs...so Guitar Center in Plymouth Meeting...a suburb of Philadelphia.

Then life bitchslapped me around in a mad dash for a vehicle, furniture, insurance, lawyer fees, toddler clothing, utilities,summer camp, foodstuffs, and work related travel. I forgot about the guitar. But hadn't received a call from Guitar Center. But in late June, I did receive a letter thrust at me by invisible lawyers and letterhead telling me in legalese that if there was no response within a month, it would result in the "forfeiture of your property". I was contacted again by the guy who I presumed fixed my guitar during the first week of August. I rehashed the letter and he claimed by "talking to him" I could be assured that it wouldn't be put out on the floor.

Let's cut to the chase. I went in to this local Six String Wal Mart last week to pick up my guitar. This ...cavernous box store for suburban musicians....that never has had more than ten people total inside of it, including personnel...just a smattering of classicrockasauruses and kids practicing Shinedown riffs in front of a stack of transistor shit.

A semi nice bloke with a good case of the male pattern baldness an equipped with a British accent...IN suburban box store PHILLY??? took my inquiry, referred to the the computer and went off to "check the back". He came out and relayed the bad news. Not only was my guitar "out of the back" it had been put on that ever- vacant floor less than a week before and actually had been sold.

Wow. OK. So , yeah, I told him. I did get a letter, I did speak to some low rent guitar tech, but did they really need to PUT MY FAIRLY WORTHLESS ALVAREZ on the FLOOR? You mean to tell me they were running out of ROOM......IN THE BACK? Was this a pressing issue? Or some hack employees following strict policy from the higher ups at the Six String Wal-Mart. I remained as calm as I could with a heady mix of embarrassment and anger.

So then I went in to barter mode. I had my son with me. I had told him that we were gonna pick up Dad's "other" guitar because I got it fixed so I could start playing it at the apartment. I wanted to leave there with a guitar. Mine was gonzo. In the hands of who knows who. I presented a scenario to the bloody ' burban bloke that he offer me a deal. The value of what the guitar sold for, minus the repairs I sanctioned....towards a new...USED guitar. The daft knobjockey offered me 10 percent off of any USED guitar. Final Offer.

Bollocks.

We left in a huff.
Sans anything.

I'm still angry. Ashamed of myself. 10 less iced coffees and a grip on a short attention span in that time period would have laid that Alvarez somewhere in this room tonight.

But I'm still befuddled by the practice of business. I doubt the inventory...IN THE BACK was ever effected by my guitar taking up space as much as the result of Guitar Center's stupid policy putting another dent in my creative ego done got me good.

I could be practicing those barre chords again. Going somewhere muse-ically and musically. Filling in the escape minutes that I spoke of in my last post with rugged finesse, or just going acoustic tri-tone crazy as I strum along aggressive to Sabbath's debut . Possibilities= endless.

Circle Of Fits

Wilco's New "Popeye" Video

The Star Spangled Banter

The Darkness Returns

TattOOFAH : New Van Halen Song

Partially Deaf In Depth

Brilliant Bowie Birthday Piece from The Guardian

David Bowie: myth-maker turns 65 away from limelight

An Unbelievable Guitar Story starring Peter Frampton

From the New York Times :Peter Frampton Reunited With ‘Best Guitar’ After 31 Years

Hello 2012 / Goodbye 2011 / Anticipation

7th week of sickness

Seven Day Forecast

The Top 10 Albums of 2011

Bedridden and Bewildered

The Fallon King Can Do Anything

Ozzy, Geezer, Tony and Bill

And For my 600th Post, A Short, Half-Assed Review of the New Lou Reed/Metallica Album "Lulu"

Give It Up For the Black Keys' New one, "Lonely Boy"

Scary F@*#*in" Songs 2011

12 Extremely Disappointing Facts About Popular Music

1. Creed has sold more records in the US than Jimi Hendrix

2. Led Zeppelin, REM, and Depeche Mode have never had a number one single, Rihanna has 10

3. Ke$ha's “Tik-Tok” sold more copies than ANY Beatles single

4. Flo Rida's “Low” has sold 8 million copies – the same as The Beatles' “Hey Jude”

5. The Black Eyed Peas' “I Gotta Feeling” is more popular than any Elvis or Simon & Garfunkel song

6. Celine Dion's “Falling Into You” sold more copies than any Queen, Nirvana, or Bruce Springsteen record

7. Same with Shania Twain's “Come On Over”

8. Katy Perry holds the same record as Michael Jackson for most number one singles from an album

9. Barbra Streisand has sold more records (140 million) than Pearl Jam, Johnny Cash, and Tom Petty combined

10. People actually bought Billy Ray Cyrus' album “Some Gave All…” 20 million people. More than any Bob Marley album

11. The cast of “Glee” has had more songs chart than the Beatles