I have a few things to say about Slayer on the occasion of the release of their new album, “Diabolus in Musica” (american, 1998). I have been a fan of Slayer for over a decade. Slayer has been a part of my life. I have the same warm remembrances of Slayer that most people have of their grandma's house on Christmas. You know - warm and fuzzy. I pet my cat, kiss my girlfriend, watch the sun rise, pray for world peace, eat cookies with milk and listen to Slayer.

I got turned on to Slayer in drafting class my freshman year of high school. My drafting teacher had the worst breath I had ever smelled in my life. Still. This guy in the class named James wore a Slayer shirt every other day - as if we would not remember he wore the same shirt two days ago. He was older than me and talked about having sex with his girlfriend all of the time. He was balding and he had a big mustache. He had a limp and walked with a very ornate cane. He claimed that he was shot in the leg.

Reign in Blood (Def Jam, 1986) was released my freshman year. It is the best speed metal album ever. If you owned it on cassette you got the complete album on each side of the tape.

This kid in my high school, William Hill, came from a hillbilly family with many kids. Every one of the kids in that family was skinny and mean, real menaces. One day my friends and I were standing around the locker of death when he came walking down the hallway towards us. Nobody wanted to deal with this jerk so our stupid laughing died down a little bit. As he got closer to the locker he noticed the upside down cross with Slayer burned into it hanging on the locker door. He got an evil look in his eyes and raised his hand in the appropriate devil horn mudra. He asked us very enthusiastically if we got the new Slayer record "Region in Blood".

I woke up to “Reign in Blood” every single day of my sophomore year of high school and most of my junior year. I had my stereo on a timer that woke me up instead of an alarm clock. Every night before I went to bed I set the timer, put the needle on the dead wax before the grooves and turned my stereo's volume to ten. The stereo was so loud that the sound of the needle scraping on the dead wax was normally enough to wake me up. “Reign in Blood” has a very distinctive intro - check it out. After about thirty seconds of blistering guitar mayhem Tom Araya, bass/vocals, lets loose with one of the most blood curdling screams ever recorded. My mom followed in a close second. "Turn that off!" Mornings at my house were always fun.

Dumb Dave sat through two years of German class in high school and all he learned to say was "Slaytanic Wermacht" in a German accent.

Peter Poore's dad and mom got divorced when he was real young. He had no father figure to speak of and his loose mother had an endless stream of white trash boyfriends. Peter had an active fantasy life to compensate for his crappy real one. He told many tall tales that, for reasons unknown to this day, centered around his slut mother. She dated a ninja and he trained Peter in the deadly arts. She dated Steve Harris from Iron Maiden and he was teaching him to play bass. He said his mother dated Jeff Hanneman, guitar player of Slayer. Peter and Jeff Hanneman bear more than a slight resemblance so this story had a interesting twist. He said that Mr. Hanneman thought they looked so similar that he started calling Peter "Little Jeff' and he wanted us to do the same. We called him "Little Jerk" instead.

I was instrumental in a campaign to try to get the Garfield Heights High School Class of 1990 class song to be the title track from “South of Heaven” (Def Jam, 1988). "On and on, south of Cleveland..." Our ticket lost to Led Zeppelin or something.

I have a picture of my girlfriend, a non rocker as previously noted, and Slayer. They did a in store appearance at the Record Exchange a while ago. It is my favorite picture of her except she is not wearing her happy face.

A couple of years ago, I was walking towards the Justice Center on my job. I was going from East Sixth Street to Ontario on St. Clair. I notice a long haired dude walking towards me. He had Terminator style sunglasses, a big dog tank top, gigantic high top sneakers and Jams brand shorts. I laughed at this goof because he was having a hard time forgetting the eighties. As I got closer to the slow walking dude I notice that he is not some anonymous burner dork like I had thought but Tom Araya, a burner dork from Slayer. I start freaking out . You see, I had just ran into Bruce Springsteen at the Goldfish on Prospect a few weeks before this. I blew it with the boss. I stood there totally speechless. I was barely able to stick my hand out for him to shake. I felt like a real jerk in front of guy who did not really mean that much to me. He was just very famous. Tom Araya actually meant something to me. I was not going to let this once in a lifetime opportunity pass me by. I gathered my composure and darted towards him. I spilled my guts to Araya. I told him every story you just read - talking at about a mile a minute. I told him a thousand times how awesome he was and how much I loved Slayer. I told him that all my friends who used to be into metal now suck because they grew out of it. Not me - I said. I still rock etc. etc. Tom Araya looked at me like I was a piece of shit and asked me where the Rock - n - roll Hall of Fame was. I told him and he walked away. He never said thank you. That was one of the greatest moments of my life.

I nearly cried listening to the opening of the “Diabolus in Musica”. I heard the first crack of the snare and felt the magic. Slayer is back with Rick Rubin after a couple of albums off. It is a partnership made in heaven. Rick Rubin knows how to make a metal record. This record is great.

I spent last Saturday telling everybody and their brother about how much the new Slayer LP rocks. I was gushing. The Electric Frankenstein show I was at ended early and I hung around the bar talking to some of my brothers in rock. A bunch of us ended up in my Toyota - cranking the new Slayer. It was a weird scene. Five dudes sitting in a car in the parking lot of the Euclid Tavern rocking out. I am sure we looked pretty stupid to the passerby but it was great.

I have a problem with being too sentimental so I will end it here. Thank you Slayer.

(1998)

posted by Thea at 12:00 AM

July 11, 2002

Looking back at this piece that I wrote for “The Cauldron”, it is the first time that I noticed something different about me then that I could put my finger on now. Most of these things, I read them and say, “Yeah, that’s me. The same old me that I have always been.” This one is different. There was actually a time in my life when the only song I knew by Radiohead was “Creep”. Now, Radiohead is a favorite band of mine. This piece was written before I heard “OK Computer” which is in the top five albums of the nineties (sometimes number one depending on my mood). “OK Computer” had a huge effect on me as far as how I look at music. I am different person than when this was written. I guess change does exist.

5K = 26.05.99 (a literal fraction of a second faster than yesterday)


Next year, “The Cauldron” is going to have to spring for the cost of a trip to New York City in order that I can witness the Grammys, at least from the sidewalk, firsthand. It is 7:00 a.m., Thursday, and I'm still coming down from last night's Grammy trip. With VH1 and MTV's pre and post show coverage, I watched five hours of live Grammy action and that was still not enough for me. Next year, I have got to be there.

I love showbiz. I watch every single one of these music related award shows. I am not ashamed to admit that I watched last year's MTV Video Awards show twice I happened to be in New York at the time on business, not a lot, obviously, so I had the time to watch the rebroadcast the day after . I really felt like I was a part of the greater showbiz family. In my mind, I am only one small break away from Puff Daddy status. We pretty much run with the same crowd except he is over there and I am way over here. My band's lawyer is Will Smith's lawyer so we are almost brothers. It is all showbiz.

Unfortunately, my desire to complete my education (for what reason I still do not know), kept me away from my extended showbiz family last night. I did, however, cut my night class in order that I might catch the whole affair on TV. I was there in spirit.

Last night was the Grammys' 40th anniversary. I would have thought that they would have done a Grammy throughout the ages spot but they did not. The Grammy is the granddaddy of all the music award shows (Billboard, People's Choice, American Music Awards etc..) and it is definitely the most conservative. It does get the most respect so it has the easiest time attracting the stars. Do you think Bob Dylan is going to the People's Choice Awards? I don't think so. All in all, the show was a very enjoyable piece of fluff. I get a kick out of these shows. They also help me, a well connected music industry insider, keep up with what is happening in the popular music world. I am out of touch. Of all of the televised awards last night, I own one of the nominated records - Busta Rhymes' “When Disaster Strikes” (Elektra, 1997). I will probably check out Radiohead, Bob Dylan, and LL Cool J but I have not heard any of there new ones yet. I do not have a complete list in front of me, but of all the nominated records last night, I would guess that I probably do not own more than five.

I need the Grammys to keep me in tune (a pun - deliberate) with the bigger showbiz scene. Grammy night is my night to shine. If you missed them, here are some of the highlights:

The show was hosted by Kelsey Grammer. He was not funny but he also kept out of the way. That is a sign of a good host. He did not make me wince every time he spoke and for the most part I forgot he was there. He was wallpaper.

Live music was performed by Hanson, Aretha Franklin, Will Smith, Shawn Colvin, Paula Cole, Sarah McLachlan, Vince Gill, Erykah Badu and Wyclef Jean, LeAnn Rimes, Celine Dion, R. Kelly, Bob Dylan, and Fleetwood Mac. They all sucked. TV award shows do not bring out the best performances in people. Fleetwood Mac was the worst. They were really nervous on stage and both Christine McVie and Lindsey Buckingham had trouble hitting notes. Bob Dylan was the best but that is not saying much. At least he sounded like he has performed in the last couple of years without the assistance of canned backing tapes.

Aretha Franklin screwed up "Respect" during the "R – E – S – P – E – C – T, Find out what it means to me" part. I felt bad for her because she is really great. She is in a different class than most of the bozos that stunk up the stage last night. She is actually worthy of respect.

I totally dig hillbilly chick singers, even though the music make me sick. I think it must be all that hair that gets me going. LeAnn Rimes is no exception. Yee Haw. She should call her next record “Stone Cold Riming”.

Shawn Colvin got bum rushed by the Wu Tang Clan's 0l' Dirty Bastard during her acceptance speech for song of the year, "Sunny Came Home". I thought it was funny until I saw ODB interviewed by MTV during the post awards coverage. What a moron. He did not express one coherent thought throughout the short segment. He looked like he was hypnotized or on dope. There are not a lot of rocket scientists in the business but ODB really is a brick head. He set new standards in the category of stupidity and U God was not much better. Get with it, dudes. It always amazes me at how loose the security is at these things. If I would have been there, Will Smith would have had one more dancer during "Men in Black".

An interpretive dancer also got on stage, uninvited, during Bob Dylan's number. He had "Soy Bomb" written on his bare chest. What that means, I do not know. For the record let me say that I am all for this type of shenanigans. I think that Stuttering John's pestering of self important celebrities with moronic questions is funny. Most of these talking mannequins need to be knocked off of their high horses. I would, however, pick my targets a little more carefully than "Soy Bomb". I am probably a wuss but I would not mess with Bob Dylan. I think he is a little above any stupid jokes I might make at his expense. My parents taught me to respect my elders.

I am not Europeanish enough to appreciate Paula Cole's hairy armpits.

The boys in Hanson's voices are already starting to sound a little deeper. I wonder how much longer they can sing "MMMbop" without feeling totally embarrassed? They were not as bad as I thought they would be - showing faint signs of musical talent. I did not laugh when the little guy dropped his drumstick. I must be getting soft.

I hate Vince Gill. I don't know why - crappy music aside, I just hate that guy. I think he tries to be too damn earnest. I hope I never see his kneecaps when I have a pipe in my hand.

I know I am insane since I do not think that Stevie Nick's best days are behind her. She can be my "Gypsy" any day. I must be nuts but I still dig her. There is something about that war torn, I've seen it all, lied in the gutter and lived look that I find appealing. And as far as I am concerned, Madonna is not getting any worse either. Shoot me. Please kill me.

(1998)

posted by Thea at 10:37 PM

July 10, 2002

First up – Big Ups to my Moms who turns fifty today. She gets mad props for raising me from a little fat boy to a big fat man. She fed me. She clothed me. She kept it real for twenty years until I moved out of her crib and now she is a trusted confident in the Assholier than Thou inner circle. She is a dedicated Christian mother with strong beliefs that are very different than mine and yet she can still listen to me talk all that bullshit on Monday morning and still think that it is funny. She listens to me when I am down and lifts me up with her open heart and kind words. She is my Moms. I love her. Happy Birthday!

Secondly – fuck work. No further commentary necessary.

Third (and last) – I ran a 5K in 26:06 this morning. That was with a Walkman on and having to go to the bathroom the whole time. Both hindrances to a quick time. I love to run, Ernie. It makes me feel good. If I had nothing to do but write and run, I would be a happy man.

The Humpers released their new album, “Euphoria. Confusion. Anger and Remorse” (Epitaph, 1998) last week. My brothers and sisters in rock rejoiced. The Humpers represent all things good about rock. The have a healthy respect for the past while keeping an eye on the future and, most importantly, they are aware of the importance of the art of rocking.

“Euphoria. Confusion . Anger and Remorse” is the Humpers' third album for noted punk rock super indie, Epitaph Records. The Humpers do not sound like most of the popular bands on that label who bare more than a coincidental similarity to Bad Religion. The Humpers and the New Bomb Turks were signed to give the label a multidimensional aspect that was lacking with bands like Pennywise, NOFX and Down by Law - all excellent groups but certainly similar sounding.

The Humpers' first record, “Live Forever or Die Trying” (Epitaph, 1996), for the label was primarily a rerecorded greatest hits. Most of the songs on the album had appeared on various 7" singles and previous albums on Sympathy for the Record Industry. “Live Forever or Die Trying” rocks. The record is a classic. The first side is one of the best album sides in rock ever. "Wake Up and Lose", "Fast, Fucked and Furious" and "Loser's Club" are punk rock anthems. The Humpers' style is based on the New York Dolls/ Johnny Thunders `70s style punk rock. The Humpers were definitely on fire when they recorded this album since the new versions are better than the originals - a rarity. This album is a no risk purchase. Even the non - rocker will boogy to this vinyl. "Freak Magnet" from “Journey to the Center of Your Wallet” (Sympathy, 1994) is a kick ass song that was not rerecorded for “Live Forever or Die Trying”. Search out that record for that song and a killer cover of the song "Motorhead" by Motorhead that closes the album. Both songs rock.

“Plastique Valentine” (Epitaph, 1997) was one of the few albums that even attempted to rock last year. 1997 was a down year for rock - n - roll. Many of the true believers ducked for cover in the techno assault that was waged by the mainstream media. Even Rob Halford put out a disco record so you have got to know that it was hurting last year. But the Humpers gave the rock -n -roll faithful hope. “Plastique Valentine” rocked. The piano thumping title track kicked off a solid record. "For Lovers Only" can be added to the all ready long list of punk rock fight songs in the Humpers catalog. Along with minor stirrings from bands like the Lazy Cowgirls and Electric Frankenstein, the Humpers were able to keep it lit in an otherwise bleak year for rock.

The rejoicing in anticipation that preceded the release of “Euphoria. Confusion. Anger and Remorse” was quickly silenced by the lackluster attempt at rocking that is contained in the grooves of the record. The Humpers are just going through the motions. "Steel - toed Sneakers" starts the record in the standard Humpers' fashion. That same Johnny Thunders riff has appeared on every Humpers album but I am not complaining. There is a right way and a wrong to rock. The Humpers just miss the mark with this song. The album proceeds, almost rocking, to "Fucking Secretaries" the lead single from the album and the tone setter for the whole shebang. The song is a sloppy ballad that is a homage to the ladies in the secretarial trade. Most of the second side is like this song. The songs are not fast enough to rock and too clever for their own good. I know what the Humpers are shooting for but they are not hitting it. I can understand why bands slow down. They listen to one too many classic Rolling Stones albums and all of the sudden they think they need to add piano and horns to every mid and slow tempo song on the record. What most bands lack, the Humpers included, is one fraction of the finesse that the Rolling Stones had. It takes a just a little bit of little talent to make “Exile on Main Street” (Rolling Stones/Atlantic, 1972). The Humpers are not that talented. Imagine what a Ramones song, say "Blitzkrieg Bop", would sound like at half the speed. Stupid. The Humpers are not adding that much with their attempts at subtle rock. Why bother? They are good with the fast stuff and that should be enough for them. If I want actual song writing talent, I will listen to somebody else. "Devil's Magic Pants" is another just - missed - it effort on this album. None of the songs are fast enough and the production is too damn clean. I want to rock right now.

Even though the album is pretty much a bust, a support tour will almost surely be happening some time soon. That is a good thing. The Humpers are one of the best live acts going today. Scott "Deluxe" Drake, the Humpers singer, is a favorite of mine. I usually can not stand to see somebody just standing on stage with a mic at their mouth. Play a guitar or shake a tambourine, sucker. Do something. Drake is one of the few singers around that warrant the use of the term front man. He has been completely drunk every time I have seen the Humpers and he is entertaining as hell. The second time I saw the Humpers he was so wasted he did not know if he was singing into a mic or his bare hand. It was pretty funny. The drummer kept trying to end the set early but Drake would call song after song and the rest of the Humpers would jump in much to the chagrin of the angry drummer. They must have played thirty songs that empty Tuesday night in the Flats. I was so impressed that I went to Galco's on 71st to buy a beret and a Red Kap to enhance my own rocking. I was blown away by the Humpers. That hardly ever happens to me anymore. They rock.

(1998)

posted by Thea at 11:17 AM

July 9, 2002

I will forever in debt to Joe S., my editor at “The Cauldron” for never editing anything I wrote and pretty much running this crap as I wrote it. I probably could have benefited from some editorial input – sure. But I think that I benefited from the idea that I was writing whatever I wanted and people were reading it even more. It was the awareness of the exchange of my life from actual life to written product that really hit me. It is the same thing with the radio show. I think that the show is pretty funny when I think of it as just me and Thea in the studio talking but when I think that people are actually listening, well, damn it, that is funny.

What I am doing with my life as far as creative output is concerned is exactly what they tell you not to do. The whole self referential thing has been done to death. It is over. Well, guess what, fuck it. This is what I do. And when I say that I want to be Henry Miller or Charles Bukowski or Hunter Thompson or Henry Rollins or Bill Hicks and people say that it has been done before I say, fuck you. This is what I am doing with my life.

So big ups to Joe S. for not doing anything and getting the whole Assholier than Thou ball rolling. (Please note the Thea, dieting and Miles Davis tattoo references in the writing below. Some things never change.) Assholier than Thou – not doing anything since the 20th Century.


Besides being the king of all things rocking, I am also the master of dangerous weight loss. I am Mr. Diet. I am going to write a book. But since I am too weak (from starvation) to start that book now, I am going to give the readers of the “Cauldron” a micro capsule version of my slimming theories free of charge. Spring and Summer are coming fast. You don't want to look like the Pillsbury Doughboy (or girl) at poolside, do you? OK. Here is my story:

I was born fat. My biological father is huge and my family loves to eat. So do I. I was too big to play CYO football in grade school (maximum weight= 120 lbs.) I tried to lose weight to get on the team in the sixth grade but could not. This is when I became aware of my weight problem. Up until then, I had a vague notion that I was heavy but nothing to really put it into perspective. Sitting out of football every summer/fall of junior high opened my eyes - I am fat. The summer before the eighth grade I weighed 186 lbs. By this point, me playing CYO football was hopeless. My brother, who was in the sixth grade that year, played on the team with all my friends. He was good and watching him every Sunday was stingy, painful and sucky.

I was still pretty well adjusted, though. My junior high girlfriend was a popular cheerleader and I was a class clown - the jolly fat man. I started to lose it when all of my friends from SS. Peter and Paul went to Trinity for high school. I went to Garfield Heights High School - alone. I made new friends with a variety of Hostess and Frito Lays products. I put on a ton of weight, fast, eventually topping out at 304 lbs. at age 17 (middle of junior year). It would take several columns to explain and describe what it feels like to be that fat. Let me just say that I remember the details vividly and it sucked. I still have nightmares of where I am that fat, in my head I still am, and when I look at myself in the mirror I always will be. You just don't bounce back from something like that.

My brother entering high school with me was my inspiration to shed a few ounces. He is very together and fits into every situation well. He made friends instantly and got a beauty queen girlfriend. He was so normal and seeing him every day with other people made me see my potential for normalcy.

I got on the scale after a couple of years off and saw that horrible number - 304. I thought that I may have been 250 lbs. tops. 304 lbs. hit me like a thunder bolt. I knew I was fat but not that fat. I became hysterical and freaked out. I cried. But that did it for me. I have been on the diet tip ever since.

I lost 50 lbs. the rest of my junior year through starvation and over the counter diet drugs. I was a nervous wreck. I stopped working at a pizza shop (duh!) and slept a lot. During my senior year, I got a girlfriend and went to prom. I got a little taste of the normal life and kept my weight at 250 lbs.

I was going to give you several more paragraphs of my weight history but I am starting to get embarrassed. I remember watching “After School Specials” about anorexia or bulimia and it was always a girl who suffered from those diseases. I am a 26 year old man. I am ashamed because I am not a teenaged girl. I never stop thinking about my weight. I lost over 100 lbs. and I am still on a diet. I precisely monitor everything I eat and I can remember events in my life by how much I weighed at the time. If I see a group of people laughing, I think it is at me because of my excess blubber. I wish I could eat like a normal person or get comfortable about my girth like one of the several fat rap guys that I admire but I can not.

I quit smoking (cold turkey/no patch) on April 22, 1997. That was a lot of fun. You should try it. It is almost as much fun as losing 100 lbs. I stopped weighing myself at the same time. I started to feel OK without my pack of Marlborros a day after a few months but I was too afraid to step on a scale. My clothes started to feel tighter around the holidays but I could not bear to get on a scale. My imagination got the best of me. I assumed that I was racing back to 304 lbs. at top speed. Eventually, the paranoia at the thought of my tremendous weight gain was worse than my fear of getting on the scale. Valentine's Day, 1998 - 210 lbs. I had gained fifteen pounds since I quit smoking. It was not as bad as I had thought but bad enough to put me on the diet again.

Do not waste your money on Weight Watchers. I will give you a great diet - free of charge. Please note that this diet works.

The diet:

I heard somewhere that breakfast is the least important meal of the day so skip it and only drink a couple of cups of coffee. Rule #1: Never eat before noon. Never. At 12:30 p.m. eat an apple. You'll stop feeling like you are going to pass out now. At 1:30 p.m. eat an orange. At 2:30 p.m. drink another cup of coffee. Rule #2: Drink plenty of coffee. It will make you feel better.

I walk a lot on my job (at least five miles a day) so I need more food than noted above. I do not eat any more than that and lose more ounces - Yippee!

At 6:00 p.m. eat dinner. Here are your two choices: Two tuna sandwiches and a can of vegetables. Any vegetable will do although I prefer green beans or mixed. Eat you vegetables with mustard. Number 3: There are no calories or fat in mustard or pickles so chow down. Or dump the can of vegetables into a can of soup and have your bread on the side. (This idea came from one of my peeps and fellow diet junkie, Thea. Shout out.) Dump BBQ sauce in the mix so it tastes like you are actually eating something. Drink a glass of vegetable juice with dinner. You are still going to be hungry but that is it. Sorry.

Directly before going to bed, eat a small bowl of raisin bran with an extra handful of raisins. Wash it down with a glass of apple juice. Goodnight. Number 4: Eat before you sleep or you will not sleep. You can not sleep if you are too damn hungry and sleep is important. Rule #5: Do this every day and don't ever vary. Example: If you do not have any oranges in the house, eat nothing. Sorry again. Weigh yourself on Sunday because it is the start of a new week.

How to know if the diet is working:
1. You are tired, lightheaded, or hungry.
2. You are crabby, depressed, or angry.
3. You feel like you are going to pass out.
4. You want to chop yourself up with a knife or jump in front of a bus.
5. You wish you were dead.

A combination of any of these means the weight is dropping off. You will be a skinny minny or slim jim in no time at all.

As an incentive for me to get back down to my smoking weight by my year anniversary of total straight edge living, my girlfriend is offering to buy me a tatoo. She is the queen of support and an inspiration for me to be a force of good. I am going to get a tatoo of a silhouette of Miles Davis on my forearm. One of the bicycle messengers downtown has it and it is cool enough for me to copy cat. Wish me luck.

Columbia Records continues their reissue of the Miles Davis catalog this month with “The Miles Davis Quintet 1965 - 68: The Complete Studio Recordings”. This box set is the fourth installment in this award winning series. Previous sets: “The Complete Plugged Nickel” (Columbia, 1996), “Miles Davis and Gil Evans: The Complete Columbia Studio Recordings” (Columbia, 1996) and last year's five double live fusion albums from the seventies were all excellent and I highly recommend trading in your Kenny G collection towards the price of these expensive collections.

They are worth the money.

“Miles Davis Quintet 1965﷓'68: The Complete Columbia Studio Recordings” is a six CD set that features the music of Miles Davis' second great quintet consisting of Herbie Hancock, Wayne Shorter, Tony Williams and Ron Carter. Highlights of this set include "Footprints" from Miles Smiles (Columbia, 1967) - my favorite Miles Davis song, and an extended 33 minute version of "Circle in the Round" with Joe Beck added on guitar. The extended "Circle in the Round" is one of the thirteen previously unissued tracks in this collection. The set is arranged in chronological order so a sense of the progression the band made can be felt. It is also complete - a thrill for the nerdy record geek like myself.

This set is the last classic jazz type recordings that Miles Davis made before turning electric groove hippie fusion in the late sixties. I wish I knew more about jazz to comment further. I can say that this is my least favorite of the four sets so far. The "Gil Evans" box was more beautiful, the "Plugged Nickel" had more energy and the fusions sets are super funky . That I can tell you.

(1998)

posted by Thea at 9:10 AM

July 7, 2002

I ran my first 5K today. It took me three weeks since I started running again to get it to where I could run a 5K straight. I did it in under thirty minutes – almost completely pathetic if you factor out that most people can’t run a 5K.

It was a good morning until I sawed my finger. I bled more today than in any home improvement accident that I have ever inflicted on myself.

The sawing, the running, the not sleeping, the staying out all night watching High on Fire, the non-stop working makes me wonder if it all might end suddenly. I told Thea that I wanted her to tell my story after I am gone. She asked me what story.

THE STORY:
1. He was angry
2. He was bitter
3. He was driven mad by anger and bitterness
4. He was a workaholic driven mad by anger and bitterness
5. The anger and bitterness made him hate humanity
6. His hatred of humanity manifested itself as drive and wit
7. The drive made him work and the wit made him less likely to take his own life
8. He thought it would have been funny if he would have taken his own life
9. He could write more and talk faster than any other human being alive
10. His work ethic, writing and fast talking made him forget about the anger, hatred and bitterness

The Entombed will be appearing tonight, February 23, at the Euclid Tavern with Bloodlet and Hatebreed. This is the Entombed's first American tour without longtime drummer Nicke Andersson and also their first American jaunt in four years.

I saw the Entombed a couple of times on that last tour: the very long stretch in support of the “Wolverine Blues” (Earache/Columbia, 1993) album. Columbia Records, in an attempt to buy some underground credibility in the then hot alternative music scene, got involved in a manufacturing and distribution deal with the death/grind metal label, Earache Records. In that deal, Columbia got to release records by the most popular bands on Earache (Godflesh, Napalm Death, Carcass, Cathedral, and the Entombed) through their enormous Sony Distribution system. Columbia benefits by being associated with some hip bands and Earache, a small British independent, gets lots of cash to open a U.S. office, dump money into to new or uncommercial groups (Brutal Truth, Scorn, and Pitchshifter), and increase the profits and profile of their already popular groups through increased Sony royalties These types of label development deals happen all of the time and, in theory, they are supposed to benefit everyone involved with them. Of course, this almost never happens - Def Jam/Columbia being the only notable success in recent memory.

In the end, the corporate giant, disappointed with low record sales, loses interest in its new toy and ends the deal. The little independent record label is left scrambling to regroup and find primary distribution but its pockets are still pretty full and that can ease a lot of the pain of an acrimonious break up. The bands, not surprisingly, are the biggest victims. They are usually asked to give up the most (copyrights/publishing) for these deals and are left in limbo when they end. The Entombed ended up leaving their longtime label altogether after this debacle and have waited four years to have a new record in the United States. I just assumed that they broke up, which is fate of most bands when faced with the weight of financial adversity.

But no, the Entombed will not die. Their new album, “To Ride. Shoot Straight and Speak the Truth” (Music for Nations), is incredible and the tour promises to excite the fans that may have forgotten about the band.

I did not forget about the Entombed. How could I? On their last tour, they were the feature attraction of one of the most hilariously unforgettable shows of my life.

The Entombed were playing small theaters for most of the “Wolverine Blues” tour. They played at the Agora Theater in Cleveland to give you an idea of their typical venue. My band used to play a coffee shop in downtown Warren, OH called the Gargoyle (RIP). It was a good venue run by a great guy, Tim from Pittsburgh, PA. But he was having trouble getting the place off the ground. Having grown up in Pittsburgh, PA and being brought up on Pennsylvania's tough liquor laws (No all ages shows if alcohol is being served, no convenient store beer, etc..), Tim thought that an alcohol free space for rock - n - roll shows would be a great idea. It may have worked in Pennsylvania but Warren, OH did not have the population to support such a venture.

But Tim, very valiantly, tried everything to make the Gargoyle work. As part of his incredible effort, 'Tim booked the Entombed to play at his little coffee shop in an attempt to get some of the established booking agents to take him seriously and supply him with some known talent. Bands will play anywhere for the right price. If you have the money, you can get U2 to play at your next backyard BBQ. Tim ponied up a couple of grand to get the Entombed and hoped for the best.

The Entombed's tour bus (Sony money) pulled up to the front of the Gargoyle. Downtown Warren, OH looks pretty similar to downtown Mayberry - complete with town square. It had to be sort of demoralizing for the Entombed, Columbia recording artists, to have to play such a small place - no bigger than the Red Star. The Entombed, after making several snide inquiries pertaining to the existence of an adequate power supply, begrudgingly loaded their massive amount of equipment into the Gargoyle. Since the Entombed are heavy metal, you need only think of Iron Maiden to imagine how much stuff their dudes loaded on to the tiny stage of this coffee shop. They had a ton; complete with superfluous lighting rigs and smoke machine. The stage was at the brink of collapse due to all this gear.

After the soundcheck, Unsane, who were opening the tour, had to set up their average amount of equipment in front of the Entombed's backline because there was no backstage at the Gargoyle. Unsane had about two square feet to stand during their set and were visibly agitated at the whole affair. I heard a rumor that someone in the band faked a broken arm to get off of this tour and away from the Entombed. I guess Sweden's death metal king are not princes where hospitality towards opening acts is concerned.

Unsane finished their set and the Entombed took the stage. They were great. They put on a no holds barred kickass metal show complete with... smoke machine. That's right. They got that machine running and the tiny venue filled with smoke in a matter of minutes. Most of the people fled out into the street due to the massive haze. I, along with a few of the metal militia, laughed, coughed, and rocked out in the fog. Ha Ha Ha. Hack Hack Hack. Rock rock rock.

Hopefully, the Entombed will leave the smoke machine in the bus at their Euclid Tavern debut which is, as previously noted, the first time the band is touring without fantastic drummer Nicke Andersson. He leads (guitar/vocals) a Stooges styled punk group, the Hellacopters, and his commitments to that super rocking combo has caused his unfortunate departure from the Entombed. The Hellacopters rock. The have several hard to find records that you should have and are getting huge in Europe - opening for Kiss last year. I pray that the Hellacopters will hit a bar near me soon.

“To Ride. Shoot Straight and Speak the Truth” was released in England last year. If you are down, that record is already wearing out its grooves. The Entombed get more and more rock – n - roll with each release. They are also, probably not coincidentally, getting better. For those long hairs who keep whining about the Entombed's departure from the sound they blazed on “Left Hand Path” (Earache, 1990) and “Clandestine” (Earache, 1992), I have this to say, "Boo hoo hoo. I'm a big fat stupid crybaby. " From where I am sitting, death metal is over. Have you heard the new Deicide? It is getting tired. I like speed and growls just as much as anybody but maybe it time to find something new. The Entombed are on to something.

Louisville, KY's Bloodlet, one of the opening acts at tonight's show, are trying their damnest to find the ever elusive new sound - with very positive results. “Entheogen” (Victory, 1996), the band's first proper album, is an ambitious mix of hardcore, metal and technically flashy progressive rock. That looks pretty awful on paper but the record is surprisingly good except for the drum sounds (my constant complaint with nearly every damn record - again I say, "Take a ride on the Zeppelin.") And, by the way, if these dudes deny a Rush influence, they are liars.

Hatebreed are less adventurous than either of the other two bands on tonight's bill but they still rock. “Satisfaction is the Death of Desire” (Victory, 1997) is Hatebreed's debut album. I had previously heard the band on their spilt single with Integrity and their album is more of the same - heavy riff metal hardcore. They are not half bad at what they do and they obviously paid attention while listening the Cro - mags, Sick of it All, Integrity, et. al. as young pups. Their record is light on substance but still enjoyable.

I am going to bring my gas mask in the trunk of my car tonight - just in case.

(1998)


posted by Thea at 10:31 PM