Spending my whole life in Southern Maryland I have realized, as many of you have, sometimes Southern Maryland is not always the most eventful place in the world. But recently, there seems to be a little buzz around this place. It seems that Southern Maryland is beginning to give birth to a growing music scene. Although still in it's infancy, more and more bars and restaurants are bringing live music to their establishments and a growing number of musicians are melding together and forming bands. The radio is great but nothing beats the chemistry of people playing live music together, jumping, singing in harmony, trading solos, packed full of all the energy and risk involved of playing in front of a live audience.
Who are some of the prominent bands in Southern Maryland? Let's begin the introductions.
Sam Grow Band - They are the undisputed champions of Southern Maryland. They have shared the stage with Ronnie Dunn, Boston, Sister Hazel, Kanye West, Bill Engvall and tons of other nationally touring acts. Their set list, now almost entirely original music, combines southern rock, hard rock, soul and pop. The band showcases 800 horsepower vocals, time bending rock-shredding, and a rhythm section tighter than Honey Boo-Boo's mother's socks. Everywhere you look these guys are headlining shows, packing houses night after night, touring, making radio appearances, doing interviews, and selling merchandise.
No Green Jelly Beenz - This is probably the most popular of all the cover bands in the area. These guys pull a ton of people wherever they go and have a fantastic party-til-you-drop showmanship that helps you understand how they got to where they are. They have an absurd number of cover songs and have the crowds eating out of their hands every time. Superstorm Sandy? That was just the leftover energy from a N.G.J.B. show. Yeah, it get's that ridiculous. Michael J. Fox? He doesn't actually have Parkinson's he just sat front row at a Beenz concert 5 years ago. Typically, on most nights they play, the police just close the rest of county so they can make sure the insanity from the show doesn't turn into an episode of The Walking Dead.
Hydra FX - This band has been rocking stages for over ten years. They blend reggae, rock, hard rock and funk into a balls-to-the-wall style that makes even the laziest of bastards get up off of their fat asses and start dancing. Newly adopted Dream Theatre shredder and Met-rx Strong Man contestant John Kinkaid, who sometimes has to pick up his own bicep and move it out of the way to play a solo, is like tossing a handful of bottle rockets into the fire (..Let's Burn it Brighter). This band's rhythm section is more solid than a bowel movement after two blocks of cheese and when they whip out their highly syncopated rock-reggae breakdowns, it takes everything in your will power not punch the old lady sitting next to you in the face out of sheer joy. Now fronted by everyone's favorite Ginger, Greg Barrick, whose on stage antics may remind you of Angus Young + an 8 ball of cocaine. This band could play at a morgue and by the end of the first set, the bodies would be doing the Wobble.
Jukebox Thieves - This tight-knit cover band has a clean and driving sound and is fronted by one of the best vocalists in the area, Tara Rae, showing off her dynamics and range from song to song and channeling popular greats like Christina Aguilera, Adele and Hayley Williams (Paramore) . (She is unfortunately taking a several week hiatus to rest those beautiful pipes and come back even stronger.) Their guitar player also has some pipes of his own, rocking out McCartney style thumping lines while belting out in the middle of sets. These guys know a ridiculous number of top 40's hits and they know how to please a crowd.
The Piranhas - Well I hope you like crapping your pants because that happens from time to time towards the end of our shows. Versatility is our middle name, we play everything from Bon Jovi and The Outfield to Rage Against the Machine, Bob Marley, Alex Clare, C.C.R., Jessie J, Guns and Roses, Gnarles Barkley, Ben Harper, Maroon 5 and so many more that if I listed them all, this blog would turn into a J.R Tolkein novel. We have a very climactic show, usually beginning with something soft, slow and simple and ending with dual harmonized guitar finger-tapping, headbanging, jumping off of chairs, climbing up poles, throwing dead chipmunks, etc. You just have to come see it for yourself.
Justin Myles - This STOMP! performer has joined forces with Rusty Williams to put on a mesmerizing blend of jazz, funk and pop. You may even see Justin pull out his tap board and begin trading fours with Rusty. His covers are soulful and entertaining and his song selection is a breath of fresh air, choosing songs like Moondance by Van Morrison, Senorita by Justin Timberlake and Maneater by Hall and Oats. He also incorporates some of his rhythmically savvy originals. His influences, Dave Matthews, Bobby Mcferrin and Jamie Cullum are quite apparent in his highly stylized playing, singing and writing. It would be a good idea to check out one of his live shows.
Diojee - No, not D.O.G. These guys have a very unique island-esque vibe and sound like they might be closer to the Caribbean than Southern Maryland. They have a solid list of original acoustic-reggae influenced grooves, carried by calming vocals and peppered with percussion. After listening to Diojee, you may feel an uncontrollable urge to buy a boat and move a little closer to the beach.
Since I would have to write a fifteen page blog to properly introduce all the great acts around this area, check out these links to get to know some of the prominent local performers in Southern Maryland:
Naked,
Patti Dorsche,
Groovespan,
Dave and Kevin,
Stereocase,
Funkzilla,
Synergy,
Pet the Monster,
No Luck for Landes,
Don't Call Me Shirley
Law-Less
Colossus of Clout
Ben Connelly
Car 54
Dave Norris
To anyone else I didn't mention - my apologies. Feel free to post your name and link below in the comment box!
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Busk in The Subway.
Ahhhhh, New York City. Back again, so soon. Why? To visit beautiful girlfriend (but also to try and make a few connections and scope out the music scene) This is her. (Pretty hot? Don't worry, I know.) But what happens when she is gone all day teaching at her dance studio and you have an entire day in New York by yourself? You take a crash course of New York City subway and test your luck at busking at the most populated spots. But it can get very confusing and sometimes you find yourself lost. Very lost. Just ask Tom Hanks. He was just trying to find Central Park.
What is busking for you music noobs? It's performing (typically unamplified) in a highly populated public area in an effort to earn tips from listeners or watchers. Forget oil rig operating or skydiving. Step aside Deadliest Catch. Billy The Exterminator? Nope. Wrestling alligators is child's play. Dodging pigeon turds while playing music is for the big kids. Cops chase you. Rival buskers are trying to out-play you. Mimes surround you and stare lividly. Sometimes people just throw half eaten hot dogs for no reason. Dogs pee on you. Little kids laugh and point and walk up to you and kick you in the balls. You can be imprisoned for up to fifteen years. Even sent to another country as slave labor. Yes, busking makes even Evel Knievel look like Stephen Hawking.
Actually all of that is completely untrue. Typically cops won't bother you if you are not amplified, other buskers don't care unless you are in a reserved spot (which requires a permit and if you're in New York, an audition held only once a year that only two people get accepted from). Pigeons also very rarely take the time to fly all the way down into the subway, hover above you, and crap on your head (they are too busy eating dirty gum and styrofoam cups on the sidewalk).
You want to do some research to find out high traffic areas. You also need to find a place where people are forced to stop walking, or else hardly anyone will take the time to listen. NY is an extremely fast-paced place and people generally aren't on mid-afternoon strolls around subway stations. If you play right next to the stops, where the people are waiting for their train, they will hear you, but the subways themselves are absurdly loud and you will be drowned out from time to time. You have to project yourself and be unafraid of getting peoples attention. It's great practice for live performers. Some people who got their start busking include: BB King, Bernie Mac, Bob Dylan, Blue Man Group, Bon Jovi, Cirque de Soliel (WHAT!?), Damien Rice, Eric Clapton, Jaoquin Peonix, Kanye West, Norah Jones, Sheryl Crow, STOMP, Simon and Garfunkel, Jason Mraz, Martin Sexton and way too many more to list. The complete list is here.
The average busker typically makes about $15-$20 a day. However if you have some real talent and can really work a crowd, buskers can make an upwards of $300 a day. Not to mention you get a ton of exposure to thousands and thousands of people every day, even if it's only for a few minutes or seconds at a time. I plan on moving to NYC in the not-so-distant future and will be busking a whole lot - I definitely plan on attempting to break the $300.00 mark at some point. If you are interested in trying busking yourself, check out this link! I will also be putting together a pretty hefty group of songs to get some heads turning. So if you have any ideas for an ultimate NYC set list, put them below in the comment box. Happy busking. Stay thirsty my friends.
Silvertone SD3000 Acoustic Guitar Pack - Gifts for Kids (Google Affiliate Ad)
What is busking for you music noobs? It's performing (typically unamplified) in a highly populated public area in an effort to earn tips from listeners or watchers. Forget oil rig operating or skydiving. Step aside Deadliest Catch. Billy The Exterminator? Nope. Wrestling alligators is child's play. Dodging pigeon turds while playing music is for the big kids. Cops chase you. Rival buskers are trying to out-play you. Mimes surround you and stare lividly. Sometimes people just throw half eaten hot dogs for no reason. Dogs pee on you. Little kids laugh and point and walk up to you and kick you in the balls. You can be imprisoned for up to fifteen years. Even sent to another country as slave labor. Yes, busking makes even Evel Knievel look like Stephen Hawking.
Actually all of that is completely untrue. Typically cops won't bother you if you are not amplified, other buskers don't care unless you are in a reserved spot (which requires a permit and if you're in New York, an audition held only once a year that only two people get accepted from). Pigeons also very rarely take the time to fly all the way down into the subway, hover above you, and crap on your head (they are too busy eating dirty gum and styrofoam cups on the sidewalk).
You want to do some research to find out high traffic areas. You also need to find a place where people are forced to stop walking, or else hardly anyone will take the time to listen. NY is an extremely fast-paced place and people generally aren't on mid-afternoon strolls around subway stations. If you play right next to the stops, where the people are waiting for their train, they will hear you, but the subways themselves are absurdly loud and you will be drowned out from time to time. You have to project yourself and be unafraid of getting peoples attention. It's great practice for live performers. Some people who got their start busking include: BB King, Bernie Mac, Bob Dylan, Blue Man Group, Bon Jovi, Cirque de Soliel (WHAT!?), Damien Rice, Eric Clapton, Jaoquin Peonix, Kanye West, Norah Jones, Sheryl Crow, STOMP, Simon and Garfunkel, Jason Mraz, Martin Sexton and way too many more to list. The complete list is here.
The average busker typically makes about $15-$20 a day. However if you have some real talent and can really work a crowd, buskers can make an upwards of $300 a day. Not to mention you get a ton of exposure to thousands and thousands of people every day, even if it's only for a few minutes or seconds at a time. I plan on moving to NYC in the not-so-distant future and will be busking a whole lot - I definitely plan on attempting to break the $300.00 mark at some point. If you are interested in trying busking yourself, check out this link! I will also be putting together a pretty hefty group of songs to get some heads turning. So if you have any ideas for an ultimate NYC set list, put them below in the comment box. Happy busking. Stay thirsty my friends.
Silvertone SD3000 Acoustic Guitar Pack - Gifts for Kids (Google Affiliate Ad)
Friday, October 12, 2012
Watch Annie Lennox in a Thong in New York City
The Statue of Liberty. The Empire State Building. The Big Apple. The land of hopes and dreams. Even if it is home to the undeniably evil Yankees, it's actually a beautiful place.
It begins with a bus ride. Megabus. MEGABUS. Four and a half hours of sitting still in near silence sounds to me like a purgatorial punishment, unless of course, you have your electric guitar and an unquenchable thirst for practicing. Time flies when you are annoying the Asian tourists sitting in front of you by repeating scale patterns for hours on end. I arrive at 10:45 PM. They did not love me long time. I am greeted by a tall, beautiful, stylish blonde wearing coal eye shadow and a brown leather jacket. Her name is Stephanie and she is the reason why I am on this trip. I may explain more about that in another blog, but on with the chlorophyll. She helps me grab some of my luggage and we head to her car where I meet her roomate, Avish, think Asis Ansari meets Robert Downey Jr., and her friend Bryan, equal parts Paul Rudd and Matthew Mcconaughey. We begin what will be one of the most interesting nights of my life.
The first club we go to was called "Nine". A burly, fourty-something man stands guard at the door to what looks like John Wayne Gacey's basement, checks our ID's and we descend into a darkened rectangular dance floor pulsing with rotating club lights decorated with a small bar on the right and a DJ room in the back (which had about as many people as were on the dance floor). I have never been to any bar or club in NY before, so at some point between watching an obese pirate girl doing splits on the floor or the not-sure-of-sexual-preference black guy with a bull ring and a turquoise mohawk grinding himself on one of the stripper poles, scantily clad in a one-piece spandex suit, I realized I wasn't in Kansas anymore. This is a sharp contrast from the usual Bud Light drinking, football watching bars adorning the Southern Maryland area. It seems inhibitions are something people use as toilet paper here in the big city. Like soldiers on the beaches of Normandy, Avish began sending wave after wave of drinks our way and party time had been initiated.
After an hour or so, we relocated to a place called R-Bar. After Avish schmoozed us past the leather clad, feather wearing "hostess" into the place for half price, no amount of psychological training could have prepared me for what I was about to see.
It went something like this:
A sheek bar, decked out in red and black, looking like something from a scene in the Matrix,
a World War II-based softcore porn playing on all the TV's, middle aged women covered in brightly-colored feather boas, one wearing nothing but star-shaped pasties (she could have used a few weeks of Zumba if she was going to go shirtless...just sayin), an Annie Lennox look-alike contorting herself atop the bar wearing nothing but a thong and a leather strap for a top (I'm pretty sure she actually does Zumba), a man in a beautifully self-made costume who looked like a male Queen Amidala from Star Wars Episode I - his name was King Vulcanus and was the host of this crazy feather-themed bar party.
See!? Male Queen Amidala, right?
....oh yeah, and men walking around in what looked like jewel studded jock straps (and nothing else). At some point in the night, I noticed a homeless man sleeping next to the bar, all wrapped up in blankets. I thought to myself, "oh wow, what a sweet thing to do; to house a homeless man overnight on a cold New York night like this. But holy crap it must be hard to sleep with this window shattering house music blasting all night." As I'm watching this homeless man lay there with a smile on his face, dreaming of who knows what, I witness two women in high heels step on him and begin stomping all over his chest and groin. I immediately go to the bar tender and inform him that evil women are stomping on the sleeping homeless man. He says "It's ok, he wants them to"....Hu...mu....na? Then I noticed, it wasn't blankets he was wrapped up in, it was a carpet, and next to him was a sign that read STAND ON ME. He was a fetishist, and apparently his thing was being walked on. "Well, that's new." So was my first night ever in New York City, the land of the free and the home of the strange. But I honestly think strange is better than inhibited and miserable, so more power to them.
I made sure to hold on to Stephanie's arm very tightly for the rest of the night, but despite the weirdness, it's still a beautiful place.
It begins with a bus ride. Megabus. MEGABUS. Four and a half hours of sitting still in near silence sounds to me like a purgatorial punishment, unless of course, you have your electric guitar and an unquenchable thirst for practicing. Time flies when you are annoying the Asian tourists sitting in front of you by repeating scale patterns for hours on end. I arrive at 10:45 PM. They did not love me long time. I am greeted by a tall, beautiful, stylish blonde wearing coal eye shadow and a brown leather jacket. Her name is Stephanie and she is the reason why I am on this trip. I may explain more about that in another blog, but on with the chlorophyll. She helps me grab some of my luggage and we head to her car where I meet her roomate, Avish, think Asis Ansari meets Robert Downey Jr., and her friend Bryan, equal parts Paul Rudd and Matthew Mcconaughey. We begin what will be one of the most interesting nights of my life.
The first club we go to was called "Nine". A burly, fourty-something man stands guard at the door to what looks like John Wayne Gacey's basement, checks our ID's and we descend into a darkened rectangular dance floor pulsing with rotating club lights decorated with a small bar on the right and a DJ room in the back (which had about as many people as were on the dance floor). I have never been to any bar or club in NY before, so at some point between watching an obese pirate girl doing splits on the floor or the not-sure-of-sexual-preference black guy with a bull ring and a turquoise mohawk grinding himself on one of the stripper poles, scantily clad in a one-piece spandex suit, I realized I wasn't in Kansas anymore. This is a sharp contrast from the usual Bud Light drinking, football watching bars adorning the Southern Maryland area. It seems inhibitions are something people use as toilet paper here in the big city. Like soldiers on the beaches of Normandy, Avish began sending wave after wave of drinks our way and party time had been initiated.
After an hour or so, we relocated to a place called R-Bar. After Avish schmoozed us past the leather clad, feather wearing "hostess" into the place for half price, no amount of psychological training could have prepared me for what I was about to see.
It went something like this:
A sheek bar, decked out in red and black, looking like something from a scene in the Matrix,
a World War II-based softcore porn playing on all the TV's, middle aged women covered in brightly-colored feather boas, one wearing nothing but star-shaped pasties (she could have used a few weeks of Zumba if she was going to go shirtless...just sayin), an Annie Lennox look-alike contorting herself atop the bar wearing nothing but a thong and a leather strap for a top (I'm pretty sure she actually does Zumba), a man in a beautifully self-made costume who looked like a male Queen Amidala from Star Wars Episode I - his name was King Vulcanus and was the host of this crazy feather-themed bar party.
See!? Male Queen Amidala, right?
....oh yeah, and men walking around in what looked like jewel studded jock straps (and nothing else). At some point in the night, I noticed a homeless man sleeping next to the bar, all wrapped up in blankets. I thought to myself, "oh wow, what a sweet thing to do; to house a homeless man overnight on a cold New York night like this. But holy crap it must be hard to sleep with this window shattering house music blasting all night." As I'm watching this homeless man lay there with a smile on his face, dreaming of who knows what, I witness two women in high heels step on him and begin stomping all over his chest and groin. I immediately go to the bar tender and inform him that evil women are stomping on the sleeping homeless man. He says "It's ok, he wants them to"....Hu...mu....na? Then I noticed, it wasn't blankets he was wrapped up in, it was a carpet, and next to him was a sign that read STAND ON ME. He was a fetishist, and apparently his thing was being walked on. "Well, that's new." So was my first night ever in New York City, the land of the free and the home of the strange. But I honestly think strange is better than inhibited and miserable, so more power to them.
I made sure to hold on to Stephanie's arm very tightly for the rest of the night, but despite the weirdness, it's still a beautiful place.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Go to Six Flags!
Six Flags. More flags = more fun? Not sure of the logic here but lets overlook that. So if I only had one flag I guess I wouldn't be having a good time. I guess the CEO is praying every night at his bed that a place named Seven Flags never opens up, because even if it's a lemonade stand, based on the flag logic alone, it is sure to put Six Flags out of business. But hey, there's no need for logic when you have a mascot this sexy to lure in hot singles from every corner of the state. 
Im not sure if any of you have wondered the same thing but wouldn't you have loved to be at the board meeting when 'captain rape' was selected to be the face of six flags? It's like Turtle Wax meets Herbert the Pervert from family guy. I guess who better to lure in little children than a vigorous old pedophile with a colorful van and free tickets to an amusement park.
If you are able to get past the questionable advertising and actually enter the park in person you will come to find you do actually get access to a pretty respectable variety of rides. And it doesn't hurt being accompanied by a very pretty gal (who will later school you in video games....wtf!?). I would highly advise this tactic of opposite sex accompaniment so that you are less likely to check out a hottie from afar only to realize she is a 14 year old......................................boy....or fall into a hypnotic trance from the morbidly obese soul sista pouring out of her size three impromptu booty shorts, the soft undulating blubber demanding your gaze and then disorienting your spacial awareness. Hold on to your pretty girl's (or guy's) arm tightly, maintain eye contact with them at all times and wade through the Picasso painting of a crowd to get to the good stuff. Six Flags people makes People of Walmart look like Victoria's Secret models. And make sure you don't walk to fast either, or they will mistake your hurriedness for fear and once they smell your fear they will bite.
Whats the best thing in the park? Rollercoasters! Yay! Amazingly enough we didn't wait in a single line for more than ten minutes, an all time record, especially since lots A-K were full and we had to park in reserve lot 1, but I'm guessing the heart of the mob was too busy absorbing each other's Hepatitis C in the Waterpark. Wild One is rickety and very likely to derail soon. Do not go on that one. Apocalypse is outstanding (no pun intended, ride it to find out why). Superman reigns supreme. It's like a first person view from Jason Statham's balls in the movie Crank. Pure adrenaline. The downside of roller coasters: when you get done for the day after being strapped in all the harness and seats you will smell like a Persian man's thong after a marathon.
Most of the games are impossible. The ones that are possible cost ten dollars to play and the prize is comparable to a cardboard cut-out of Justin Beiber (clearly not worth ten dollars). Although I must say the squid hats were pretty bawler. I wouldn't mind making an entrance with a neon colored squid on my head.
Before squid hat:
Squid Hat:
After Squid Hat:
Arcade = yes. Almost as good as the roller coasters without even moving. Especially when you have a girl that outscores you in LA Machineguns (a 1st person shooter where you and your partner are on magic Jet-Skis shooting holding infinitely reloading machine guns and shooting at robots that try to kidnap the president...clearly a plot that would make Christopher Nolan soil his pants in awe of such genius.) Air hockey (she beat me), Ski ball, Hoops (she beat me), DDR (she did NOT beat me)....enough said. 20 bucks and the next few hours are pure bliss.
One last thing you should know about Six Flags before you go. Do NOT go into the "Hurricane Simulator". If you would like to experience this, merely go into your bedroom. Turn on your ceiling fan. Put your face close to it. Wait twenty seconds. Turn off of your fan. Take two dollars out of your wallet. Wipe your ass with them and then throw them out of the window. Congratulations you have experienced The Six Flags Hurricane simulator.
I hope this has been informational for you and will one day be printed in color and placed in the Six Flags directory right next the maps and show schedules. A good day to you!
Friday, August 31, 2012
Buy a Honda Fit
Yeah thats right ladies. 109 Horsepower. It runs on corn. 0-60 in 45 seconds flat. Booya. Move over Bugati Veyron, Lamborghini Diablo and Dodge Viper, the Honda Fit is here. And I have one. Jet black. Also there is enough trunk room to fit twenty dead hookers. Thats why they call it the Fit. It Fits your lifestyle, even if you are Charlie Sheen. But in all seriousness for a gigging musician, it's a pretty good deal. 
The other day, I raced a quarter mile against couple of guys on street bikes. One of them had a helmet with spikes on it and a video camera. Needless to say, they won, by about a quarter mile. Generally, anyone with spikes on their helmet is going to be pretty fast. Spikes = faster than Honda Fit. Moral of this story. If your goal in purchasing a car is to wrangle up the ladies, please take this warning, this is NOT the car for you. The comments you will receive from friends and onlookers will be something more to the effect of "hey where do you put the tampon", "my suburban shit one of these last week", "is this for your meetings at the YMCA?", and "dude......dude (shakes head with regret)". But Im confident that I will have the last laugh when gas is $45.00 a gallon and my friends with their Ford F-150s and SUV's that burn up half a tank on exiting a parking lot. Long live the Fit!
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Watch Limitless
You may have heard of this movie. Bradley Cooper, Di Nero, a cute blonde chick that cuts creepy men with little girls feet? Yeah.
Thats "Limitless". Fantastically adrenaline pumping thriller of a movie. It has a couple loose ends at the credits, but by then I was so pumped I easily forgave the writers....and those hyper-zoom camera shots feel like you're in the thing Jody Foster helped them build in Contact. If you haven't seen this formula 1 car of a movie, it goes like this (don't worry no spoiler). Poor Bradley Cooper is a unproductive writer with an increasingly long streak of writer's block. He is stagnant in every way, unkempt, unmotivated, unable to focus...and his hair looks upsettingly like mine.
See?
Which is why Im getting a haircut very soon. Anyways. He runs into his ex brother-in-law on the street who , over a couple drinks notices how terrible he looks and offers to him a "sample" of a "product" (called NZT) he is "legally" distributing. He even assures him its FDA approved. After a few hours of reluctance but realizing his ever increasing desperation to alleviate his terrible purgatory of a life, Cooper takes the pill and in thirty seconds the haze is lifted. His vision, hearing and every sense is heightened. He becomes aware of every noise, sensation, and piece of information around him. Manically, ee finishes his entire long overdue novel in four days, masters the piano in three, discovers he can inadvertently learn any foreign language by half-heartedly listening to audio tapes while he jogs. He becomes personable, charming, likable, a social prodigy, a marketing whiz, completely fearless in every situation. He becomes a super genius, limited only by the laws of physics.
Side effects of the pill, that would later be revealed to him include; crippling headaches, blackouts (which during the course of you may or may not kill a hooker), noticably bloodshot eyes, and russians trying to kill you. So the question is, side effects............aside..heh..heh...if there were some drug out on the market that would allow you to experience unfettered access to your subconscious, allowing you retain and recall every piece of information you encountered, learn at an exponentially increasing rate would you take it? Im truly curious. Answer below, best response gets a one month supply of NZT!! YAY!!!!
Thats "Limitless". Fantastically adrenaline pumping thriller of a movie. It has a couple loose ends at the credits, but by then I was so pumped I easily forgave the writers....and those hyper-zoom camera shots feel like you're in the thing Jody Foster helped them build in Contact. If you haven't seen this formula 1 car of a movie, it goes like this (don't worry no spoiler). Poor Bradley Cooper is a unproductive writer with an increasingly long streak of writer's block. He is stagnant in every way, unkempt, unmotivated, unable to focus...and his hair looks upsettingly like mine.
See?
Which is why Im getting a haircut very soon. Anyways. He runs into his ex brother-in-law on the street who , over a couple drinks notices how terrible he looks and offers to him a "sample" of a "product" (called NZT) he is "legally" distributing. He even assures him its FDA approved. After a few hours of reluctance but realizing his ever increasing desperation to alleviate his terrible purgatory of a life, Cooper takes the pill and in thirty seconds the haze is lifted. His vision, hearing and every sense is heightened. He becomes aware of every noise, sensation, and piece of information around him. Manically, ee finishes his entire long overdue novel in four days, masters the piano in three, discovers he can inadvertently learn any foreign language by half-heartedly listening to audio tapes while he jogs. He becomes personable, charming, likable, a social prodigy, a marketing whiz, completely fearless in every situation. He becomes a super genius, limited only by the laws of physics.
Side effects of the pill, that would later be revealed to him include; crippling headaches, blackouts (which during the course of you may or may not kill a hooker), noticably bloodshot eyes, and russians trying to kill you. So the question is, side effects............aside..heh..heh...if there were some drug out on the market that would allow you to experience unfettered access to your subconscious, allowing you retain and recall every piece of information you encountered, learn at an exponentially increasing rate would you take it? Im truly curious. Answer below, best response gets a one month supply of NZT!! YAY!!!!
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Eat a Ghost Pepper
This blog isn't going to be about music. Oh no. This is something dangerous. Something terrifying and painful. Something that burns with such ferocity even Dante would have trouble describing it. The Bhut Jolokia. We in the U.S. call it "The Ghost Pepper".
For several months now I have been dying to get my hands on one. After seeing countless Youtube videos of people being rendered useless for several hours after only a small bite I knew I had to try it. My grandfather and uncle got me hooked on hot stuff during our annual visits to Bethany Beach where they would douse some wings in an assortment of different incendiary sauces. My first taste of something real hot was "Da Bomb" which tops out at about 50,000 Scoville Units. Scoville units are the units of water it would take to completely dilute the taste of one unit of the heat being measured. So 50,000 S.U. = 50,000 parts water per 1 part hot sauce before the flavor couldn't be detected. Which means really hot.
Jalepenos are about 5,000. A complete joke when compared to the mighty habenero which peaks at about 90,000 - 130,000. Habeneros are still just "really hot stuff 101", however. I have had many habeneros in my lifetime and although they are by no means mild, they are still a manageable pepper for my palette. The ghost pepper, however, is a different story.
It goes like this.
My friends Sean, Brook, Rusty and I meet up at a local Indian place called "Bollywood" which is gaining reputation for its absurdly spicy entrees, many of which the owner wont even allow you to order until you have tried all of the prerequisite dishes which he uses to gauge your ability to handle heat. We are greeted by a distinguished middle aged Indian man with a great sense of humor. I order the "Bollywood Special" (a really hot dish) and some Naan filled with chicken. He says "Get either-or, if you eat the Bolly Special, you will not enjoy anything else." I ask him to make it as hot as possible; the kind of hot where you pass out.
A few minutes later he emerges from the kitchen with a spoon. He says "try". I try. It is a very flavorful, thick curry-like soup with a little heat to it, called "Madras". He carefully watched my face. No grimace or pain. He takes the spoon and disappears back into the kitchen. A few minutes pass and he come out again, with, at first glance, the same thing, but after looking a little harder, this is a much darker red color. I try. He sees a little grimace on my face. This stuff is way hotter. About 2/3 the heat of a habenero. He spices up the dish accordingly and brings it out accompanied by a small sample of what he put into the dish to make it hot. We eat our dinner, and yes it is definitely hot, but I still want something to knock me out.
As we are leaving I ask him if he has anythying special from india to knock me off of my feet. He says "hold on" and goes into the back for a minute. He emerges with a small red pepper. He says "this is called hand-grenade, do not eat inside of here". Awesome.
Sprinting outside with my friends and telling them to get the phones ready for pictures, I pop the whole thing in my mouth, chew as fast as possible and swallow the first half. The grimace on my face grows, as I feel the waves of heat crashing into my mouth , nose and skull, this mother is going to be exactly what I wanted.
My smile soon fades as the waves of heat keep increasing. Soon, it is too much. I literally drop to the ground in pain. My friends, who were laughing, stop, but still continue to record the spectacle. Im laying on sidewalk, families timidly walking by, as I rock back and forth in a pile of mulch, drool cascading out of my mouth and unable to talk. I can hardly see from my eyes tearing up so much. I need to get back to my house where I can recuperate before the gig I have in about an hour. I muster up enough strength to stand and doubled over in pain, slowly walk to seans car. We get in, Rusty wishes me luck has a good laugh and heads home, smiling and shaking his head and Sea and Brooke and I are speeding back to my house. Half of my body is literally hanging out of the car window, drool and snot pouring out of my head. Two state troopers pull up to us at a stop -light, with my head hanging out and facing the ground, very concerned as to what the hell could possibly be wrong with me. I signal for them to roll down the window. They oblige as I explain my dilemma wasn't caused by alcohol, but a ghost pepper. They both start laughing, im guessing they know what they are. One of them goes "I love ghost peppers". Ha, yeah right.
This story will end with me curled up into the fetal position in the back of Seans car, violently puking out of the window like a dragon spewing fire at two lanes of traffic, cars swerving to avoid the fiery puke, horns honking and everyone looking. Not an ounce of embarassment. When you are in pain like that, there is no other feeling. My face was white as a ghost, eyes bloodshot, nose running, stomach in knots. And yes, I will probably do it again.
If someone dares you to do this, Im not going to say don't do it, but consider this blog post, it won't be an enjoyable experience, except maybe those watching. (Unless of course, they have to clean your puke off of their car. Sorry Sean.)
For several months now I have been dying to get my hands on one. After seeing countless Youtube videos of people being rendered useless for several hours after only a small bite I knew I had to try it. My grandfather and uncle got me hooked on hot stuff during our annual visits to Bethany Beach where they would douse some wings in an assortment of different incendiary sauces. My first taste of something real hot was "Da Bomb" which tops out at about 50,000 Scoville Units. Scoville units are the units of water it would take to completely dilute the taste of one unit of the heat being measured. So 50,000 S.U. = 50,000 parts water per 1 part hot sauce before the flavor couldn't be detected. Which means really hot.
Jalepenos are about 5,000. A complete joke when compared to the mighty habenero which peaks at about 90,000 - 130,000. Habeneros are still just "really hot stuff 101", however. I have had many habeneros in my lifetime and although they are by no means mild, they are still a manageable pepper for my palette. The ghost pepper, however, is a different story.
It goes like this.
My friends Sean, Brook, Rusty and I meet up at a local Indian place called "Bollywood" which is gaining reputation for its absurdly spicy entrees, many of which the owner wont even allow you to order until you have tried all of the prerequisite dishes which he uses to gauge your ability to handle heat. We are greeted by a distinguished middle aged Indian man with a great sense of humor. I order the "Bollywood Special" (a really hot dish) and some Naan filled with chicken. He says "Get either-or, if you eat the Bolly Special, you will not enjoy anything else." I ask him to make it as hot as possible; the kind of hot where you pass out.
A few minutes later he emerges from the kitchen with a spoon. He says "try". I try. It is a very flavorful, thick curry-like soup with a little heat to it, called "Madras". He carefully watched my face. No grimace or pain. He takes the spoon and disappears back into the kitchen. A few minutes pass and he come out again, with, at first glance, the same thing, but after looking a little harder, this is a much darker red color. I try. He sees a little grimace on my face. This stuff is way hotter. About 2/3 the heat of a habenero. He spices up the dish accordingly and brings it out accompanied by a small sample of what he put into the dish to make it hot. We eat our dinner, and yes it is definitely hot, but I still want something to knock me out.
As we are leaving I ask him if he has anythying special from india to knock me off of my feet. He says "hold on" and goes into the back for a minute. He emerges with a small red pepper. He says "this is called hand-grenade, do not eat inside of here". Awesome.
Sprinting outside with my friends and telling them to get the phones ready for pictures, I pop the whole thing in my mouth, chew as fast as possible and swallow the first half. The grimace on my face grows, as I feel the waves of heat crashing into my mouth , nose and skull, this mother is going to be exactly what I wanted.
My smile soon fades as the waves of heat keep increasing. Soon, it is too much. I literally drop to the ground in pain. My friends, who were laughing, stop, but still continue to record the spectacle. Im laying on sidewalk, families timidly walking by, as I rock back and forth in a pile of mulch, drool cascading out of my mouth and unable to talk. I can hardly see from my eyes tearing up so much. I need to get back to my house where I can recuperate before the gig I have in about an hour. I muster up enough strength to stand and doubled over in pain, slowly walk to seans car. We get in, Rusty wishes me luck has a good laugh and heads home, smiling and shaking his head and Sea and Brooke and I are speeding back to my house. Half of my body is literally hanging out of the car window, drool and snot pouring out of my head. Two state troopers pull up to us at a stop -light, with my head hanging out and facing the ground, very concerned as to what the hell could possibly be wrong with me. I signal for them to roll down the window. They oblige as I explain my dilemma wasn't caused by alcohol, but a ghost pepper. They both start laughing, im guessing they know what they are. One of them goes "I love ghost peppers". Ha, yeah right.
This story will end with me curled up into the fetal position in the back of Seans car, violently puking out of the window like a dragon spewing fire at two lanes of traffic, cars swerving to avoid the fiery puke, horns honking and everyone looking. Not an ounce of embarassment. When you are in pain like that, there is no other feeling. My face was white as a ghost, eyes bloodshot, nose running, stomach in knots. And yes, I will probably do it again.
If someone dares you to do this, Im not going to say don't do it, but consider this blog post, it won't be an enjoyable experience, except maybe those watching. (Unless of course, they have to clean your puke off of their car. Sorry Sean.)
Friday, November 4, 2011
Do a cover song of Jessie J's "Price Tag"
November has already crept in again, but this time I really don't mind. I think the conditioned hatred I used to have of fall has finally left. For it used to mean summer was over, and so were the warm days of non-stop running about the neighborhood, going to the beach, having no homework or cares and enjoying the family vacations to the beach. Soon to come were mornings that started at 6:00 a.m., the never ending stream of worksheets and book reports, the constant struggle to stay awake all day. Don't get me wrong I did have my share of fun at school too, but it paled i comparison with the freedom of summer. But now the school days are long gone and fall now just means when I walk down the street, the trees will look like impressionistic brushstrokes, which I don't really mind at all. I finally have made myself sit down and crank out a cover with a video like I've always planned on doing, so without further delay, here it is. Jessie J's "Price Tag".
Let me know what you think!
Let me know what you think!
Monday, September 19, 2011
Explain my Top 5 favorite Cd's at this moment
So I noticed something on my old college's web site that certain students were spotlighted for their musical achievements and given interviews. I remember one thing I really enjoyed was hearing about the student's top 5 favorite CD's. Since you pretty much have to started playing in the womb and be a total badass to even be considered getting this interview, I was not fortunate enough to get it. So Im doing it myself on my blog. Although I can't really decide on 5 CD's being my all time favorites, I have 5 that I highly recommend and all are completely unique and at some point life changing in my taste and enjoyment of music, so here we go.
5 - Suzanne Vega's "99.9 Fahrenheit Degrees". Somber vocals, really effective songwriting, ambient guitar layers, and industrial laced grooves that are built with an even blend of electronic sounds and and real instruments. These sometimes haunting songs pull influence everywhere from light bossa nova to introspective folk to something reminiscent of the Nine Inch Nails.
4 - Imogen Heap's "Speak for Yourself". This is a production masterpiece to say the least. Absolutely lush, vibrant songs that are as finely crafted and original as a human fingerprint. The highlight of this CD is "Hide and Seek" a jaw dropping tapestry of electronically altered vocal harmonies, like an alien acapella group. This is not to be confused with "Mmmm Whatcha Say?" and in my opinion is infinitely superior to the somehow more popular song that sampled this one.
3 - John Mayer's "Room for Squares". This CD pretty much did it for me. When this came out I must have listened to it five hundred times. Definitely a more heavily produced effort from this never-ceasing-to-amaze writer, but still outstanding, nonetheless. John Mayer has a way of writing a song about things you swore you were the only one going through. From the nostalgia-inducing "1983" to the humorous foot-in-the-mouth anti-hero of "My Stupid Mouth" to the ephemeral happiness by a fire in "St. Patricks Day" this collection of stories is the perfect road trip companion.
2 - Dave Brubeck's "Time Out". Dave took swing and bebop, melted it down like a crazed alchemist and pretty much single-handedly invented cool jazz. This CD was a groundbreaking showcase of experimental jazz forms full of altered time signatures, tempo changing sections and dual tempos. It sounds like a sunday walk through a park of abstract sculptures. This was one of the first CD's I ever really listened to over and over, one of the many great ones in my dads collection.
1 - Thomas Newman's "America Beauty Score". This is it. To me, this is arguably some of the most beautiful music that has ever been created. His anti-orchestra method of creating music yields unique soundscapes that vividly induce certain moods. I once listened to the theme "American Beauty" (I think its track number 6) for more than 5 hours straight on repeat. These tracks are perfect for getting lost in a painting or a good book. You have to hear this one.
5 - Suzanne Vega's "99.9 Fahrenheit Degrees". Somber vocals, really effective songwriting, ambient guitar layers, and industrial laced grooves that are built with an even blend of electronic sounds and and real instruments. These sometimes haunting songs pull influence everywhere from light bossa nova to introspective folk to something reminiscent of the Nine Inch Nails.
4 - Imogen Heap's "Speak for Yourself". This is a production masterpiece to say the least. Absolutely lush, vibrant songs that are as finely crafted and original as a human fingerprint. The highlight of this CD is "Hide and Seek" a jaw dropping tapestry of electronically altered vocal harmonies, like an alien acapella group. This is not to be confused with "Mmmm Whatcha Say?" and in my opinion is infinitely superior to the somehow more popular song that sampled this one.
3 - John Mayer's "Room for Squares". This CD pretty much did it for me. When this came out I must have listened to it five hundred times. Definitely a more heavily produced effort from this never-ceasing-to-amaze writer, but still outstanding, nonetheless. John Mayer has a way of writing a song about things you swore you were the only one going through. From the nostalgia-inducing "1983" to the humorous foot-in-the-mouth anti-hero of "My Stupid Mouth" to the ephemeral happiness by a fire in "St. Patricks Day" this collection of stories is the perfect road trip companion.
2 - Dave Brubeck's "Time Out". Dave took swing and bebop, melted it down like a crazed alchemist and pretty much single-handedly invented cool jazz. This CD was a groundbreaking showcase of experimental jazz forms full of altered time signatures, tempo changing sections and dual tempos. It sounds like a sunday walk through a park of abstract sculptures. This was one of the first CD's I ever really listened to over and over, one of the many great ones in my dads collection.
1 - Thomas Newman's "America Beauty Score". This is it. To me, this is arguably some of the most beautiful music that has ever been created. His anti-orchestra method of creating music yields unique soundscapes that vividly induce certain moods. I once listened to the theme "American Beauty" (I think its track number 6) for more than 5 hours straight on repeat. These tracks are perfect for getting lost in a painting or a good book. You have to hear this one.
Friday, September 16, 2011
Dirty Loops
No this is not a blog entry about what happens if your little brother takes a dump in your box of fruit loops. I want to bring to attention a growing trend. At a seeming increasing rate the pages of Youtube are being filled with an all too similar cover artist prototype. The world absolutely does not need one more cute, 15-25 year old stylishly dressed with an acoustic guitar playing the same 30 or so covers that the entire rest of the world covers. It's beginning to become redundant. Yet you see their videos quite frequently sporting hundreds of thousands of views. Why is this so? Well, you can't deny that almost all of them are talented, at least with regards to singing, and the sound of a well trained human voice is a beautiful thing. But why such the lack of originality? Why does almost every one sound strikingly similar to something you've heard before? Because there is hardly any, if at all, musical interpretation. Just throw a little cute R & B run, maintain eye contact with the camera and POOF, instantly, another star is born. There are too many stars and the sky is so full you can no longer distinguish one from the other.
Yet every now and then someone rises above to completely reinvent a sound and push the envelope of musicality with a seemingly impossible level of skill, talent, taste and chops. That band is called "Dirty Loops". They can take the most trite songs and make them fusion masterpieces. I invite you to enjoy this cover of Britney Spears' "Circus". It's damn good and to me should send every little acoustic guitar holding clone (even myself included) back to the practice room to start making some more original arrangements .
From a person educated in music of many styles, I can say these guys, quite simply put, take dumps on anyone else that covers pop tunes these days (or at least out of the ones I have seen). Hide your cereal boxes.
Yet every now and then someone rises above to completely reinvent a sound and push the envelope of musicality with a seemingly impossible level of skill, talent, taste and chops. That band is called "Dirty Loops". They can take the most trite songs and make them fusion masterpieces. I invite you to enjoy this cover of Britney Spears' "Circus". It's damn good and to me should send every little acoustic guitar holding clone (even myself included) back to the practice room to start making some more original arrangements .
From a person educated in music of many styles, I can say these guys, quite simply put, take dumps on anyone else that covers pop tunes these days (or at least out of the ones I have seen). Hide your cereal boxes.
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