Hey, gang—just wanted you all to know that after years of procrastination, I finally launched a web site where I’ll be posting my music for all the dang world to hear. If you’re curious, head on over to stolzenrock.com to check it out.
(Mod, feel free to find a more suitable place for this tacky, self-promoting plug if you wish. I’m only posting here in this fashion because I actually created the stolzenrock blog with folks like my friends here at RTH in mind.)
I swear I’m not trying to be an asshole here, and I admit to not being all that familiar with their work, but — man, I’ve never really understood Fugazi. And I’m from Washington, DC!
Minor Threat, I get. HarDCore punk, yeah, “straight-edge,” yeah. All sinews and tendons and youth and loudness and anger. Got it. But Fugazi? I dunno, man. They strike me as being, like, a grown-up, much artsier, much proggier Minor Threat. And I’m not sure it translates.
Which is not to say I don’t understand the process/problem of growing up punk. And I have to say, the Fugazi backstory rules. All that jazz about $5 shows, $10 albums — yeah, very Clash, very old-school, very un-DC… very cool. To be able to “grow up” and stay like that is pretty amazing. Kudos. But on the musical tip, I fear I must be missing something. So I guess I’m throwing my arms open wide, waiting for the nurturing embrace of a Fugazi-loving Townsman who can help me see what I’m missing. Tell me: why do you like Fugazi so much?
A few months ago, I was thrifting for a new/old pair of jeans, and I came across a pair in the right size and the right brand (which is to say: Levi’s first, Lee second, and — maybe, in a pinch — Wrangler third). Anyhow, I slapped down a fin and walked out with a decent pair of jeans in pretty good shape. A good day of shopping — or so I thought.
I got home, and to my great dismay, I realized I’d not paid sufficient attention to the crotch area of my new blue jeans — they were “button-fly” monstrosities.
Let me just rant for second. I’m a marketing guy by trade, and I understand how style can sometimes trump substance when it comes to consumer goods. But — goddammit — the zipper was invented a hundred freaking years ago for a reason. And that reason was to put the idiotic, inconvenient “button fly” out to pasture. The button fly is a thing that plainly sucks compared to the modern solution that replaced it. If I have a zipper, and I need to spring a leak, I just reach down, tug on the metal handle, and — hey now! — there are the necessary hoseworks. No fumbling with buttons, undoing belts, going half-dropped in the trou department — the zipper is just there, and it’s just plain better.
Today, I came to the bottom of my clean laundry. As always happens on such days, I was forced to don the dreaded 501 button-fly jeans. I endured them all day. But this evening — because I’m a total nerd — as I stumbled into the baffroom to drain the lizard, I began contemplating the possible Rock analogs for the button-fly jean and its sensible, more modern, clearly improved zipper counterpart.
I’m a frequent traditionalist when it comes to the Rock. But have there been bands or artists or genres, or perhaps tools of the trade, that saw clear and sensible improvement when they were supplanted by a better, more modern version or replacement? That’s the question I have. Sometimes progress is good, surely.
Now I feel bad that I called EPG out on my silly Beatles question earlier today. This is the issue on which I most eagerly seek his insight.
That goes for the rest of you, too. As always, I look forward to your responses.
Yeah, yeah. The White Album should’ve been edited down to a single disc. Ho-hum, Yellow Submarine was padded out with awful George Martin instrumental garbage. Yawn, Let It Be was an EP at best.
Here’s a question for Beatles fans with BALLS: can you assemble a Beatles album — 10 tracks minimum, using only official album and single tracks on which at least half of the band played — that you would never listen to? One that you would actively dislike, and dissuade your friends from buying because it sucked so much? What would be on that suckiest Beatles album to never be released?
I look forward to your responses — especially yours, EPG.
I have no idea what this chick is on about, but I reckon you guys can help me. To make the job of translation easier, I’m only looking for 20 seconds’ worth of interpretation from each of you. Please keep in mind that there’s a lot more than just a foreign language to translate here; I’m convinced that each frame of video has some vital “Paul-is-dead” message to impart. Can you tell me what that message is?
I’m gonna keep this simple: How on Earth can a man who will take a bullet for the right of any music lover to dumb things down once in a while hate KISS? Is it the blatant show-biz manipulativeness that turns you off? The fact that the band fooled a planet with their ridiculous makeup/monster schtick? Do you just not like music at the intersection of pop and “hard rock?” Are you turned off by their admittedly poor musicianship? Their idiotic lyrics? What is it?
Speaking for myself, the band gets a pass. I don’t “love” them — or even like them very much, if “liking” something means that you have to stand up and defend the verifiable quality of it. But they make me pump my fist, bob my head, and smile. They’re patently retarded, I get that. But only an extreme tight-ass would have a problem enjoying “Firehouse” or “Rock Bottom” or “Cold Gin” from that Alive! twofer.
I will say this: I just went out and reminded myself of the actual track list on the album, and it’s not a flawless double. In fact, I think I’d reduce it to a single-record deal. But that record would be a fun-fest for me, and for any other Rock-loving child of the ’70s who’s not afraid of donning the nostalgio-glasses every once in a while.
Come on, man! Loosen up a little! Switch to boxers or something!
Yesterday, I got a diagnosis from a qualified M.D. that made me smile for two reasons: one, because it wasn’t serious (fear not, RTH! All is well!)—and, two, because it was also the name of a song. I want you to guess what medical condition I was diagnosed with. I suspect that this exercise will have the same net effect as a Last Man Standing episode, so if you want to treat it accordingly, feel free. At some point in this LMS-like process, I feel certain you’ll correctly diagnose my Rock, pop, or soul condition.
Hey, gang—just wanted you all to know that after years of procrastination, I finally launched a web site where I’ll be posting my music for all the dang world to hear. If you’re curious, head on over to stolzenrock.com to check it out.
